Van Cleef & Arpels: the Brooch

Van Cleef & Arpels

Squat Duckling (brooch)

circa 1970

(emerald, coral and gold)

     This piece immediately exudes a quality typical of a gifted maker, rather than that of a knock-off artist. Price and personal taste aside, the duckling is a character that pulls at each of our likings, however different they may be. It is quirky, charming and elegant all at once, and it seems about to trip over its two left feet like a blundering little hatchling only just becoming used to the big new world around it. Its eyes, too, seem independent from the rest of its body, as if they cause difficulty in restraining the duckling's clumsy curiosity from making it waddle around in circles, clearly unable to decide on which interesting thing to go nibble on or quack at first.

     Do we not all feel like this during at least one point in our lives, let alone when we were actually children? There are countless situations in which we catch ourselves privately wishing we could behave just like this duckling, to let out the way we really feel, to show that we are a bit lost and confused. There is nothing more satisfying than, at times, shedding our adult images and openly returning to our childish roots of reaction, whether that be throwing a wild tantrum alone in the bathroom, breaking a few of those ugly dishes or even purposely annoying the neighbours with a loud, off-tuned improvisation of a Queen song. Yes, being immature is selfish, but it is sometimes the only way to continue being mature, to go on playing the adult. And it is nothing but a comfort to come across a brooch as this and realise that, actually, it is all okay.

Raqib Shaw

Raqib Shaw

Detail of Suite of the Emerald Green Boudoir

circa 2012

(ink, enamel, paint, glass, rhinestones and gilding)

     Perhaps a cross between an ostrich, a baby vulture and a flamingo, this winged creature is certainly throwing a fit. Does it have such a temper because of its imprisonment to the ground (surely it cannot fly with such a thing attached to its ankle) or, in reverse, is it being punished because of its rowdy character? Whatever the case, its captor has chosen to make a bejewelled and almost humorous spectacle of their prisoner. Is there a reason why?

     Rather than cause it to suffer in a more conventional or crude way the captor decides to humiliate the bird's detention by glorifying the restraint of its only means of freedom: flight. Tethering it to something as inanimate and unyielding as a cannonball mocks the fact that the bird is taught its 'lesson' by a brainless object, while embellishing the cannonball's surface with flashy stones accentuates both the uselessness of its decoration and the power of attention that comes with that decoration: superficial, empty but nevertheless 'exotic'. The bird's weakness is brought about by this one ball. It causes it to screech and flap around like a mad, good-for-nothing animal that, when stripped of the only ability representative of its kind's strength, goes ballistic. Shaw does not show the bird as graceful or patient, but as clumsy and animalistic - as something just as brainless and pretty on the surface as the thing which holds it down. This illustration has quite a satircal undertone, and it is brilliantly done.

Ivan Bilibin

Ivan Bilibin

Father Frost

circa 1932

     'Dost thou know me? - me, the red-nosed Frost?' The young girl, frozen from her ears to the tips of her toes, does not know this stranger of the forest and yet, despite her predicament, she remains sweet and polite and always kind to him. He thus tests her stamina, doubting her character and way of talk: he sends frigid winds through her hair and fierce, snowy gusts against her skin. He brandishes the coldest temperatures of his deepest winters, whipping the trees and bushes all around into a frozen stupor, but still the girl replies, 'I am very comfortable, dear Father Frost'.

     Another of Aleksandr Afanasev's tales, Father Frost is seen illustrated beautifully by the famous Bilibin. From the tracery on the girl's red trunk to the heavy woolen weave of her mustard overcoat, and from Father Frost's green chequered gloves to his billowing beard, the artist skilfully restricts colour to the scene's only living creatures, leaving the rest to be doused under the blanket of this one of many Russian winters. By tracing with dark ink the shadows of branches and patches of bark, Bilibin allows the negative white spaces to act as the individual pockets of snow. He gives texture to each heap without conforming to a form of hyper realism - without even touching his brush to certain parts of the canvas - all so as to draw out a perspective particular to him, and for us. A light dusk falls gently in the background, seen over the tops of those blue-crowned trees, like the ending to a simply perfect tale.

Niroot Puttapipat

Niroot Puttapipat

Two separate illustrations for Baba Yaga

circa 2009-11

     A cranky old woman raising havoc aboard a flying barrel - this is certainly an unusual sight. Furious is she to have been so cleverly cheated out of a hot meal by the very girl she was going to eat, Baba Yaga is seen pursuing, bat and broom in hand, the fleeing young maiden. Puttapipat strategically separates the girl from the old hag with the clump of tall trees, seen in his illustration to the right, so as to imply that no matter how desperately the witch will chase after her pretty two-legged meal, she will never catch her. Using tricks the young maiden learned from her wise aunt (for it was initially the maiden's evil step-mother who tried to rid her off by sending her away to her fake 'auntie', the notorious child-eater Baba Yaga), the girl carries out a series of odd tasks such as feeding to a pack of fierce dogs fresh bread rolls instead of dried crusts, and eventually finds herself completely out of harm's way.

     The beauty of this tale, rendered here for two different books of tales (The Red Fairy Book by Andrew Lang and Myths and Legends of Russia by Aleksandr Afanasev), lies not only in its mix of completely unrealistic events - giving it a sense of surrealism - but also in the irresistible imagery procured by its words. Comparing Puttapipat's earlier and later versions of the same tale emphasises his incredible proficiency in different media as well as the dedication he infuses into even the finest of details, making them all the more stunning.

Alexander McQueen: the Accessory

Alexander McQueen

Iris Skull Clutch

circa 2011

(antique gold (clasp), leather (interior) and satin silk)

     With this curious object marking the starting point from which a steady flow of other McQueen 'relics' will follow (and be admired), let us warn ourselves that in order to understand this designer's work in even the most superficial dimension it is necessary to expect as well as plainly accept the unexpected. This clutch, however, may be considered quite tame in contrast to some of McQueen's more audacious pieces.

     It is dark in taste: notice the black ground paired with the 'blooming' skull where there lies a possible trace of Codognato jewellery. This, unfortunately, makes the clutch an undeniable 'must-have' for those who prefer showing off over-popularised fashions of so-called gothic beauty rather than a more personal taste, perhaps, or even just timeless style. The real connoisseur recognises all things past the trendy skull. It is indeed macabre - but it is elegant, not vulgar. The age-old mysticism associated with the image of the skull is here made inferior to the rest of the clutch's detail. Petals of pinks and blues and greens dwarf any silly links with cult activity. They dress the skull in life and a lightness of heart; they almost tease it with the very thing it once had, but now lacks forever; and with their textured heads almost bursting off its body the heavy lily buds imbue the clutch with more of a love of living than a desire for dying.