To any expressive fine arts dimension I prefer noema-poetic one, that complicates, splitting, shimmering, metaphor-ring-ing, complexing and multiplying, turns single in dual, ‘vista’ dyads into the trialectical, in the strings of meanings and not vociferous voices. The poetic dimension is immeasurable, unfulfilled, not finite and infinite, like the pupil of the eye, like the body, like the frame and the crystalline grain of the film – it contains all the alphabets and syntaxes, all the logics and languages. It is the Monument and the Mirage, simultaneity and ignorance. Speaking and silent, hearing eye of the hands, it is the blinded omniscience.