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Nesterov is a Russian Wanderer artist, of those who, foreseeing dissatisfaction brewing in the country and its resolution (like a thunderstorm resolves with thunder, so popular anger should degenerate into a revolution) painted pictures full of hidden meaning.
They showed the life of the common people, their sorrows and troubles. As if wanting to sober up the powers that have gone too far in power, the artists almost screamed, but their exhibitions were not successful and didn’t push anyone to anything by themselves.
Nesterov is a master of historical portrait, in his paintings showing the past of the people, valuable, despite the obvious contempt for him from those who considered themselves to be enlightened and educated people.
“Peonies” are atypical for him, because they have neither appeal, nor comprehension, nor sorrow - they are like a rest between serious, hard work, paying attention to the ordinary, everyday life of the earth. A bush of peonies blooms brightly on a hill.
A thin birch sways above it from the breeze, others in the distance are slightly thicker, but also hardly thicker than the arms of an adult man. An ordinary summer day of Russian nature, devoid of people.
Flowers sway with buds, small insects swirl above them, the wind plays in a birch grove, and hot noon reigns over the world, languid and quiet. As if by force distracting himself from the human struggle and human destinies, the artist depicts the most simple landscape. It reminds both itself and the viewer - yes, there are people and people can feel bad. But no matter how hard it is, no matter how twisted their fates, peonies continue to bloom and the sun rises and sets.
Sometimes, no matter how bloody the struggle, no matter how brilliant the ideals are, you need to be so distracted and look at the moment around you. Exhale. Take a breath. And move forward again.
Court of Pugachev Perov