Marc Janssens gives form to a different kind of change, a mutation touched by poetry, a dreamworld where man and object have become one.
 
He makes a puzzle with fine fingers and radars, wings that are membranes, miniscule engines with dust, backed into rust. He designs little human monsters that have become one with an airplane that will not take off and figures that stands up and wants to bring motion into bizarre artificial limbs.
 
With ceramic and pulverized materials he embroiders monsters that have escaped out of the caves of a centuries old ritual.

These are all pleasant things that are worn out en get their charm unexpectedly out of their uniforms or harness and have delicately and poetically been touched but the caring fingers of time.