Alexander McQueen: the Clothing (Part I)

Alexander McQueen 

Ensemble from The Girl Who Lived in the Tree (collection)

circa 2008

     There is a line in Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo that reads as this: ‘…the men had been prepared to discard caution and the women, custom: curiosity had pricked them with its irresistible spur and overcome all other feelings’. This McQueen ensemble, with its dress of silk tulle and its jacket of crisp velvet, gold embroidery and a touch of shearling, echoes these words; it is a contemporary statement of mysticism. Whether worn or not it is something that demands full attention of its audience. It strikes the eye like a curio, tickling the retina with a faint trace of the familiar, but also with that of slight unease. 

   The ensemble is, in a way, an emblem of the stealthy Dantès himself: queer but unquestionably distinguished in dress; perfectly in tune with not only the current times, but with those past and future; and unnervingly aware of something deeper than the superficial. Mixing the feminine and the masculine, it is an ensemble that shamelessly discards caution and custom - exactly like the impression, quoted above, that the masked Dantès instils in his guests when for the first time they visit his home in Auteuil. Just as they are pricked with an unnamed curiosity, we fall under a similar spell when looking at this ensemble: we recognise something peculiar in its design, in its structure of texture and colour and in its concentrated, ornate flashes of the Orient, of early twentieth century Russian dance and of gestural, expressionistic modern painting. It is a mix that subtly and slowly intends to shock, just as Monte Cristo does over his years of tenacious but patient planning of revenge. It is a body of accumulated detail and execution that extends its irresistible spur closer and closer to us, and instead of running from this foreign mélange of tissus and tastes, we stare and may even gawp at it. Like insects drawn to a lit lightbulb we behave just as Monte Cristo’s naïve prey do whenever they find themselves in his presence. Surrounded by a majority of false and fleetingly boring fashion pieces, many of us admit to being unaccustomed to such a fine work of fabrics as this. And for a moment we, too, may feel overcome by it, overwhelmed - as singular and impressively odd as it is.

the Wiener Werkstätte: in an Eggshell

the Wiener Werkstätte (designer(s) unknown)

Leather Bonbon Eggbox

circa 1917 (?)

    An understatement in many respects, it is fortunate for us that no one has yet discarded this wonderful piece of leather work simply for its seemingly minimal or boring design, or for an ignorant understanding of its ‘limited usage’. This is an egg remarkably well kept, with its silky pillowed interior in mint condition (void of any irksome stains) and its gilded handiwork showcasing little chipping or fading. Considering that this has survived for nearly a century since its creation as well as that it is made up of such easily degradable and delicate materials, it is a wonder that this precious facet of the short-lived Wiener Werkstätte is only being sold for a mere 65 Euros. It is likely, however, that in its heyday the egg would have been no more expensive than its price today, as the Austrian Arts and Crafts movement who made it was one who passionately promoted hand-made works of art for the everyday home - therefore affordable, tasteful and useful, and brilliantly executed to boot. The movement’s imminent downfall, though, proved that such ideals were not yet fully appreciated by its targeted clientèle, let alone the more international market, and soon its avant-garde endeavours were overruled by the more eye-catching, sought-after and ostentatious name-branded works of art which were to blossom before the coming Second World War. 

     From a positive angle, it is arguably best that the movement experienced an abrupt end to its small window of expression because this motived its members to experiment and create to the fullest. Its end was felt far before its arrival, either through funding matters or the short supplies of materials and workers in relation to the demands and commissions of those who did value its work. As a result, each of the Wiener Werkstätte products were made with the utmost care and attention despite the risk of never being sold or even publicly seen. Once deemed too crafty or unworthy of true artistic merit, works like this leather egg now resurface to a continually maturing society, one riddled with pattern lovers and decorative art vintage collectors who are able to read more clearly the message engrained in such objects - that art, despite age, era or type, can be anything and everything so long as its expression is valued.

Langenthal Porcelain (Swiss)

Langenthal Porcelain (Swiss)

Circular Boîte with gilded and hand-painted exotic birds and flowers (no. 48)

circa 1940-60 (?)

     Grimy, spattered with a big blob of what looked like blueberry juice and carelessly placed between piles of plastic toys spread across an old bed sheet, this little box required only three francs to be freed from its pitiful surroundings. It was very warm from having been under the sun for hours, and it seemed all the more brittle as its lid rattled against its body while, for only a short time, I cradled it around in its crumpled fragment of newspaper. For the remainder of the day, and of course for the rest of my life, I was accompanied by a familiar feeling (and a relentless grin) of greedy satisfaction: one that follows along the lines of, ‘Excellent! At such a pathetic price I have snatched up a fortune of undervalued design and of unique, timeless taste - and it is mine, mine, mine forever! No one else may have it!’ To anyone other than the accustomed market dweller whose eyes constantly peruse even the darkest, dirtiest of corners for potential lost treasures, my thoughts undoubtedly seem irrational and a bit immature. 

     Let it be argued, however, that it is quite the contrary: that thoughts as mine are equal in ecstatic depth and child-like happiness to those of someone who, for example, savours over and over again the dry smell of uncooked rice; or who loves running their fingers through a dog’s wet, soppy fur; or who hikes as fast and as hard as possible until their leg muscles tingle and burn hottest; or who slowly slides their palms across piano keys or the bark of a tree, back and forth, back and forth, until the skin is nearly numb; or who chews through a piece of olive bread with a steady, stealthy clamp of the jaw so as to taste each little grain of yeast, each bubble of air and each fleshy bit of olive skin as best as they can, almost to know that bite of bread as closely as a friend or a lover. Only those who are selfishly narrow-minded presume foreign feelings as these to be silly and weird, even inhuman, and such people deserve little attention, if at all. Anything that causes even the smallest dosage of guilt, self-disgust, sudden happiness, embarrassment or deep sadness (to name only a few) are moments which give individuals definition. My reaction in finding and taking for my own this porcelain jewel is rather a benign example of a ‘moment’, but it would be crude to assume that it is in any way less impressionable.