Love is the ultimate and solemn filter of life’s treasury. It is choosy judge of apparent world before the true picture touches human soul’s retina. Then – we see the stroboscopic frozen reality, the fascinating result of “filtering”: Nothing and nobody was removed from the wholeness, but suddenly the icon expresses them all… I owe this picture of Boris Yeltsin to Aleksandr Sokurov, watching a series of his documentaries during some past summer days at Split. The film was first in the row of performing. Black-and-white portraits of passed away communist leaders and long, long duration of exposure to the audience of few…I understood it was the mass for communism and myself was the only liturgy, all others left… Then a fellow was coming to the scene slowly discovered being Boris Yeltsin. He sat at the table and kept silent…long, long…as if caring how to carry-over to the life all in combat before the battle starts. And I knew, being just looking at this mystical lead of this Russian soldier, I’d be ready to follow alive or dead. Today – as the tribute to Yeltsin legacy – when Putin brought Danilov bells, and Medvedev made them toll, I see the continuity of Russia all through the infrastructure of silent lighthouses … human language without voice.