Juno Calypso’s alter ego Joyce lives an uncanny fantasy of beauty treatments, spas and 1950s suburbia. There is a performativity to her role, an understanding and subversion of what we put our bodies through to achieve perfection in femininity. Calypso’s scenes are science-fiction and body horror dressed up as a pastel toned idyll. They teach us to question the extremes we go through to meet beauty standards. Joyce’s world might be beautiful, but it is also cold, clinical and frightening, both a celebration and condemnation of the beauty, health and wellness industries. She has composed a Cronenberg-ian dollhouse, like something out of Dead Ringers, where the body must endure strange tools and treatments in impeccable but uneasy reflections of bathrooms, kitchens, clinics. It is Barbie meets Valley of the Dolls meets bubblegum pink and baby blue Americana and suburbia. ...
