Rembrandt is a famous Dutch artist, engraver, master of light and shadow, who worked in many genres, famous for his portraits. He usually depicted old men, but without contempt or fear of old age.
On the contrary, with infinite respect and conviction that the whole history of a person can be read by his face. His old men and women - self-respecting, streaked with wrinkles, twisted from arthritis - convey love for a person. To every man, young and old, sick and healthy.
“A man in a golden helmet” is one of such paintings. Nothing is known about the sitter, someone believes that it was Rembrandt’s brother, but this version has no evidence. However, despite this obscurity, it has a peculiar appeal. Perhaps it is in contrast.
A shining polished cuirass, a golden sparkling helmet with a lush scarlet feather - these are beautiful things that attract the eye, obviously ceremonial, and not military. And they are wearing an old soldier. His face is wrinkled, wrinkled by life - a crease between the eyebrows, deep nasolabial folds, and hollows of the cheeks. A gray mustache with a brush, gray hair, vaguely guessed under a helmet. Half of the face is hidden in the shade. And his look does not at all correspond to the dress parade - he is tired, thoughtful and impenetrable, as if a soldier is looking nowhere, but in fact he sees battlefields, flowing blood, dying people whom he has seen too much in his life.
Perhaps he sees an attack of the cavalry, which sweeps among unarmed footmen in a hurricane. Perhaps he imagines the nucleus flying through the whole sky, and tearing the earth to shreds. His gaze is full of limitless fatigue, as if he was exhausted and already sick of himself.
It doesn’t matter how beautiful the form is if it is called to chant war.
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