Ève et le Serpent

By the time he laid Eve down among these ferns, Henri Rousseau was a retired Paris toll inspector who painted on Sundays, mocked by critics who couldn't place his flat, dreamlike style. He built his jungles without ever leaving France, out of the hothouses of the city's botanical garden and the exotic plates in illustrated magazines. So the paradise here is really a Parisian greenhouse remembered: rubber plants, agaves and palms pressed close around one pale figure. Adam is nowhere to be seen. Eve stands alone with her long hair and reaches out, and the serpent waits in the leaves at exactly the level of her hand.