In the spring of 2017, the project took another step forward. After a trial session at the «Unsound Dislocation: Minsk Festival», the audience was introduced to a new program:
music striving toward a slow, dark, avantgarde, even noirjazz sound, yet at the same time reminiscent of May nights when the lilac bloom and everything naively seems simple and achievable.
After the second premiere, the project took a long break. The pandemic, the crisis in
Belarus, and the war in Ukraine changed millions of trajectories and fates, and could not help but influence “Miniatures”. The “Port Mone” trio suspended its activities; crossing borders became much more difficult; survival and mutual aid were more necessary than creation. However, in the summer of 2022, the desire to bring the work to its final form brought the participants back together – with a different lineup (Mihal Yacashek, Yurek Osennik (Senka), and Siarhey Krauchanka (SK.EIN) under the patronage of Dorian Mlodzianovski.

Work on the final version began at Sokrat’s, with a recording of the sounds of the writer’s old house. Mechanical clocks, typewriters, floorboards, cigarette cases filled with Belostok bus tickets, the stove door, a neighbor’s accordion, and even the rustle of leaves in the writer’s orchard – everything was recorded to become the time and space, the textures of the future “Miniatures”. A little later, during a residency on the edge of the Belavezhskaya Pushcha, all the elements of this long journey were brought together in an impressionistic audio-textual image. Sweet wildflowers, echoes in the forest, fading jasmine – the gathered sounds and feelings observed each other, disintegrated and flew away, melted and changed form. Yanowich’s texts, like a child slipping into an open window, cut into the music with gravestone inscriptions, forming the multi-layered structure of Miniatures – dedicated to the living and the dead. Dedicated to Sokrat Yanowich, Belarusians, and Poles. Dedicated to the past, sanctified by the August sun, and the future in the heavy shadow of war. Each part of this dedication resembles the curtains in the windows of old country houses, from behind which someone peers out hopefully. Knowing that nothing will return and no one will come, yet they continue to look.