Julu Road is not a place, but a line of demarcation. A physical and mental boundary, a point of contact between what remains and what slips away.

It is the instant in which movement stops. A city no longer observed from afar, but absorbed: into walls, humid air, skin.

Julu is a silent tension: between control and abandon, between architecture and flower, between rationality and restrained desire.

A perfume by Julien Rasquinet

“Il mio canto libero” – Lucio Battisti (1972)