Looking at the bearded, leshakovsky Pisakhov, you are amazed at how this little man created such truly universal canvases both on canvas and on paper. The very nature of the Russian North, the North itself, gave both colors and words, tied it to itself so much that the writer “could not even go anywhere to Rus'. You will become without a tongue and without eyes.” A sharp glance was enough to pin down an official and a “minister”, priest Sivolday and the tsar with a “punching letter”. In a word, everyone who interfered with life got it.

The writer Pisakhov’s gaze was enough for everything. Therefore, he looked from above, almost from the pole, he looked at everything correctly, because the compass needle is always directed to the North.