Russia. Festival 1931

Konstantin Korovin’s “Russia. Festival” is awash with muted tones, the kind you get on a gray winter day, capturing the essence of a bustling Russian celebration, maybe made with oil on canvas. Look at how Korovin handles the paint. It's loose, almost like he's sketching with color. The textures vary across the canvas. Some areas are thinly washed, letting the ground peek through, while others have thicker, more deliberate strokes, especially in the figures and the horses pulling the sleds. The whole painting feels immediate, as if Korovin was right there in the thick of it, capturing a fleeting moment. The way he depicts movement – the figures leaning into the sleigh, the horses striding forward – it’s all captured with an economy of brushstrokes. I'm reminded of Whistler's atmospheric works. Both artists share a knack for capturing the mood of a scene, leaving room for our imaginations to fill in the details. It’s not about photographic accuracy; it’s about conveying a feeling, an experience. And that's what makes art endlessly fascinating, this ability to evoke a world through color and gesture.