The drawing of the terrace and the landscape of the Vili~i} house in Volosko reminded me for a moment of the story about a retired ocean-going seaman from Bakar, who had been dreaming the same dream for years.
The terrace paved with white bossed stones, the Venetian red front facade with French windows trimmed with white stone and closed dark green slatted shutters during the day, at night they are open - so that at moonlight the deftly embroidered curtains reflect the ornaments of local hard work onto the polished softwood flooring strips.
The eaves are so protruding that the daily shadow defines the half of the house.
The time is undefined. The sea and the sky exchange the palette of the azure.