Viktor Vasnetsov, "Ivan Tsarevich on the Gray Wolf"

Looking at pictures has been my passion since childhood. In my grandmother's house, on the wall of the room where I often spent the night, there was a reproduction of "Ivan Tsarevich on the Gray Wolf." I could look at her for hours - and when I couldn’t fall asleep, and when I woke up too early, and when I was offended or sad, and when I dreamed and made plans, imagining what I would be like when I grew up.

There is a lot of magic in the picture: a terrible dark forest and bright light flowering apple trees, water lilies and forget-me-nots. A wolf with a human look - probably, after all, he was a werewolf. Elena the Beautiful, surrendered to the will of fate, her most beautiful hat and shoes, quivering blond hair in the wind. Ivan is anxious, his mittens are fire.

I loved to look at the frog under the paws of the wolf - it was my secret that I knew where it was.

The first time I was in the Tretyakov Gallery, when I was already working and was on a business trip in the capital. I found "Ivan Tsarevich", and for some reason tears appeared: memories of childhood, grandmother, plans for life, that someone will take me far to the beautiful. But no one took her anywhere, and everything herself, which is for the best. My life has turned out quite well, but for some reason, because of the fabulous picture, by no means a masterpiece by world standards, I sometimes feel not only sad, but somehow sorry.