Suspended in the starry night, assuming a spectral form, in an incredible equilibrist exercice, in suspension,
Ianua, pupil of Janus is a Nymph. A door that has made the happy gesture of escaping to the law of keys
as well as the one of thresholds, in order to remain only, here, now, like a creature made of pure exteriority,
which no longer has the function of being-passage between two places, but which is the place itself, the thing in itself.
This breach, this tiny blade of air that rushes where it wants. This almost nothing, which is none other than almost
everything we have left.

Ianua remembers the fires of the past, Ianua knows well that the house is burning, that the city is in the grip of the flames,
which rise higher each day, but Ianua remains there, suspended. She lingers, absorbed in her cocoon ,
because you have to stop for a moment to heal, to think, to metamorphose.

If we had the audacity to incise this chrysalis with a sharp blade, we would discover the bravery of this nymph being.
We would take the measure of what true metamorphosis is. Of this life capable of hosting two, the one of the Imago,
of the butterfly and the one of the caterpillar; which by leaving her larval stage, stripping itself of her last skin,
operates the radical transformation, here, enclosed in the chrysalis. There, most of her larval organs dissolve completely,
the fats are requisitioned, melt and liquefy.

The interior of Ianua the nymph seeing herself then, being filled with an apparently structureless porridge,
feeling combustions, contortions, contractions. Ianua the nymph is a creature composed under her envelope of
flow of desire which is called hemolymph.