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I, Juliette, am going to watch Justine. I am going to be a look-out. Is Justine’s life of sensual adventure a real meltdown or just a routine? Are the membranes, her borders, truly transparent or is my sister’s conscientious rendering of life into avenues of perversity a limp justification for her promiscuity?
Justine is in her own private realm - a kingdom within a thin boundary. Her boundaries allow osmosis through a permeable membrane. To get into Justine’s domain is easy. To get out is easy. Justine is the only one who is incarcerated and yet each encounter that she engages in widens the periphery - less stays out, more comes in - until there is barely a discernible border. Justine is pushing the boundaries outwards and then crossing the borders into realms that are slightly riskier and more of an aberration to the norm - freakier, juicier lands of sexuality. She seems to exist everywhere at the same time. It’s hard to keep track of her. Since ubiquitous existence over a long span deflects censors, she has almost become invisible. Even her closest friends have no idea what is happening to her after she leaves their sight because they didn’t really see what was happening when she was squarely in front of them. I, Juliette, am more perceptive. In an ubiquitous existence, it is difficult to feel emotionally.
Justine’s story is told from a distance. Her detachment is frightening. Justine has begun to describe herself in the third person, even when she talks with me. This is the construction of a self-conscious fiction.
My sister seems determined to push the boundaries as far out as she can imagine which places me in an inescapable position. My role as documenter is beginning to wear on me. I am spying on Justine with such ardor that I am loosing focus. The picture is unclear and I may not get it right but I am bound to record.
- Juliette Quercia
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