Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Lisa Adams : Artist Something Beautiful

"In the absence of you and me there’s only nature--how she weaves around in such curious ways. She is a source of much inspiration but only to those who can be still enough to observe her features.

The hanging gardens were built by Nebuchadnezzar II for his homesick wife who longed for the trees and fragrant plants of her home country. See there, we can’t live without nature.

The mystery will always remain such, even if we think we’ve “got it.” In fact, what we’ve really got is a rage to live and that we share with all other forms of life.

Haven’t you ever watched birds? All they do is forage for snacks every waking moment, as is true with most creatures.

And then there’s Houdini’s wherewithal—something we humans have in common--the magic to form and change our lives. Most people stay the same by resistance.

Everything’s constantly changing and then poof! -- it’s all gone.

Ten seconds and counting is a familiar phrase from the public’s fascination with space launches. The launches were always a great thrill for me as a child, hoping they’d make it and then imagining where they’d make it to--to another planet, another world--when in fact the other world was right inside my head. My head was filled with the images only I could conjure, paving a safe way for me to simply be. And so began the lifelong quest to make art, working my way to the paintings of now. There’s no place like home."

Monday, March 29, 2010

Sunday, March 28, 2010

I Know, I Know ... But I Love My Earthshoes

Earthshoes. American chic and something edgey and humorous. Yet ... if you stop and look, well they really are black ballet slippers, classic with a wee twist and unbearably comfortable. I think Miuccia would like a pair. It's just a little stretch, very nice.

I like them a lot.


I know there's a theme here. Associations of older names doing something so surprising and good. Tom Binns for Disney Couture, Dockers flat front khakis for American Rag, Jimmy Choo and Ugg doing something (cannot imagine) for Fall '10, and frankly Target picks up more edge in its curated designer groupettes than Barney's. Rodarte, Jean Paul Gaultier, Liberty of London ... and that's just some. H&M has stuck with it and hoarders line up to pick through the rails, leaving with armloads of pieces that end up on eBay for twice the price.

Retailers working it. Love the energy and pondering the impact of internet retailing including magazine editorial pieces, so to speak, being partnered and sold as special groups at Gilt. and, online luxury gone global, had sales increases last year of 50%. Neiman's and Saks are leaner and recovering. Shifts happen and as the wonderful, brilliant and succinct Suzy Menkes noted - there's no going back.

Olvera Street, Blessing of the Animals, Do Kittens Need Sunglasses?

Olvera Street in Los Angeles is pumpkin candy, huraches, fresh fruits drizzled with lime juice and maybe a splash of salt or chili powder, hand-made candles, handwork and just a good, good Old Town kind of place in a square that was all there was. Heaped with children and families, strolling in and out of tiny cubbies of shops, stacks of sombreros next to home made tacquito stands next to a good winery, Saturday April 3rd will mark the 80th anniversary of the Blessing of The Animals. Many kitties and doggies will be on parade with their proud families, some turtles and birds and I don't understand why anyone would bring their snakes or lizards. Bedazzling in wee sunglasses, little pink outfits, fresh flower necklaces, a rosary or two, the blessing should keep everyone happy. It's a happy day.

Mine have nothing to wear and rather like dozing through parades. Perhaps they can have a good group nap and I'll run over to take pictures and eat pumpkin candy. The kittens and their boon companions the doggies, Papa Bear and Cheese (she is on a diet, sigh ... she has lost her girlish figure.)

Driving In Cars With Boys: A Side By Side Droll Story

It begins innocently, bumper cars. We sat side by side and Jackson slammed into other cars; grinning and stretching his legs to make it go faster. Faster and faster. We moved up to Go Kart World. Every city has one. Jackson's on his own in this one. This is a concrete track and there are other kids wilting in the sun. Not Jackson; he races and bangs and hollers, then heads for the line to do it again. His father tucks him inside a race car on the adult track, the fast track. Jackson's arms are in the air and he is yelling faster, faster. The last track is perfect too, just a bit of oil slick on concrete that makes delicious slides and Jackson is yelling, faster faster.

Jackson now has a learners permit in one hand and my car keys in the other. I suddenly remember NPR's story on the teenage brain (you know, the "what were you thinking" thing). This "That's because the nerve cells that connect teenagers' frontal lobes with the rest of their brains are sluggish. Teenagers don't have as much of the fatty coating called myelin, or "white matter," that adults have in this area."

 Sluggish teenage brain? Frontal lobes not fully connected yet? Car keys?

He's got that grin, the one that yells faster, faster. I think of reasons why we shouldn't do this and know I don't stand a chance. Of course he has to drive. He's responsible and ... suddenly I remember there is a radio in the car and if he doesn't like what's playing, he changes it. I don't know how to take the radio out. I scowl and nod. I have to do this. I'll be patient and kind but say things like - keep your distance, there is a speed limit, yes red brake lights means that the driver in front is doing something and you must slow down. He's grinning, relaxed. My feet are pressing the floor on the passenger side and doing nothing. And I'm thinking slower, slower.

 Foreshadowing much?

Smiles and laughs quickly turn to road rage and yelling when I am driving. I personally know for a fact that I am a wonderful driver. Just because I don't attempt to dodge imaginary objects and animals that she frequently yells for me to evade doesn't cease to feed my belief about how smooth of a driver I am. I have figured out several things while on the road, behind the wheel; the speed limit is a suggestion, stop signs are optional, I always have the right of way, and that yellow lights mean speed up. Just because I blast music, and yell in unnecessary situations doesn't mean that I'm not the best driver on the road. If everyone in the world drove like me, there would be world peace, no doubt about it. I was thinking about picking up some non core driving gloves, possibly red leather or purple suede just to show how seriously I take driving.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet, Tread softly because you tread on my dreams ...

At the Vatican, Up Against the World

Black Day headlines in our real world, click on link to read the full NYTimes editorial. I went to Catholic school and really was more afraid of the other appendage - wood ruler like a switchblade, coming from nowhere and slapping plump child hands for the terrible error of sloppy capital J's. The SugarDaddy lolly to the finest capital J stung more; dreadful cursive lessons. The nuns and priests, we had a monseigneur too, seemed vague and curiously large in heavy cosplay. The altar boys were pitied more because they had to master Latin, Latin not the really cool pig-Latin we thought was just for we the innocents, which was so much work.

There were hints of sexual thoughts. Callused palms were cool and earned the best way - upside down on the monkey bars, plaid skirt oops not on my mind. A cold "wear shorts, you'll tempt the boys" did confuse me. Why would the boys be tempted? By what? In second grade one's already looked and played doctor with a huh, what's that all about. There were no tales of bad, just bad mean waddling nuns that were all special and we were not. Escaped before middle school and I suppose that would be the dangerous years. Yearning and hormones and a Church that "understood," move the perverts to a fresh parish and maybe, just maybe, a weekend retreat. So sad that children seemingly come programmed with reluctance to yell and scream. Polite little children and it doesn't work for me.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Alexis Mabille Ballet Shoes All Grown Up

I admit these took my breath away. Totally ballet shoes gone bad from Alexis Mabille; dripping in irony after laughing through the amazing Bill Cunningham's video today starring cozy flats and vamping  heels  (link here) On The Street: Toe Dance. 

Ballet gone bad marked down a delicious 60% to 80 Euros, the bag 50% to 130 Euros - shipments to America directly from Paris (link here).

Tokyo Fashion Week Fall 2010/11

Tokyo ... confusing. The government is cutting back on its sponsorship of its fashion week and ending it in two years. Carine Roitfeld and Ana Wintour needed for a quick speaking to as they so elegantly did in Paris a few months ago.

Tokyo ... confusing. The street signs are in characters, not words. The addresses are based on lucky numbers. One waits in the line for the concierge to draw the map to your destination before you get into a taxi where the doors swing politely out for you and there may be lace doilies on the seat rests. The driver may be as confused as you are but it won't matter because the traffic, oh traffic, does not move forward often.

Tokyo ... confusing. Kimonos, Gothic Lolita, Ralph Lauren, Punk, Business Men, bullet trains, cherry blossoms and maybe the best tiny coffee (yes coffee, not tea) in the world served in ice cream parlors.

Tokyo ... confusing. Sushi is ever so much more costly than you'd think, bring big credit cards. Narita Airport is two hours from the heart of the city, bring patience. Drop your wallet and someone will polish it and return it without ever thinking of taking anything away. Noodle shops in the byways are divine and cheaper than our own Ramen. Food courts at the department stores seem to be miles long, overwhelming.

Tokyo ... not confusing. Rei Kawakubo, Issey Miyake, Yohji Yamamoto, Junya Watanabe ... this is a fashion town. G.V.G.V. by Mug, Theater Products, and Araisara shown below.

China Fashion Week Fall 2010/11

China can do it very nicely. Homegrown, not derivative, and there's a spark of lux and street. Something like Paris '68 with Yves Saint Laurent sketching madly in doorways during student demonstrations that seemed more like a parade of fashion. That was Paris, which is not France. This is China which we do not understand in that same way. More centuries of forbidden delights and extravagant opulence, secret places and peasant hard lives. In the mix of now and culture and a disdain for that which is not Chinese, fashion speak - even in Red - can't be ignored. It's a country of dreams and millionaires that collect art and cars. Luxury goods have permeated, China now 27% of that rare world: hefty. It looks as though the government stance frowning on the world of designer goods will take some time to understand and this event should become populated with the rest of the world. The pictures tell the story that I cannot: the home page is in Chinese characters - beautiful, obscure and dense.

Phished Bothered & Back

Phishing is so annoying and yes I was phished and spent a week prodding and poking twitter to please let me have my account, mine mine mine. There's a very friendly form, a little Aldous Huxley in its polite binary concern allowing a space for "I feel ____________________." I politely filled in polite words but my thoughts would have shaken a pixel or two. Protestations to computers and somehow in time I won.

Coffee and perusing with pleasure and thought some of the tweets I came across should be memorialized before they disappear into tweet heaven ...

NYers, come to Saks 5th fl today from 2-5 pm for a chance to win a free Helmut Lang outfit and your pic on R29! See you there...

Retail Consumers Shop Across Channels, In-Store And Online: This past holiday season, 88% of consumers… #luxury

Emanuel Ungaro Owner Trying to ‘Rationalize Costs,’ Not Sell Label: Emanuel Ungaro,
fall 2010. Yesterday the… #luxury

If I ever receive confirmation that the end of the world is imminent, I'm going to eat a bowl of Cocoa Puffs...with half-and-half.

Krazy glue is CRAZY. Just stuck my fingers together.

It's 30 degrees in New York city, so don't think we have to put away our winter hats and gloves. Wear gloves all year like Karl Lagerfeld.

I have a desire to do great things today. Feeling super motivated (and no I did not change my coffee brand)

Fashion Pros Share...Sometimes Too Much
Designers and Retailers Are Embracing Twitter, but They're Still Figuring out the Rules; Promotions, Pets and Nudity
Do insects have hearts?

Time for a petite croissant therapy...

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Ten Ways To or Eleven Favorite or Seven Essentials ... well

If essential lists could save the day, turn us into efficient and gracious people who had that much more time, style, opinions, gave a bit of a clue as to what to do/have/read/wear and there were ten times fewer .... I couldn't resist my own quirks posited here.

1. There's too many mascaras - toss them. Latisse, check the internet for the best prices, is amazing. That and a nice, soft darkish mascara such as Maybelline (I know,  huh?)  Full & Soft or Soft & Full.

2. My dermatologist - do get one, maybe that's number one of all things, that and health insurance, told me that you do not, repeat do not, get what you pay for when you pay the most for skin creams that claim magic properties and results. Get a prescription for Retin-A and glycololics which do magic*, a bit of laser for clarity and I'm not sure at all about IPL - one should see something besides a new appointment jotted down. La Mer is satisfying in the way that chocolate pudding is and do use it if you love the spendy creams. It's divine. But, sigh, remembering my dermatologist's advice, one could do as well, it's incredibly and divinely true, with Olay Regenerist products. If you love books, you probably already have Amazon Prime where nice boxes are sent to you second day air free for a year. What I didn't know was that Amazon sells just about everything and if you subscribe to Olay, they deep discount it another 15%. And so far no sales tax. Deep, deep savings for the next step.

3. Needle beauty - Radiesse, Restylane, Juvaderm, Botox - it's a gentle way to look like yourself. It is not, really not, necessary to do trout lips or essentially airbrush life away. I hate the silly names for wrinkley places - crow's feet, marionettes, bunny nose, naso-labial this or that. Killing that frown space between your brows should be a rite of passage and does not stop you from a quick eye roll or elevated brows. Crevices are for the earth, not your face. Fill away, lots of money, little red spots and maybe a little swollen. Ask your doctor if there's any way it can cost less, you love it but sigh, it's so pricey. Maybe.

4. Do not order those two samples of teeth whiteners that out-of-work mother of two claims changed her  life. The companies are under investigation for fraud and working your credit card statements into a frenzy; people have been billed hundreds of dollars for shipments that won't stop. Floss. Floss again.

5. Smile at everyone you run into unless they are scary and then look at the ground, have your keys in your hand and know where there are other people.

6. Don't buy into that "if you haven't worn it for a year, get rid of it." Oh please. There is no reason to get rid of things that are cared for and of reasonable quality. I have two Gary Graham chiffon dresses bought at 75% off. I'm not sure when I'll wear them again but I will. Examine everything once a month like CSI might. No stains, pulls, faint odors, shoes that look worn. Fix them, take care of them, no wire hangers and no dry cleaner poly bags. Those skinny velvet hangers are not as nice as fat satin padded ones, not at all. But you can have twice as much with the velvets. Everyone gets those 20% off coupons from Bed Bath & Beyond. Use them.

7. Most businesses will give you discounts for carrying around their plastic discount card. Use the same number and manually plug it in. Your wallet will look nicer.

8. Don't sit and fret. Wash your sheets and towels and see how soft they become.  Make a new bed up and imagine how divine it will be when you slide in. Strangely, anti-allergic feather beds and pillows are softer than the real thing and cost less. Divine.

9. Set up a tweetdeck and news/fashion/medical subscriptions. You don't even have to tweet but it's even faster and more select than your home page.

10. Do your own nails and toes but pay someone to take care of your pet's grooming needs if they weigh more than a roast chicken. They're your boon companions and you'll both feel happier.

*Maybe you don't need it but if you have skin problems, you and your dermatologist must know what to expect and what to do - including being incredibly careful about the sun; you will turn into a lobster with dry skin if you don't heed all warnings. Lighter the better. Even doctor's own magical potions can wreak havoc if you use too many products. Less is more, buy more clothes. Happiness.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Beautiful, Beautiful Swoon from The Burning House, New Image Art Gallery

Marsea Goldberg might not be the new director of MOCA but her feelings and insights will have influenced Mr. Deitch. Her New Image Art Gallery on Santa Monica Boulevard is singularly the most important contemporary gallery in California, maybe the United States. The Burning House show including a commodious sharing of walls, ceilings, cubbies by Swoon, Faille and David Ellis, every inch artfilled and stopping you in your tracks. Ms. Goldberg curated the show a bit later in the Netherlands at Museum Hetdomein Sittard.

Swoon may be diminutive but her art movement hardly. Wheat pastes on walls in New York, speaking at the Museum of Modern Art, her art collective crashed the 2009 Venice Biennale, a crew of thirty; her work, like Banksy's is in Chiapas, the West Bank, galleries including the aforesaid Jeffrey Deitch's former and on the street.

Exquisite, life size and fragile, some can be caught behind glass and hung with love.

New Image Art Gallery links here.

Swoon interview link here.

Antony Micallef Brutal Beauty

Well.  Clothes and art simply get bought, it seems to me.

Original Antony Micallef sold-out from Becoming Animal exhibition at Lazarides London Gallery.

Antony Micallef's own site is linked here.

Lazarides produced the Impure Idols show in Hollywood with lines around the block, selling out like cans of beans on sale, and many pieces to English collectors flown here for this courtesy of love of his art and an earlier case of weak dollar making English art sold here less costly than buying in their home country. Sharon Osbourne pointed and bought and the acquiring was tough. Dramatically hung by heavy chains and framed in gallery white, delivered a few days after the show. Mine is hung in the kitchen.

Jean Paul Gaultier Fall 2010/11 So My New Crush

I love fashion. My closet was once a tidy place, everything ordered by color beginning with black (well, it is mostly black), then navy, then white and and even a few prints and other colors. All hung facing front, shirts buttoned, skirt waists pinched so the hanger clip wouldn't leave marks, shoes pointed forward and boots stuffed with old socks. The other bits and pieces folded on shelves above the clothes.  Not so much now. Most mornings I reach in without opening the closet door, hoping I can pick a few things before the kittens glide in. A skirt, a tshirt, shoes, tights in the ancient Chinese cabinet from Soolip.

Jean Paul Gaultier I Love You.

My Favorite Manolo Blahnik Ever

Manolo's gold lizard mule dripping with baroque pearls. I don't remember the year it came out. I lived in it, cost per wearing down low. Jeans and a Rifat Ozbek embellished bolero over something black and tight. I thought about these today seeing an old friend's name on facebook. She wore hers with her wedding dress.

Heritage is a word thrown out today to come to grips with certain very expensive and fine things in these post-cataclysmic  days. I think it's true, some things that are wicked expensive should be cherished, acid-free tissue stuffed in the toe to keep the shape and a yearly visit to the shoe repair shop to be saturated with moisture and all nicks and wear whooshed away.

There's pages of books with illustrations and photos, even from Anna Wintour and Colin McDowell. A delicious read from each linked here ...

Don't Do What Shakespeare Said To Do To Lawyers But Do Be Very Careful When Dealing With, Gasp, Lawyers

Divorce is hard. No matter what. All the cliches, all the jokes, all true. The thing is that there's pain and failure, fear and tumultuous emotions, memories that morph back and forth, trying to find The Moment it all went bad. The Moment you gave up because that was the less bad choice. Things  get divided even if you both think the silver is yours and there's no sentiment to it; just the facts please. It's almost done, lawyers are on it, retainers paid. Nodding helplessly at the size of the retainer, the  hourly fees that begin at 350., trusting that this stranger will help us navigate treacherous places and make it all move forward to the point that my someday-to-be-former husband and I can say we're friends, it's amicable, that there won't be our own private War of The Roses. Here's my story ...

My lawyer is with a rather good firm and I am looking at an officer of the court: I trust him. He tells me he'll need to work with a forensic accountant. Of course, that makes sense. There's no emotion in columns of numbers. They both send me statements on heavy paper with a watermark, expensive paper: there are six or seven pages  itemizing quantities of work and time. I shift a little  in the months to come, wondering why phone calls are billed at quarter hour increments, even one I'd made just to ask if he was running on time. A separate statement for costs.   If only opposing counsel were reasonable, my lawyer sighs, glancing  at his flat screen somewhere to the left of me to check the score of a baseball game. There will be more fees for subpoenas and there should be a deposition. The simple efficient division of property, the easy agreements, the efficiency of time ... that will not happen. It will be months before the now team of lawyers can look at everything and the bills will be for more than the one lawyer, who promised this wouldn't happen. The forensic accountant is well-known; my divorce will not be memorable to him. He's gathered and copied paper that will fill eighteen bankers boxes but somehow he is missing four pages and can't conclude his due diligence, a phrase that made him shake his head. The sixth month and the team of lawyers, paralegals and research assistants as well as the forensic accountant's firm are very busy and can't get to the paperwork received. Dave, the lawyer who once lived in my guesthouse, tells me to find another firm. The forensic accountant has stamped "draft" on a few worksheets, needs more times and money to begin the reports I need; drafts of reports will be considered "hearsay."

The new silver-haired lawyer is even more kindly, comes to my house and promises to resolve this within six to eight weeks.  "It's gone on too long and I knows what you need." He leaves with the retainer tucked into his polished black leather briefcase. "Six weeks" he said, but at the sixth month,  he tells me he needs more money. I am "unreasonable" when I  protest; monthly statements were mailed to the wrong address.  He is fired in the eleventh month, and still I have not been inside a courtroom. There are people who have been divorced, married and divorced again. This is the third year; the boxes and boxes of papers are no longer timely. Current paper is required.

The next lawyer seemed to be a kindly elderly lawyer and best of all - he shook his head at all the things that had not been completed and said he would do it for a flat fee. That's all he wrote and we signed it. When his eight months were over, his fraudulent taking of funds meant for his Client Trust Account, I discovered that he had done something rather serious that warranted the blackest mark before losing a license - Public Reproval. I sent away for his records, presuming one thing and sitting down hard as I read pages and pages. Arrested for making a false police report, but not just a nice ordinary one, one that alleged his having and then not having missing sex tapes involving some members of the loose Reagan Kitchen Cabinet. The NY Times sent an investigative reporter to his trial and discovered that he had never been the dean of a small law school as claimed. Five years of probation and five years of mandatory psychiatric care and back to work, even working with his city's lawyer referral service. 

 I thought I might be able to resolve this with opposing counsel myself; after  listening to him efficiently tell me why I should resolve it his way, he told me I needed an attorney. I thought of those small, wiry dogs that yip not bark, jump excitedly and pee a little each time when I hung up: he was right. I just wanted this to end.

My old friend Dave sent me to someone who listened to the whole story and sat back. As it turned out, my experience was not the standard and she couldn't help me. Just counting the boxes would overwhelm but she knew someone and just maybe ...

She asked questions, told me what she needed to see, and then did what she said should be done. It was over in under three months, four years after it had begun.

The forensic accountant who had collected all that paperwork that filled eighteen bankers boxes called me today and wondered if he could have a check. It seems he continued billing me after he was fired. 

My lady lawyer makes a very nice cappuccino. She sat back and said very gently this could have been avoided with a simple prenuptial agreement; she does those too. If you are in Southern California, you would be well served to meet her. Send me a private message if you need an attorney you can trust.

And please leave a note if you're suddenly worried that the rather famous lawyer sitting across from you could have been one of mine.

Oh No It's Been A Week But There Is Always Hope

The patient and efficient Lucy Beer came to help clean up blogging messes, bad formats and why won't things just line up properly. It's been a wonderful guess as to where pictures will end up and why the preview doesn't always show the post as it will be sent out. It's a mystery to me but she had it all fixed rather quickly.

I had lots of ideas and couldn't wait to begin posting. A tiny little cough had begun and by morning when I stayed in bed, all my ideas were gone. I hoped and I hoped but couldn't hope a cold away. 

Sleeping a few days away and then coffee and email catch-up. Sunny and 80 degrees and Happy Spring. Good day for a car wash, getting rid of all those rainy polka dots and windy day grime, hearts and please wash me lazily swirled into the mix. Laundry too, always a good time to remember the sultry fragrances of sun and lemon, fresh washed and maybe dragged past lavender. 

I remember the big galvanized tubs of lavender at Joseph's in London and how breathtaking it was against good wood floors and seriously pretty designer clothing. I remember how kind Joseph was, helping a younger Kenzo Takada with his displays and taking pictures. Joseph Ettedgui, with his brothers Franklin and Maurice helping, was everywhere. Shops in Paris, London, New York and a small wholesale collection. He shipped beautifully and maybe his twelve-ply cashmeres sold out in a heartbeat because of his hand. Not that hand knits and winter weight cashmere was essential for Sunset Plaza but his things were. I guiltily kept one, a black oversized cardigan. It was inches thick when I folded it - a 2,000. heirloom.

Angelo DiBiase was in New York for Thanksgiving and his almost unintelligible command "Mad Darling, it's cold here. Come." There was a seat on an early Thanksgiving flight and it was really cold. I wore my Joseph cashmere over black leggings, Manolo black kid ankle boots that had colored gemstones sewn on the cuff, a black LeGarage chiffon mans shirt over a Wolford black bodysuit. 

Angelo and I skipped in the cold and dashed into Empire Diner, his fave. A quick coffee and a short walk to his friend's loft. A garlicky wine smell as we walked in, kiss kiss and children on little trikes rampaging. We ended the night with Bougelais Nouvelle and hugs and happiness. I flew home the next day, too happy to be tired. 

Joseph would have laughed.

Friday, March 12, 2010

There Are Mistakes At Fashion Shows

"We're blacklisted," Carine Roitfeld answered with an incredibly elegant shrug. "It's too bad, it's a beautiful house and it's French. I hope it's not forever." And so the impossibly feline and rock star gorgeous editor of French Vogue was not seated at Balenciaga.

Rounding out this inchoate fashion moment are the fees paid by rather important fashion houses for the appearance of celebrities in the front row. Rihanna and Beyonce accept fees over 75,000. and appearances by Mary Kate and Ashley, Julianne Moore, Blake Lively and Hilary Duff begin at 40,000. Robert Duffy tweeted before Marc Jacob's Fall 2010/11 that there wouldn't be a row of celebrities. It would be a good thing in this quirky right here right now retelling of fashion speak to end this entirely.  Oh please ...

Alexander McQueen, God Save Mr. McQueen, broke custom, as was his wont, and streamed his show live last year. It became ordinary for Fall 2010/11, some streaming to your iPhone and Burberry taking it to 3D. I love the doyennes who sat through show after show taking notes in spiral-bound notebooks, fought for a few more inches in their publication, climbed staircases to apartments on the outskirts of Paris to find Azzedine Alaia, and waited politely backstage to get the designer's perspective. 

I've been in the front row several times and really only comfortable in my hotter seat at a few early John Galliano shows. Incidents happen in the front row, photographers angling for a better shot and down went an editor. Stage whispers of "down, down" and a photographer in rumpled clothes that should have been changed will glance and say a dirty word in an unknown language. Late shows and sleepy front row, smiles plastered and stifling a yawn which only spoke about it being long days and nights of work, nothing about the love one might feel for the designer. Sometimes the show was a catastrophe, all good taste overtaken by the rude hand of a new stylist and there you are, good manners requiring that you stay and stay and stay. The back row and standing room only immediately behind it were as desirable; the only place one could fade out without retribution. 

Designers and editors have the memory of a savant elephant. Michael Cody's spats and ignore - DO NOT put in Women's Wear or W - were catty fun and maybe the designer withdrew all ads in a huff and puff. Giorgio Armani and Bill Blass were shortlisted and one frantically hoped there could be a reconciliation in all its rush of generous coverage. Michael Cody once put his oversized white napkin down at Chez L'Ami Louis to observe my eyes shut, this is Nepenthe and Colombe d'Or or heaven, devouring of grilled lamb chops. "You are a good eater" and returned to his guests. Maybe that meant eating was the new black. I asked for more bread and, quelle horror, butter.

Suzy Menkes did not dismiss the bloggerati this season as written by fuming bloggers in defense of something known mostly to themselves and with the perspective of a season indulging their presence at shows. "It can't go back," she said. "It's out there now." 

WWD's "Streaming The Future" checked in with the lot of designers who matter and a sprinkling of  retailers who matter. The collective response was a desultory of course the internet but the bigger concern, now that shows can go from there to right here right now, is how to condense the time and have the clothes on demand. And who dreamed up the idea of bathing suits in December and wool coats at the end of July. There was a recession and shopping habits, wardrobes and lunch, are mere glamorous memories. It wasn't all that decadent; one bought school clothes in August in bulk, done and thank you.

 Carine makes my kittens look fussy. Pure fashion sex and divine. Carine Roitfeld: Album of A Woman In Fashion ... Rizzoli release available for pre-order in the U.K.  Hello Amazon. 

And if you can't quite get enough of Ms. Roitfeld, there is the wicked good Just for the moment, my black (well yes) Balenciaga motorcyle bag will rest on the upper shelf of my closet, stuffed with tissue to keep it's sensuous shape.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Carmen Einfinger's The Scent of Color: Something Beautiful

“There will be a feeling of harmony beauty and playfulness, which is central to my desire to create art. At first glance, the park may evoke graffiti, but upon closer inspection it will reveal a more orderly and primal way of scribbling and coloring to create a fanciful dream-like world, an imaginary city where diversity is a cause for hope and creative expression,” said Einfinger.

So beautiful, so happy, Ms. Einfinger's world of color and living things. Can you imagine walking in this park ... your lemonade would have to be pink. Happy place.
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