Another theme close to my heart is the sea, water, and ships.

As a child, when I spent vacations with my parents by the sea, I remember the joy I felt going to the harbor and fishing from the wharf. Sitting on the dock, watching sunlight play on the waves, seeing huge liners enter the harbor, listening to the cries of seagulls, the whistles of ships, and the creaking of old, rusty fishing schooners tied up at the dock, I would imagine distant voyages and wonderful adventures that had fallen to the lot of those sea wanderers.

Since then, whenever I find myself in a seaside town, I feel an overwhelming desire to visit the local harbor or yacht club, breathe in the sea air, and recall the sensations of childhood and the sweet, naïve dreams of distant voyages. Whether or not such a voyage ever happens, the sea has a wonderful ability to remain a dream — a call to adventure, wanderlust, and the uncharted and unexplored. These are the feelings the sea awakens in people. So when I turn to the maritime genre, my task is first of all to reflect that dream, to surround the viewer with salty sea air, and to awaken the same emotions the sea has always stirred in me.

It is a kind of wonder: on a gloomy Moscow afternoon, while painting a southern seascape and immersing yourself in the atmosphere of the hot Mediterranean, the bad weather outside seems to retreat, and the studio begins to fill with sunlight. How could one live without dreams and wonders?