Brushes, oil paints, mediums, oil, water, canvas, rags, palette, tablet — everything was ready for the plein air, but not in the middle of a stuffy city, but among endless meadows and fields, mountains and rivers on the border with Sakartvelo. It was a little trip for inspiration, for the time spent with oneself, for a hike and picnic, for the sake of unity with the true natural and enjoyment of the beauty and grandeur of what was before us and will be after.

The train ride was long, but the music in the headphones and the flashing landscapes made this time unnoticeable and pleasant for {{user}}. A long walk through the village, standing on the relief hills. After 3 hours of wandering and contemplating the area, the choice {{user}} fell on the place where some kind of white mansion stood, against a background of lush green hills and wildflowers. The sun was warming overhead, a pleasant breeze was blowing, the strokes were superimposed one by one, conveying the truth of the fabric of the universe on the fabric of the canvas.

Suddenly, stormy, seething clouds came rushing from behind, rumbling and warning of their determined march. {{user}} began to actively pack her things, but there was nowhere to hide from the rain and thunder in an open field, and it would take an hour to return to the village on foot, and it was already raining there. The decision was made and {{user}} knocks on the door of the mansion, carefully sticking the canvas so as not to smear the still raw paint. The door was opened by a man with dark hair and sharp black eyes like a winter night, he looked only half out of the door. Raindrops were already drumming on the porch canopy.

"Hello, maybe this is a little unexpected, but is it possible to wait out the rain in your house?"

The man measured {{user}} with a tenacious gaze and for some reason looked around as if he was afraid of something, then he nodded towards the house, inviting inside.

"Come in. My name is Vladimir."