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oirancooper-hewitt: After the disappointing visit to the Costume Institute at the Met, my expectations were low, but I wedged in a trip to see Fashion In Colors, a show imported from the Kyoto Costume Institute, on my last day (early-ish in the day, before Peter Berlin's photos and my smorkin' labbit squee). The costumes were separated by color, sort of: black, multicolor, blue and purple, red, yellow, and white, using costumes from the late 1500s through the late 1990s, though the majority were from the Victorian era onward. The black-on-black Victorian costumes were probably my favorites. The high fashion was for constant mourning, so much of the ornamentation of the late 1800s is an expression of texture contrasts: light-absorbing velvets, glittering jet swags, matte and shiny silks, chiaroscuro of braided trim. I have finally had to admit that I love the Victorian era. I delight in the morbid preoccupations and lurid color schemes of 1800s society. It's a pity that most contemporary interpretations manage to include goose stencils and dusty rose ruffles somewhere in the "Victorian" aesthetic.
an aside, eventually related: When I was about 7, my family started going to a historic farmhouse every few weekends so that my father could go fishing. Unlike most fishing trips, these were actually fun. The farm had been restored to a working state and had a full complement of animals, including goats. Yay, goats! Such crazy eyes! Anyway, besides the goats, my favorite thing was the attic of the house. There were no restrictions on where a person could go in the house, or what could be done. You could open drawers, go through boxes, etc., and no one would stop you. It was all arranged just-so, and I think the idea was that visitors were on the honor system to not disturb the tableaux, but clearly that was idealistically naive. I'm sure people stole things, or broke them, and in later years, there were barriers up and all sorts of no-touching rules. However, at that time, I was curious but also careful and even though I didn't take it upon myself to root through the attic and crack open sealed boxes, I did admire and put my grubby (if careful! respectful!) little hands on a vast number of Victorian vanity items - hair savers, in particular - as well as all the trappings of mourning: Hair jewelry, jet jewelry, and pieces incorporating both. Heavy wreathes of human hair. Really, an excess of hair bound with black ribbons. Black-bordered stationery (looking crisp and modern, actually) and calling cards. At that time, no one was able - or, considering my age, perhaps willing - to explain these items to me. Eventually, of course, I was able to research these artifacts and was, unsurprisingly, delighted by my findings.
Someday, as I told Pun and Lenore, I will have to write a book (and not the Smallville historic challenge story that this started out to be*) where I can dress people in different degrees of mourning, pick the hair out of their brushes to hoard away, poison them with patent medicines, and, in amongst the costume-fetishist sex scenes, figure out a way to incorporate stories of the beginnings of the F.D.A. Yes, I do mean Federal Drug Adminsitration. Honestly, it's very interesting.
Anyway, the black room had some amazing examples of death cult couture, as well as both a Vionnet and a Chanel that were both obviously of their era, yet completely modern. I've never been a fan of contemporary Chanel (i.e., Karl Lagerfeld's gimmicks), or even her classic suit (which came out in 1954, I believe), but the stuff from the 1910s-1930s always impresses me with its stripped-down beauty. While she would have displayed the pieces with ropes and ropes of gold chain and faux pearls, the seaming details are decoration enough.
I've seen photos of Vionnet dresses, but this was the first time I'd actually seen one up close. There were two more, both in the "white" room, and all three were...perfect. I don't know anything about her personality or work habits, but it seems she must have been equal parts engineer and artist. Years ago, there was a book about her work that reproduced examples of her pattern pieces, none of which looked much like any pattern I'd ever seen. All designed for the bias, and using as little seaming as possible to achieve a given effect. The book was too expensive for me at the time (a $100 book, nearly 20 years ago!), but my interest in it is renewed, so I'll have to start searching the out-of-print services.
Multicolor room displayed possibly the ugliest Armani dress ever: a strapless top with a full-ish skirt made from a woven "fabric" of velvet and organdy ribbons. The bodice seams - the ones everyone sees when you swan into the room, when you're standing talking with your champagne glasses in hand, when they're checking out your rack, etc. - were blatantly crooked on one side. My audio tour implied that this was a triumph of design and tailoring. Honestly, it was embarrassing to look at it. It was like a home-ec project that got maybe a C+. It was only the second room, and I was already starting to get annoyed with audio tour lady and her nonsense.
I knew previously that synthetic dyes were a Victorian discovery, but I was pleased to find that Mauve by Simon Garfield was out in paperback, so I was reading this during my trip, before I got to the Cooper-Hewitt. There were indeed examples of "Perkins purple" on display in the blue room. There were some beautiful pieces that offered opportunities to talk about additional advances in manufacturing and construction techniques, but the plaques and audio tour were both uninformative. A Christian Dior evening coat was described, but not the Fortuny gown beneath. Later, when I discovered that my long-dead, society-lady-crush, Tina Chow, was the former owner of these pieces, I became even more annoyed.
The collection was heavy on Junya Watanabe and Victor & Rolf designs for the modern examples, which I both understood and disagreed with. The Watanabe pieces were mostly from the polyester organdy honeycomb era, and the V&R were...unwearably theatrical. All of these pieces were interesting primarily for their construction which, of course, wasn't described.
I've been having curation issues lately. Maybe I'll talk about it more later.
Anyway, although I despised about half the garments on display, and I would have liked a lot more technical information, I really enjoyed the show. The catalog isn't worthwhile, but there is another (Taaschen, I think) book about the Kyoto Costume Institute collection that is worth having, and I'm going to have to order that. The Cooper-Hewitt shop is probably the best museum gift shop I've ever seen. Being a design rather than more general or art museum makes the objects for sale seem relevant even when they don't actually pertain to the displays in the galleries. Terrific design books, an interesting selection of artists' knicknacks and dishes, toys, the obligatory postcards, beautiful versions of practical things like pens and watches, and a selection of CDs which seem less related to design and more related to the tastes of the black-clad storetenders.
if you want something done right... Sometimes I know I'm being unreasonable. In fact, I like to think that I'm mostly aware of the real division between my expectations and someone else's competence or lack thereof. But, really: does a can of soup belong on top of a loose, crumbly bar of soap and a bundle of cilantro? Does yogurt #8 really belong by itself under a pile of bulk nuts, or should it be in the bag with yogurts #1-7? You really don't know what a customer will do with their 8 yogurts, but you can reasonably assume that they'll be putting all 8 in the same place, not strewing them about their house, right? So put them in THE SAME FUCKING BAG, why don't you? I have taken to bagging my own groceries whenever possible, but, thus far, if there's a bagger waiting, I let them do the job. Poorly. With breaking and squashing and too many bags. Last night, I got into the car and a glance into a bag filled me with such rage that I had to either 1) run back inside and scream at the teenage bag-boy until he cried and said he was sorry for living, or 2) rebag them myself so that I wouldn't get into an anger-fogged wreck on my way home. So, from the cramped discomfort of the driver's seat, I managed to unpack 5 bags and fit the contents into just 3 of them with nothing stupid in the arrangements, seething all the while.
This is related to my curation issues, too, I know.
I drove home composing an e-mail in my head to the manager of the Wild Oats store, wherein I was going to offer to give a bagging lesson to all of their dumbass teenage baggers. I think it's a better idea, though, to simply always do my own bagging from now on, even if there's someone available to do it for me. If I'm going to feel crazy, I want it to be about things that are actually worth the stress.
FriendQuest 2006!!! Some of you may have noticed that I frequently complain of the lack of friendshippy action for me here in Nashvegas. However, by roundabout way of the Mr.'s conservative and stuffy workplace, we have seen progress in this area, in the persons of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kateo and her Karsten, who invited us into their home on Friday. Although I mortified the Mr. with my propensity for what he terms "monologue," I don't think our hosts were too terribly put off by my ever-welling font of chattitude. Except for the fact that they live like grown-ups (i.e., they obviously vacuum, for starters), we seem to have much in common. Yay! Friends!
I will not stalk them. I won't, I tell you. And if they happen to find strange arrangements of perfectly-bagged groceries on their front porch, there's no proof that I'm the one who left them there..
* I hesitate to abandon this entirely, if not for the fact that it would easily become a seriously dense novel if I put everything I had a really perfect (IMO, of course) idea for into it. So many nice parallels and perfect fits to play with. However, if I'm writing a novel, it's not going to be about someone else's characters. Oh, wait. I am writing a novel. Maybe I should make it Victorian instead of contemporary....
an aside, eventually related: When I was about 7, my family started going to a historic farmhouse every few weekends so that my father could go fishing. Unlike most fishing trips, these were actually fun. The farm had been restored to a working state and had a full complement of animals, including goats. Yay, goats! Such crazy eyes! Anyway, besides the goats, my favorite thing was the attic of the house. There were no restrictions on where a person could go in the house, or what could be done. You could open drawers, go through boxes, etc., and no one would stop you. It was all arranged just-so, and I think the idea was that visitors were on the honor system to not disturb the tableaux, but clearly that was idealistically naive. I'm sure people stole things, or broke them, and in later years, there were barriers up and all sorts of no-touching rules. However, at that time, I was curious but also careful and even though I didn't take it upon myself to root through the attic and crack open sealed boxes, I did admire and put my grubby (if careful! respectful!) little hands on a vast number of Victorian vanity items - hair savers, in particular - as well as all the trappings of mourning: Hair jewelry, jet jewelry, and pieces incorporating both. Heavy wreathes of human hair. Really, an excess of hair bound with black ribbons. Black-bordered stationery (looking crisp and modern, actually) and calling cards. At that time, no one was able - or, considering my age, perhaps willing - to explain these items to me. Eventually, of course, I was able to research these artifacts and was, unsurprisingly, delighted by my findings.
Someday, as I told Pun and Lenore, I will have to write a book (and not the Smallville historic challenge story that this started out to be*) where I can dress people in different degrees of mourning, pick the hair out of their brushes to hoard away, poison them with patent medicines, and, in amongst the costume-fetishist sex scenes, figure out a way to incorporate stories of the beginnings of the F.D.A. Yes, I do mean Federal Drug Adminsitration. Honestly, it's very interesting.
Anyway, the black room had some amazing examples of death cult couture, as well as both a Vionnet and a Chanel that were both obviously of their era, yet completely modern. I've never been a fan of contemporary Chanel (i.e., Karl Lagerfeld's gimmicks), or even her classic suit (which came out in 1954, I believe), but the stuff from the 1910s-1930s always impresses me with its stripped-down beauty. While she would have displayed the pieces with ropes and ropes of gold chain and faux pearls, the seaming details are decoration enough.
I've seen photos of Vionnet dresses, but this was the first time I'd actually seen one up close. There were two more, both in the "white" room, and all three were...perfect. I don't know anything about her personality or work habits, but it seems she must have been equal parts engineer and artist. Years ago, there was a book about her work that reproduced examples of her pattern pieces, none of which looked much like any pattern I'd ever seen. All designed for the bias, and using as little seaming as possible to achieve a given effect. The book was too expensive for me at the time (a $100 book, nearly 20 years ago!), but my interest in it is renewed, so I'll have to start searching the out-of-print services.
Multicolor room displayed possibly the ugliest Armani dress ever: a strapless top with a full-ish skirt made from a woven "fabric" of velvet and organdy ribbons. The bodice seams - the ones everyone sees when you swan into the room, when you're standing talking with your champagne glasses in hand, when they're checking out your rack, etc. - were blatantly crooked on one side. My audio tour implied that this was a triumph of design and tailoring. Honestly, it was embarrassing to look at it. It was like a home-ec project that got maybe a C+. It was only the second room, and I was already starting to get annoyed with audio tour lady and her nonsense.
I knew previously that synthetic dyes were a Victorian discovery, but I was pleased to find that Mauve by Simon Garfield was out in paperback, so I was reading this during my trip, before I got to the Cooper-Hewitt. There were indeed examples of "Perkins purple" on display in the blue room. There were some beautiful pieces that offered opportunities to talk about additional advances in manufacturing and construction techniques, but the plaques and audio tour were both uninformative. A Christian Dior evening coat was described, but not the Fortuny gown beneath. Later, when I discovered that my long-dead, society-lady-crush, Tina Chow, was the former owner of these pieces, I became even more annoyed.
The collection was heavy on Junya Watanabe and Victor & Rolf designs for the modern examples, which I both understood and disagreed with. The Watanabe pieces were mostly from the polyester organdy honeycomb era, and the V&R were...unwearably theatrical. All of these pieces were interesting primarily for their construction which, of course, wasn't described.
I've been having curation issues lately. Maybe I'll talk about it more later.
Anyway, although I despised about half the garments on display, and I would have liked a lot more technical information, I really enjoyed the show. The catalog isn't worthwhile, but there is another (Taaschen, I think) book about the Kyoto Costume Institute collection that is worth having, and I'm going to have to order that. The Cooper-Hewitt shop is probably the best museum gift shop I've ever seen. Being a design rather than more general or art museum makes the objects for sale seem relevant even when they don't actually pertain to the displays in the galleries. Terrific design books, an interesting selection of artists' knicknacks and dishes, toys, the obligatory postcards, beautiful versions of practical things like pens and watches, and a selection of CDs which seem less related to design and more related to the tastes of the black-clad storetenders.
if you want something done right... Sometimes I know I'm being unreasonable. In fact, I like to think that I'm mostly aware of the real division between my expectations and someone else's competence or lack thereof. But, really: does a can of soup belong on top of a loose, crumbly bar of soap and a bundle of cilantro? Does yogurt #8 really belong by itself under a pile of bulk nuts, or should it be in the bag with yogurts #1-7? You really don't know what a customer will do with their 8 yogurts, but you can reasonably assume that they'll be putting all 8 in the same place, not strewing them about their house, right? So put them in THE SAME FUCKING BAG, why don't you? I have taken to bagging my own groceries whenever possible, but, thus far, if there's a bagger waiting, I let them do the job. Poorly. With breaking and squashing and too many bags. Last night, I got into the car and a glance into a bag filled me with such rage that I had to either 1) run back inside and scream at the teenage bag-boy until he cried and said he was sorry for living, or 2) rebag them myself so that I wouldn't get into an anger-fogged wreck on my way home. So, from the cramped discomfort of the driver's seat, I managed to unpack 5 bags and fit the contents into just 3 of them with nothing stupid in the arrangements, seething all the while.
This is related to my curation issues, too, I know.
I drove home composing an e-mail in my head to the manager of the Wild Oats store, wherein I was going to offer to give a bagging lesson to all of their dumbass teenage baggers. I think it's a better idea, though, to simply always do my own bagging from now on, even if there's someone available to do it for me. If I'm going to feel crazy, I want it to be about things that are actually worth the stress.
FriendQuest 2006!!! Some of you may have noticed that I frequently complain of the lack of friendshippy action for me here in Nashvegas. However, by roundabout way of the Mr.'s conservative and stuffy workplace, we have seen progress in this area, in the persons of
kateo and her Karsten, who invited us into their home on Friday. Although I mortified the Mr. with my propensity for what he terms "monologue," I don't think our hosts were too terribly put off by my ever-welling font of chattitude. Except for the fact that they live like grown-ups (i.e., they obviously vacuum, for starters), we seem to have much in common. Yay! Friends!I will not stalk them. I won't, I tell you. And if they happen to find strange arrangements of perfectly-bagged groceries on their front porch, there's no proof that I'm the one who left them there..
* I hesitate to abandon this entirely, if not for the fact that it would easily become a seriously dense novel if I put everything I had a really perfect (IMO, of course) idea for into it. So many nice parallels and perfect fits to play with. However, if I'm writing a novel, it's not going to be about someone else's characters. Oh, wait. I am writing a novel. Maybe I should make it Victorian instead of contemporary....
