Where I grew up there were two kinds of winds one soft, warm, bringing rain, big waves on sea, that is southerly or Jugo, and there is northern wind, cold, clensing, most of the time without rain with bright skies called Bura. Bura is violent, wild, uproots trees, tips over cars, lifts people on street up in air, it covers the sea with the white sheets of sea mist. For some strange reason people back home live and die by the winds. My sister was born when it was strong Jugo, so strong electricity went out, while most of the men die from heart giving up when it turns to Bura. It clears those just holding onto life. Bura cleanses streets, sea, making everything crystal clear, even it clears mind, soul, while Jugo does opposite, it murkies waters, brings rain, stirs up mud and sand with its big waves, and piles of crap pile up on beach. Bura blows it all away.People argue on Jugo, get grumpy, it weighs them down, while Bura gives them a lift. It gets nasty when it is Bura with rain, it turns to ice, freezing and wiping everything in its path. When I was younger we once had Bura so strong it froze all steel electric poles, chewed them up and spun them onto themselves. We were out of electricity for a month.
I have a lot of ghosts chasing me, waiting behind the rocks and crevices, and I am waiting for Bura to clense them away. I need to be clensed, taken away in a storm. I used to enjoy standing on end of the pier waiting for the wind to try to lift me, to lean into it and trust its strong arms to hold me without falling, I enjoyed it freezing my face, brushing through my hair, watching the sea mist and rain slowly eat at my cheeks, feeling as ice needles. I need it to clense my past, my soul. I need to be uplifted again, uprooted, wiped clean as it cleans the streets, as it preserves some of the past it finds important.
I really do not know how to else explain the thought process with this painting. It went though many stages then one day I found it smeared in olive green by my 2 year old. Yes Stella attacked again while I was getting cup of coffee. And then I saw my past, holding me back in a lot of ways, and I prayed for Bura to come and blow the ghosts away, take away the voices, the whispers, cries, to freeze them as it did to electric poles while back, so they dont come back. The struggle inside my head is sometimes too much for me to bear, I look for quiet shelter, and there is none. I need my roots cut away so I can fly again.
Reference: Daniel Mandic