Translated material
Items for artists 22: urban myths - analytical portal Polit.ru
Ivan Davydov
Once every four years, white-white-white ones go to the streets of the Black-Black City (well, that is, like white ones, dirty white, of course, autumn) Lada-Kalina cars. Each has five malicious Tajiks. Cars travel from one polling station to another, Tajiks run into the premises intended for the legal will of citizens with a noisy crowd, and vote, vote, vote. Fill, sorry, urns. “Luzhkov! - Shout, - Luzhkov! "
Cities generate city legends. The uncomplicated stories about ghosts, tied to topography and intelligible generation of memories. What generation - such memories. For example, we live in the era relatively calm and (relatively, again) well -fed. Hence - a lack of drama in freshly baked myths.
Well, let's say the same Tajiks on Kalin. What is terrible in them? Who, in general, is this scary? For Muscovites, the notorious Tajiks (and they, according to another city legend, published by the PNI movement, sixteen billion in the capital) will soon chew food, and even, possibly, digest. Why shouldn't they vote for Muscovites?
Just think: Sunday. Honored and brief rest. TV, sofa. The head after yesterday hurts. What are the votes here? Every reasonable person will refuse with pleasure from honorary right to the will. And every illegal migrant will agree to the exercise of someone else's right for a moderate bribe.
And everyone is happy. So, creating a myth of voting Tajiks, the Muscovite may not want to scare himself, but draws the image of the ideal future. That is why the legend is boring. Ideals are generally boring. But their study allows us to understand what exactly citizens are not enough. Draw some conclusions. Improve life.
Does the Muscovite want Tajiks to vote for him? - So, the authorities simply owe the desire to realize it in the next election. That's what the authorities, in order to follow the desires of citizens, isn't it?
And painting, fixing with all possible visibility city legends, can help the authorities fulfill their function. This should simply be the duty for those who are pleasing about the happiness of the homeland of artists: regularly display fresh urban myths on the canvas and send the results of the labors, where it should be.
And we will describe the technology with understandable examples. We set, so to speak, samples.
Well, with the notorious Tajiks more or less clear: the polling station, a woman in glasses raised hands is the chairman of the commission. Intelligent and heavy - the head teacher, probably in the world. Around: a round dance of dark -faced citizens in orange national overalls. Someone only received a pack of ballots, someone is already trying to cram them into the urn, helping himself, suppose, a spatula. Someone is just waiting in line.
And balls are everywhere, bright balloons. The holiday is still.
Or another, no less understandable plot, moreover, a well -known century of the eighteenth connoisseurs of Russian folk pictures: "Mice bury a cat." With the subtitle characterizing the era: “Representatives of the party, government, cultural, art workers, and churches who wished to remain unknown, are escorted to the last journey of an authoritative entrepreneur.” Nothing more: a mourning procession, a luxurious coffin on the shoulders of strong guys. Wreaths with understandable inscriptions: “From the Uryupinsky lads”, “From the creative team of the Imperial Ballet”, “From the District Party Cell”. And a long row of guests. Everything is in mourning, and everything is almost recognizable, if it weren’t for black strips in front of our eyes - it sometimes happens in TV. Someone, however, give out from under the black, camouflage in this case a cloak, a panagia and a cross, someone-a cap, someone-an incomprehensible wig, this time for some reason taken and hidden in a badge pocket. And someone-does not give out anything, the habit, still acquired at the old job.
And finally: an idyll. Field, spikelets, dead shepherd. Oh, that is, sorry, no, this has already been. Living, of course, passerby, with an expression of joyful amazement on the face. Around - shining with freshness of high -rise buildings. Something in the spirit of Pimenov. City romance. The man had just seen a motorcade of one hundred and twenty cars “Porsche Kayen”, sixty “Gelendvagen”, and eighteen “Bentley”. And now his soul is full of happiness - for he was imbued with the grandeur of his homeland, and realized what was its future. As inevitable as the beautiful.
The name of the canvas is obvious - "Ramzan flew."