Art is the reachness of all. Art stops and confuses, turning the wheel back. As an eternal enigma, paused theater, uncatchable and frozen in eternal length, picture on canvas puts us in front of unsolvable question of deciphering the eternity. Antimatter of humans striving for change. Only technology successes in being broken, picture stays for ever and all generations. In work of unstoppable clocks, it acts as an torn piece of time in which it disappears. Those fragments float above the abyss of the black hole. They are now in centripeta currents, the basis and possibility. Trace of this world, transmitter of good vibrations through time and eternal, and those which come after us. As an antitesis of progress and conquer of time of points and pillars of balance, painters theater is our collective conscious. Art stubbornly stays at the barricades, and out of reach for the outer speed. It witnesses stability of human spirit, humor of the beauty of imperfection and nonuniformity, the greatness of human individuality. Matter weaved in painted surfaces, creates new bits and terabits of information. Never will they be deciphered, those strokes in printed in time. Bit by bit. But not for being non apprehended on purpose, but for higher shape of the spiritual mater which becomes, as an witness of great mystery of the art Creator.