Morning coffee by Francois Boucher

Morning coffee by Francois Boucher

Perhaps, nowhere and never so eager for “pleasure” and refinement, as in the court of King Louis XV. The art of living is easy, “tearing away the flowers of pleasure,” became revered as a real art.

Sometimes it seems that in the air there was already a premonition of a thunderstorm, impending catastrophe. And that it was this foreknowledge that determined the desire to get settled with all possible grace and comfort, surround yourself with ruddy shepherdesses, porcelain dolls, idyllic landscapes.

It was this that required life to be like a theater. And Bush skillfully nurtured

illusions of his customers. His paintings immerse the viewer in a world of charming dreams, a charming fiction. Notice, the master never tells us: “Look how true this is.” He says: “Look how nice it is.” He does not educate us, does not inspire us with a desire for high goals, but only regrets that life is so short and so, in fact, sad. And, regretting it, she tries to smooth her corners, drape her unattractiveness, make her a little more pleasant. Cheating? Let. But a person does not always need the truth. Sometimes he needs more consolation.

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