The Barnes Foundation presents Henri Rousseau: A Painter’s Secrets

Henri Rousseau: A Painter’s Secrets gathers 55 paintings (and one lithograph commissioned by Alfred Jarry) at the Barnes Foundation through February 22, 2026. The exhibition is anchored by the two largest collections of Rousseau’s paintings in the world (at the Barnes and the Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris, both thanks to art dealer Paul Guillaume). Next spring, Henri Rousseau: A Painter’s Secrets will become the Barnes’s first solo show to travel—to the Musée de l’Orangerie, on display March 24 through July 20, 2026.

Danger and stillness

The earliest painting in this show, Carnival Evening (1886), on loan from the Philadelphia Art Museum, is a delicately rendered nocturne depicting two small figures in costume walking near a woodland under a full moon. As is typical of Rousseau’s works, there is no clear source of light. Dark, bare tree branches are silhouetted against the sky, which is diffusely lit by the moon. The figures are also illuminated, although not by the moon. An obscure building on the left adds to the puzzling, vaguely menacing nature of the picture. There’s always danger in Rousseau’s forests, perhaps a metaphor for life as he knew it.

This show is co-curated by Christopher Green, consulting curator, professor emeritus at the Courtauld Institute of Art, London; and Nancy Ireson, deputy director for collections and exhibitions & Gund family chief curator at the Barnes; with support from Musée de l’Orangerie curator Juliette Degennes. It’s divided into sections, such as Rousseau Himself, Mysterious Meetings, and An Ambitious Artist. They show Rousseau exploring his artistic path, unsuccessfully trying to win government competitions for public art, and creating portraits, landscapes, and still lifes displayed in a section called Small Pictures for Small Homes.

In Rousseau’s paintings, proportions are upended. Objects, like a translucent airplane, are occasionally surreal. Above all, the direct gaze of Rousseau’s subjects is unsettling. Nobody blinks—nor can his subjects be imagined to blink, ever. Even in extremely graceful paintings like The Football Players (1908), where the ball and four players seem to float in mid-air, there is an otherworldly stillness.

Projecting glamor

Rousseau was a quintessential “starving artist”, driven to paint in spite of multiple deaths in his family, at least three court cases against him for debt and theft, and the public’s laughter at his artwork. He took a risk by retiring at age 49 from his job as a toll-gate attendant, in order to paint full-time. If his pictures didn’t sell, his small pension would mean living in severe poverty. They didn’t sell.

Unable to get his work into galleries, Rousseau began showing at the Salon des Indépendants, where just about anyone could participate for a small fee. There his first jungle painting, Surprised! (1891), a tiger in a tropical storm—not included in this exhibition—was a minor success. Oddly, Rousseau didn’t return to jungle paintings until the last years of his life. Meanwhile, he survived by giving music lessons and bartering paintings for groceries.

There’s nothing glamorous about poverty, but the artist projected glamor onto his tidy, prosperous-looking portrait subjects and his romantic, humid landscapes, populated by wild beasts and enormous plants. Living in cheap Paris neighborhoods, he met younger artists who befriended him with genuine regard (and a touch of irony). They happened to be the cream of the avant-garde, including Alfred Jarry, Pablo Picasso, Max Weber, and Guillaume Apollinaire; their appreciation aided his posthumous success.

Simplicity, presence, and majesty

At the Barnes, a magnificent group of eight jungle paintings, dating from 1904 until the artist’s death, surrounds visitors with humid surreality. Highlights include The Merry Jesters (1906), which portrays the least merry monkeys ever envisioned. And a particularly enjoyable juxtaposition is formed by the two suns in Jungle Landscape with Setting Sun (c. 1910) from Kunstmuseum Basel, and Tropical Landscape—An American Indian Struggling with a Gorilla (1910) lent by the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

Unpleasant Surprise (1899-1901) is one of the strangest Rousseau paintings on display. In the exhibition’s final room, it is hung—newly cleaned and looking less flat—with two other masterworks, The Sleeping Gypsy (1897), from MoMA, New York; and The Snake Charmer (1907), from the Musee d’Orsay, Paris. Together, they strike a resounding chord. Of the three, only The Sleeping Gypsy has the simplicity and presence that signal a masterpiece. The majesty of the other two is somewhat occulted until they’re grouped like this, and our eyes are opened.

A related exhibit from the archives shows Dr. Barnes’s correspondence, photographs, and writings regarding the collector’s Rousseau purchases. The Doctor and the Douanier is online and at the Barnes through March 2, 2026. For more programs, including First Friday events, on-demand classes, seminars, and a film series, visit the Barnes online.

At top: Henri Rousseau’s 1886 Carnival Evening (Un soir de carnaval); Oil on canvas. Philadelphia Museum of Art. The Louis E. Stern Collection, 1963.