Gaugin, that petty anti-artist, posits in his intimately insular memoir Noa Noa, or, more rightly, he renders it, a highest veneration - the woman's capability to 'bear the world". This eloquent conquest of the realm of egregious sensuousness and retracing it back, to regain advantage, resonates with a certain kind of still inaccessible for my close examination feeling, which issues from each of the four corners of my room and especially my bed, as they naturally have some symmetry to share. I love to think that we conceive the beyond. We go dark, we learn as much as we claim the right for possessing it.

We are also away from mere falling into the decorum of innate subjectivity. There's more completion to it, which comes, in places, from righteousness, doing away with the act of dividing illusion by insecurity and is, in turn, supplemented by the infinity of connotation.