two souls
Henri Rousseau, the Dounier, as many people called him lived in a world of his own. It was a world filled with ghosts and goblins, eternal Sunday paintings, and simple worries. This world, I believe, I also share with Henri Rousseau. We are alike in many aspects of personality, talent, and friends. Not many people remind me of myself, but Rousseau is the only person to have done this. We are different in some aspects of our talents, because his lies in the arts while mine lie in sports. Our personalities are also alike in that we both exude a degree of innocence that many people like to test and take advantage of. Also, the way my career is developing and the way his did are along the same path. The Dounier was misunderstood in this familiar phrase. It was only due to Apollinaire that he was called this because he should have been called the gabelou. He should have received this name because of his employment in the Paris Municipal Toll Service. Like Rousseau, I have many nicknames, some of which drive me absolutely insane. I'm glad that he didn't have to endure the nicknames of Bob, Care-bear, or Fairy. While I realize that mine are in jest I can not help but wonder if Rousseau truly appreciated the title
Rousseau's background is not as intriguing as his personality though. He was a person who "believed in ghosts and spirits," and "encountered them during his long watches in remoter places"(BY 48). Many of the other gabelous would mock him for this, and they even went so far as to set up a fake ghost. He surprised them all when "he [doffed] his hat and [asked] if it would like to have a drink" (BY 48). It this aspect of Rousseau that ties me to him so much. Another example of this incredible personality is when his friends told him that he was invited to dinner with the President of the Republic. So he went with good cheer, but since it was a joke he was denied. The reply that he came back with was that he couldn't get in without an invitation. When he insisted, "the president himself came out and patted him on the back and said, "Sorry Rousseau, but you see you're wearing an ordinary suit. Since everybody else is in formal dress, I can't very well receive you today. But come again some other time" (BY 59). The innocence and charm in the way Rousseau received these jokes is the way that I also take them. I know when they are taking place, but I am able to smile, take it in stride, and continue on with my integrity intact. I had the extreme pleasure of watching a movie at my friend's house, when two of them said they were going to get food. Twenty minutes later they came back and asked if I could drive because their car wouldn't start. I walked outside and my car was completely enshrouded in toilet paper. So, all I said was, "I always wanted to have my car wrapped one day, because it would make such a great present for me." My feathers were not ruffled by the incident, and they were still ready to fly. Two personalities with many similar aspects are what relate Rousseau and I together. We have the same innocent nature that some people often take advantage of but still remains intact after everything is done. His career developed after all his ties were severed, and he was able to start anew. That is the way my career is going except I still keep in touch with my family. Both of us are able to do exceedingly well in what we put are minds to. This is evidenced not only through tennis and painting, but also through Rousseau's musical ability and my own skiing ability. Our friends is the final aspect that unites us. For in them we are able to find our secret to life, and derive all of our enjoyment. Rousseau was a very talented individually. I feel honored that I am so similar to him in the fact that he can persevere, find humor in most things, and enjoy whatever he is doing. Rousseau is the everlasting Sunday painter that all of us want to be but never have the courage to do. In this he is a truly great person. Rousseau's feathers were never ruffled with his amazing talent in painting. They were the subject of frequent ridicules, and intense scrutiny of ability. The first two paintings he exhibited were "slashed with knives by spectators, removed from the show, and put with the refuses"(BY 49). Critics would rip him apart by saying "Monsieur Rousseau
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Approximate Word count = 2100
Approximate Pages = 8 (250 words per page double spaced)
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