I've only seen my father 2-3 times in my life.  When I was a kid, he called me sometimes, asked how I was doing, promised to go hunting with him or pick me up from school, but he never came.

On the morning of August 26, my father called me and said that he was returning from a business trip from the North Caucasus and after handing over his weapons, on August 27, he would have an 8-hour transfer in Moscow.I started preparing for our meeting and was already planning to make the first portrait of my father, but in the evening of the same day everything was canceled, he called and said that he would not fly to Moscow.

I do not know if it is true that he could not see me or was afraid of me again, but the fact remains: now this portrait reflects my father in my memory. This is a portrait that I will show to my children.