The author of the text is Evgenia Larionova BRAVE LIBRARIANS A painting in which everything is a little out of place, and therefore it does not stand in one place. Sometimes modern art scares with its emptiness. And sometimes — by its saturation. This painting chooses the second path and rushes along it on a pink snake. A king with a face as if he had just been swallowed from the inside, a girl in red who, just like you, does not understand what is going on here, and a creature from behind trying to warn you — all this makes the canvas not just a work of art, but an examination of your ability to see the essence and not try it. Explain it. But we'll try anyway. What will you call the ship The painting is known to the general public as "The Feast of the Absurd in the realm of cloth monsters." However, the artist himself dubbed it differently – "Brave Librarians". In an interview that the author gave himself, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he says: "I've always respected real librarians. A brave librarian is someone who is not afraid to go down to the dark basement for a rare volume of St. Augustine's "Confessions" — the abode of the devil himself, watching you with half–open eye sockets. This is someone who whispers "Shh!" not because he's angry, but because he's saving space for meaning. And now look at this girl. Isn't she a librarian? She's facing something much bigger than she can understand. But she doesn't back down or even scream. That's what library courage is." And although the artist never openly objected to the "Feast of the Absurd," he always put his name in the first place – in parentheses or in small print. Sometimes – on the back of the canvas. Perhaps not every viewer will see librarians in the picture, but he will hardly ever be able to get rid of the feeling of their presence in his life. , Creation history In the year when this painting was painted, two dramatic events occurred in the artist's life. At first, he was fired from the museum for trying to improve classical painting with plasticine. And although the artist's relatives claim that the "Brave Librarians" are the fruit of the depression that followed his dismissal, the author himself denies this. He characterizes his period of unemployment as a great offering of space and fresh air, which he embodied in the image of clouds in the background of the painting. A little later, the author experienced a second, much more painful shock. His imaginary niece, to whom he was like a father, read aloud to him her childhood dreams. This moment was fatal for the artist. He suddenly realized that reality is much more boring than the fantasies of a seven-year-old child. Shocked by this thought, he remained silent. And the girl, mistaking his silence for condemnation, left home forever. The artist could neither hold her back nor explain his actions. She disappeared for many years, compressed into a week of work on the painting. It was only at a very old age, which is measured not by age, but by universal indifference, that the author found her. The girl worked in the library and still imagined herself to be the artist's niece. But she never treated him like a father again. The girl in the painting is the author's niece. And the gray figure is the artist himself, frozen, mute, unable to intervene. So the painting "Brave Librarians" became the only way for the artist to stay close to the girl — at least in the background. 🔹 Symbolism of the elements Let's consider the other elements of the picture. I want to start the analysis with the key character that first catches the eye – the King with three mouths and the body of an olive. However, the author himself began to write his masterpiece from another, less noticeable symbol. In the lower right corner, absurdly small among the epic is a piece of salmon on crumpled sheets of paper. The fillet slice is drawn inaccurately and looks more like a random blob, probably due to the fact that the author himself has never eaten or even seen red fish in his life. This also explains why the food is on the floor, not on a plate floating next to the King's mouth. The king sees her on the edge of a precipice, about to risk falling into the abyss, but he cannot reach her with his hands or tongue. A piece of salmon on paper is the only thing left of logic in this picture. But let's return to the King, the most important and most controversial figure on the canvas. Initially, the author drew three hands for him as the three sides of power: the giving hand, the taking hand, and the uplifting hand. However, in the final version, the King has only two hands left. The artist removed the giving hand, having lost faith in its existence. He changed the hand that exalts the King, making the right one seem alien to the body, and endowed the sleeve with the features of a face looking at the king at the same time with condemnation and surprise. In this way, the author wanted to show that it is not he himself who elevates the ruler, but the people who choose him. And at the same time, people are not always satisfied with their choice. The king's head is disproportionately small. The viewer does not immediately notice her. My head seemed to shrink from the unbearable burden of my body, power and emptiness. It's not a physiology, it's a symbol. His face is childish, a little silly and naive. This is exactly what consciousness looks like, which has long since given way to other forces: instinct, greed, fear of remaining hungry. The artist deliberately did not crown the monarch's head with a crown, thereby telling us: the king stopped thinking a long time ago. He no longer creates, doubts, or searches for meanings. He just exists in a body that lives by itself, like a ship without a rudder. The body-garment itself is striking with its abundance of mouths. The upper mouth is the voice of power. He is silent because the authorities have long stopped talking — they only give orders. The lower mouth is the voice of the people. It's not just closed. This mouth is hidden behind the king's tongue and his green robe. The mouth that once voiced the will of the masses is now voluntarily silent; society no longer believes that it will ever be heard. The central mouth is the only one open, stretched in a smile, with a lascivious tongue sticking out. It defines the true nature of a government concerned only with satisfying its own needs. The empty plate in front of the main mouth is a reminder of the once generous and stable offerings, of the support of people who trusted the monarch at the dawn of his reign. There was no food left. The last portion of the rich food is about to disappear into the abyss, condemning the torso to a painful starvation and the ruler to oblivion. The King's legs, like his immense belly, are not at all on a pedestal or pedestal. He stands on a pen, an ancient writing instrument — a symbol of writing, laws, contracts and the Constitution. But the pen is not in the hand here — it is under the foot. This is an important sign: the king does not write or sign, he tramples. He does not build an order, but is perched on the very idea of the word as a force. This is a rejection of dialogue, of law, and even of the idea that power can be fixed and limited by something other than its own will. The pen — fragile, light, woven of meaning — here serves as the basis for the heavy, bodily and meaningless. To the right of the king are the rest of the characters in the painting: the girl in red, about whom so much has been said above, and the gray figure behind her. It is probably this character with the body of a hamster and the legs of an uncle-father who keeps the whole world of the painting from final collapse. After all, it's not just a shadow, it's an archetype of an inner witness.