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Painting: Oil, Color on Canvas.
Montenegro. The warm sea wind is blowing. I see white sails. Where are they from? Sea breeze carries them past me. Where were they yesterday? Did they float all together or did the storm scatter them far apart? Storm. After all, yesterday there was a storm. The wind tore the sails. And the waves of the sea flooded their decks, washing away the memories of a quiet morning ... The morning of our childhood ... There will always be those who tear our dreams, like the wind tears the sails. There will always be those who want to wash away our memories of a quiet and carefree start. But our regatta is our family, our friends and loved ones. Together we will survive this storm and find our safe haven.