After reading about the nomadic gypsies of the steppes I wanted to make a painting. A little extract from the book free spirits of the open steppe, people without frontiers
The town was in the middle of the steppes, and at night the only light came from the campfires of the gypsies. Nowadays there are very few areas of the steppe that have not been plowed up. But anyone who has traveled across its desolate expanses knows how deceptive the horizon can be there-how it fades into infinity just as you think you are getting closer to it, how heaven and earth become a huge sphere, and the human being shrinks to a tiny speck in the universe.