New York Fashion Week (2)

It was hard for me to get involved in this week's Marc Jacobs presentation; His apparent recent labotomy, last seasons half-assed flop and the total rip-off of Viktor&Rolf's Spring 2006 back-to-front show all made it difficult for me to appreciate it. In fact, in the face of my frustrated bias I didn't quite notice what first drew me in. It might have been the use of floral prints, it might have been the bolder-than-pastel pastels or it might have just been the sequins.




But after flipping through the collection about thirty times (thanks to style.com) I started to understand his thought process. The lines were mature but not frumpy, serious but a bit delicate. A series of black tailored suiting sat decidedly away from the body but still seemed to respond to a woman's obvious curves. At best-- a long jacket dress with padded hips featured a fabric contrasted bolero top. At worst-- a boxy suit hung awkwardly, too-far from the body (looking, one friend noted, like Kim-Jung-Il.)




The real creative peak of the show was in his use of florals. The fabrics themselves were heartbreakingly beautiful-- creamy navy neither too blue nor too grey was accompanied but uncrowded by poppies looking more like country fair baloons in orange, pink and lavender. Pipe-dream curtain prints were draped into Jacob's reliably cool, offbeat 50's dresses. A couple forays into appliqued flowers became overdone,looking something like a first year school project, but layering over the print was very interesting and the overall effect was funny, sweet and chic.




In the end it was business as usual; Jacob's processed and re-distributed themes from Antwerp and Tokyo to an adoring audience who would never considered the originals. A part of me hates these institutions but they are inevitable, so it's really not fair. Someone's gotta bring new ideas into New York, and I think Jacobs does a really good job.

New York Fashion Week (1)

I feel a bit immodest to provide commentary on any fashion show as my lack of experience, parental funding and very arguably talent leaves without any major productions of my own. So I am at pains, after spending a week on style.com, to admit that I have found another New York fashion week to be an absolute bore. It's more a competition of styling; who mixed 20's references with bold, mod-period prints(abaete), who did cookie cutter thirties with pleasantly-weird eyeball prints(erin fetherston). Even a personal favorite, Francisco Costa, opted to put on "that minimalist show" so many designers have done; absolutely free of any artistic choices aside from the color palette. Sure, London's week is riddled with a revolving door of one shot designers whose shows vary in success, but the creativity is always pushed and I'll take that over silken versions of things one could find in american apparel.

That said, when someone steps across the line of commercial viability in New York, the blend of glamorous perfection and creativity can be an outstanding combination resembling something we would otherwise call "Paris Fashion Week." This week I saw three outstanding efforts; Preen, Marc Jacobs and Zac Posen. The cynic in me rushes to qualify these mentions(from London, back from the most boring collection ever, and normally the epitome of what I don't like about NYFW) but I stand by them.







Preen followed springs new movement towards a slightly sexier appeal in contrast to their initial victoriana. But I think that under closer observation one will notice that Preen shows a consistency that is the true mettle of a great design team. There is a sobriety in the way they define their shapes, using subtle differences in texture and color. In their older work they employed vintage garments and fabrics in this manner. In the most recent collection it was done a bit differently, through a contrast in treatments; gathered fabrics next to straight-flowing silks, bulk next to tightly wrapped bandeau tops. I especially loved the more complicated draping on the formal peices; bands of black sequins and white jersey reminded of an eighties party dress sent through a blender, all of the fun and none of the camp. I tired a bit at the site of the rompers, but I respect every companies right to a little commercial viability. However, I thought they should have focused on developing the idea of shirt dresses- as I always prefer a somewhat played-out classic to a somewhat played-out trend.

While my background is in fashion, I have felt intimidated by and uninterested in keeping up with a pack of fashion blogs teeming the internet these days. That said as the collections have started to roll out in New York I find myself overwhelmed with the swells of affection only a beautifully designed object can incur in my heart. I feel that my favorite collections, and certainly the ones I will mention, are the ones that embody some of the qualities I adore in the world of art and objects; elegance, inventive use of texture, intelligent use of graphic qualities and most importantly a sense of humor.

Old Photo

This picture really kills me, thought admittedly I feel like featuring a picture is a little silly. The thing is it's obviously been set up as a piece of art-- rare in photos before the world wars. There is reason to believe it's a still from a movie -the relative clarity of the faces at bottom left, the strangeness, the sense of movement in the girls on the stairs. All the same, this frozen moment provides a fantastic composition; moving from the center top chandelier through the desceding stairs and down across the pattern of the carpet. The different placements of the clusters of girls provide a marker for the depths in the composition, developing the sense of space.



Of course, as I am always being inspired by the simple, graphic basics I can't help but point out the really beautiful interaction of the textures in the photo. The quality of the medium provides for an extra graininess in all areas out of focus. This results in heightened textural contrast mixed with relatively muted tonal contrasts. However, a sudden strong contrast in the light range of the tone spectrum creates the strong white shapes which keep the image fresh. I think that when people fall in love with old photographs this is one of the things they are drawn to; the sobering effect of the dull tones and the textures make a surprisingly sophisticated environment for the subjects.

It's hard to read a story into the scene, providing further reason to believe it's a still from a movie, but there is a decadent feeling of lethargy that makes it sort of enchanting to look at. Adding to the elegant surroundings, the figures in focus at bottom left are in a somewhat bizarre position; wrapped sumtptuously in fabrics, hair strewn, nestled together and a breast exposed. It's as if there's been a disaster and they have found much needed sleep together. It adds to the feeling of red-wine stupor inherent in the jaquard walls and the heavy drapes, and makes it just weird enough to be confused with a mid-afternoon-web-patrolling-daydream.

Shunga

Ok, so I was a bad boy. I have been a neglectful blogger, attempted blogger, whatever. But I have plenty to say and I plan on saying it in due time, so from here on out I dedicate myself to more regular entries.

With no further adieu I introduce another favorite topic. I don't much about the history of Japanese Shunga; the names, dates and history. But what I know is that it mixes a complicated emotional reaction with a singular graphics style. I first found Shunga reading about the Viennese secession and the way the likes of Klimt and Schiele used Japanese principles to evoke erotiscism in their work. The Japanese identified that sexual tension could be created through the contrast of what was shown and what wasn't shown. In stark contrast with the full frontal agression of today's pornography the action was limited to the site of penetration and the ecstasy of flushed faces, everything else covered in thick robes.


Klimt's erotic drawings directly channeled this theory to incredible success; And while his famous "Kiss" beautifully integrated the work seamlessly into his art, his simpler sketches could make a seasoned veteran of the XXX rentals aisle blush.


Of course the near-fetish rawness of some Shunga makes Klimt look like a kindergarden cuddle. In this Shengu print two lesbians use a crude and creepily period appropriate sex toy.

It is this weirdness (for lack of a better word) that really gets me. It amplifies the erotiscism, and then somehow mutes it as well with a dry sense of humor. The appearance of peeping toms, surprise transvestites and even the occasional sea monster sometimes incur a fetish cache and sometimes just seem gross. At any rate, the reaction is far more intense than the I-generation's porn thumbnail sites.

Before I paint myself some sort of antiques pervert let me remind you that I came to Shunga through Art nouveau. And I as find myself more and more a descendant of the secession, that is why I keep coming back. I see so much of my favorite artists and of myself in these prints. Shunga comes from a more general style of printmaking called Ukiyo popular during the Edo period in Japan. Their use of color was tasteful, and their experimentation with texture is a constant inspiration.

Hokusai's famous "Dream of the Fisherman's Wife" balances the illustration with a relatively static expanse of text in the background (much more interesting than a solid.) The union of the squid and the woman's white flesh is contrasted at right by the crashing waves around them and at left by the sinuous lines of her hair. The emergence of the the second squid and the movement of the tentacles break up the relatively simple composition and add a new layer of texture, larger than the fine text and smaller than the thick lines of the bodies.

It is this legitimacy that makes it strangest of all. The shock value of modern art with the added taboo of age, all wrapped up in a visually pleasing package. Like most of my little obsessions it began as a whim; a laugh and a couple files saved to the desktop. But the illustrator in me keeps referencing the patterns, and the Freud inside me keeps coming back to the concepts. One night, discussing the topic, Sophia wondered if the historic sexualization of women might be related to their genitalia's inherent hiddenness. In my own sexual endeavours I have quietly explored the concept of "leaving an item of clothing on." A wise teacher once told me that Art is mind control. If this is true, Shunga is some potent stuff.

Boater's Hats

For my innaugural post I figure it ought to be pretty choice. I have set myself the relatively simple task of speaking on the things I know best, the things I love. Anyone who knows me, (or who has had more than a five minute conversation with me in the past three months) knows that the crowning jewel of my wardrobe is the recent addition of a Boater's hat.



Boater's hats are the kind of flat-brimmed straw hats worn by Gondoliers, 19th century Oxford libertines, Barber-shop quartets and other great Homosexual subcultures throughout history. I started to see them in the vintage shops in Notting hill but shied away from £100 and up price tags. Walking through Pimlico I happened upon a bizarre hat shop selling everything from Baseball caps to Sombreros to Bowlers. Nested amongst the chaotic window display was a pristine Boater's hat, wrapped with a black silk ribbon. Ten minutes, £35 and one trip into a creepy basement stockroom later I was with Hat, and it has yet to leave my head.



Tell a lie, I have removed it occasionally to bathe and sleep; But believe me, I tried. The thing about wearing a boater's hat, a bowler's hat, a fedora or any other classic hat in this age of no hats is that you have to just wear it. With a period appropriate ensemble or a ripped t-shirt, you cannot wait for the right occasion. It's a matter of attitude, or in my oppinion, a lack thereof. It shouldn't be worn as some loud statement, just worn to be enjoyed, as a great piece regardless of year and style.



Straw Bowler's Hat with Black Grossgrain ribbon, £35
Le Monde, 79 Wilton Road SW1V 1DL