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Rain, like a policeman, directs order, he is washing away the grime of ideas, throw it under the feet, cleaning the head for reasons of feet. All the dust of ideas and failures is glued to the plane, on which it stays, without thinking, to find the fastest way from point A to point B. Having pained myself with a "damned canvas" - that how I call difficult pictures, I went out for something to the store. It was raining and two figures in yellow single-use raincoats rushed past. They looked like London policemen in bizarre hats, as it seemed to me. The landscape was the same dirt from my canvas, and only two Bobs ran to give me what I didn’t lose. When I returned, I finished the work in a few smears.

Vladimir Kozhukhar

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