JANUE love letter

Janue is a pondering sensation. Janue is a protean change that turns your steps into a dance.  Janue is sure that  wisdom demands time and that time can only teach you how to breath. Janue is an attentive gaze of a dreamy beguine. Janue is the cult of pleasure in movement and wind is its goddess.  Janue is jotting down dreams about flying in blue dresses above restless waters. Janue is a temple that is closed and open because she knows that wars never end in people’s minds. Janue is tempered indifference and sublime Puritanism: every judge needs a robe. Janue is besotted with silence because talk is cheap. Janue is a temple built on residues of other gods, the remains of their cloths left in tatters. Janue is a riveting story about how a woman wants to be listened to and how a man is a garrulous talker. Janue is a film about that moment when you used to disappear in your mother’s dress (Benjamin). Janue is a trip to Paris and Milan that made you wonder why people never smile to each other any longer. Janue is the way to put an end to selfies that are seldom about yourself. Janue is a genre painting about bodies moving on clouds (Mantegna). Janue is reinventing elegance as the art of gestures. Janue is the last hope of beauty in an art that is contemporary but seldom fine. Janue is a pigeonhole for a love letter that returns as an uncontrollable daydream. Janue is Da Vinci’s sfumato turned into folds that will make you smile as Saint Anne. Janue is buying you a drink since she’s old enough to speak and wants to listen to you.