Lola’s hats
This winter, I am wearing a wolf fur hat with a thriftstore sheepskin coat. Not only it is warm, this hat also conveys very well the dual nature of the humankind. Even those who identified themselves as 100% wolf always have an inner sheep deep inside of them. And beware of those who appear to be mostly sheep.
Like everything else, it’s a question of balance. But still, you can’t wear a wolfskin hat all the time. It gets smelly when exposed to too much rain, and I’ve been told it’s not good for your hair.
One recent sunny afternoon in Bushwick I was taken by my friend Corinne, who runs Mc&Co this great store in Williamsburg where I got my tote bag from, to Lola Ehrlich’s studio on the top of this industrial building with an incredible view of the distant Manhattan skyline.
Lola is the designer behind John’s distinctive hats.
There were hats of all styles, shapes, and colors hanging in bunches like grapes from the ceiling, or on racks like fruits growing on trees. There were hats on top of hat boxes, hats on suitcases, hats on stacks of second-hand books, and even hats on the floor.
It was like one of Maira Kalman’s drawing coming alive, a secret cavern where treasured hats are stashed. And they were all speaking to me, like funny characters, under no principle of certainty.
Unlike helmets, designing hats is a poetic thing. Lola’s parents were so truly bohemian that they wouldn’t allow their daughters to go to school, probably in fear of seeing them turn into squares. As a teenager Lola trained as a ballet dancer and it can be still be seen in the way she stands, which sometimes looks like a feather balancing on top of a hat.
I wanted to pick up an orange rabbit fur hat, as an occasional substitute for the wolf fur, but without a word Lola gently handed me a brown felt fedora.
After all, I’m a self-taught hipster, and can still make mistakes.
Bowling at Tom Sachs
A few months ago I was taken to a little party at Tom Sachs‘studio by my friend Glenn.
We were greeted by Tom, wearing desert fatigue and his signature grey t-shirt. If you didn’t know it was him, his name was handwriten on a piece of tape stuck on his chest: Tom. He then wrote our names on tape –Unknown for me- and stuck them on our jackets. Everybody had his name written on tape, like a convention.
If you’d never been to Tom’s studio, it’s 30% hardware store, 60% Art gallery, and the remaining 10%, a miscelleneous mix of accounting, archives and research. The hardware space also includes a small kitchen with a lot of funny signs on the fridge, cornflakes, bananas on a plate, etc..,which could make it all an installation piece that could be sold at Gagosian, except that it’s a real kitchen, meaning a working one. At least, it looks like one. Everything else in this room was also funny, and almost endless fun to look at: Tom’s tools, Tom’s chainsaws, Tom’s cameras, and Tom’s classic Hello Kitty sculptures on a shelf.
I had went there many years before, also taken by Glenn when, I remember, only the hardware space existed. It was for the launch party for Tom’s Chanel guillotine. People were drinking and talking, not paying that much attention to the life-size guillotine with the famous fashion house logo. Then Tom brought a pork roast he had cooked, and placed it where you were supposed to put your head when you were given a death sentence. Tom pulled on a rope to release the knife and it came down with a brief and sinister whistle that not only cut the roast, but the metal tray on which it was presented. I remember juice splashing on people around it, particularly on a romantic, pale, and dark haired young woman, dressed in 1930’s vintage who looked like she could be a poet, or at least someone with a tormenting interest in the Art world.
Shortly after this semi-private event, Tom’s work became more and more famous, while Chanel celebrity remained more or less the same.
DJ Leslie
At this recent party, we found out that the studio has a basement, where unused parts and remains of installations are stacked along the walls. Tom had also installed a make-shift bowling lane, and a few guest were playing.
It made the same thundering noise when the ball rolled and hit the pins, just like a real bowling.
I gave it a try, and when throwing the wooden ball, I realized it was metaphor for artistic success: bowling over the Art world !
Although I never play bowling, I knocked over all the pins on my first attempt.
- Is bowling big in France ? asked me Andy.
Andy playing bowling
Philosophy on-the-go-go at Indochine party
Andy and Jean-Michel
I like to think that once upon a time at Indochine people like Warhol or Basquiat were sitting in these very same booths, beneath the banana leaf murals and eat the very same delicious entries. (Althought I don’t know if they were really into eating).
It used to be a place for artists, my friend Glenn told me.
Carine, André, and Anna
Then the artists were joined by the Fashion people, but as he pointed out, nowadays, Art and Fashion are more or less the same.
And it’s true that people who think of one at the exclusion of the other are usually not very funny, or much artistic. This works both ways.
Friday night was Indochine 25th anniversary party and I skipped a philosophy lecture to arrive early.
The charming Nadine, orchestrating the guests.
Some people in amazing costumes were already waiting anxiously outside the tent, and then once inside we queued in front of the stairs into the restaurant where most of the action seemed to happen. At irregular intervals the charming Nadine would appeared from behind the curtains, and with the magnaninous power of a blond goddess saved a few human beings by letting them in.
The tenebrous Lady Fag
Once saved, I elbowed my way to the center of the booming crowded room. But most of the guests were too gorgeous –or too tall, as is the case with some of the superstar drag queens – to be pushed on the side, and I finally had to retreat in the basement bar and dance floor, which some insiders refers to as Under-chine and had not seen open for decades.
Todd’s straw hat state of destruction is far more sophisticated than one would thought.
Casey, one of the best dressed men of the night, was wearing a thrift store $10 suit
The elegant and cool Jean-Marc, hero of the party.
The amazing Sophie-Anne, from Paris.
With a moustache, Hamish revealed an entirely different personality.
Gabi and Adi wearing their own extraordinary designs
I’m not so much of a dance person. I would rather read a book, or talk to someone, so I went up to the go-go dancer poles and asked one of the prettiest go-go girls if it would bother her if we had a little chat while she was working. I had to shout over what I recognized as an old B52s tune, without the certainty to be heard. She shooked her head, but it was not clear what the answer was.
From Art, or Fashion, I insisted, what do you think is… It seemed she meant go-go dancing is an Art form, like everything else.
For those who missed the party, a commemorative book has just been published by Rizzoli : Indochine, Stories, Shaken and Stirred. The limited edition available at Indochine even comes with a free set of labelled paper napkins and two pairs of chopsticks.
Will Bakery
Will with his bakery apron and “Candy Clouds” painting.
Will Cotton is a painter, and when he is not making his voluptuous and airy paintings he bakes delicious sweets and cakes, which transformed the viewer in an eater–able at least to satisfy his desire to be locked in the Ice Cream Cavern, bite into a candy cloud (or the irresistible tender parts of a pale model), by bringing home a real meringue or a pink macaron.
For this purpose, he has set a pop-up bakery in the back of Partners and Spade.
Rose and all the aids were wearing funny diadems
I know many tedious installation artists who, if they’d indulge themselves in doing something else, would rather built a mock-up hardware store in a museum space and sell nails and bolts. The more theorical ones would install a video recording studio, where viewers would be encouraged to tell shameful stories.
The more socially and polically concerned artists would forced visitors to sip a full bowl of a soup made with heterogeneous ingredients ten thousand viewers from various communities would have been invited to bring.
An emanciated, successful young artist from east London, with feverish eyes, dark long hair, and an animal skin dress would lead a taxidermy workshop, with birds and mice found in an abandoned barn covered with graffiti.
And think of the Art some full-time patissiers would do… Gloomy neo-expressionism? Post-Koons? Naïve-Peyton? One thing is sure, the most hazardous attempts would be if they tried to imitate Will…
(Will Bakery is up on 2 more Sundays, November 15th and 22nd)
Bill and the pumpkins
At the Farmer's market
So I went to the Union Square farmer’s market this morning. I really don’t like going there so much, but I thought it’s the only place I could find rhubarb this time of the year. The place is a bit ridiculous: people have the same exaggeratedly receptive, wide-eyed expression as when they are walking into a Chelsea art gallery, as if buy smoked bacon from the Flying Pig Farm has the same authority of an Art critic selecting a new artist’s monograph. Not to mention those couples who block the path with dogs and baby-strollers. They spend hours trying to single out the perfect carrot, or the most organic apple pheasant sausage for their non-vegan dog.
It’s worse during Fashion Week, when young models with rubber boots, infinite legs, and big knitted sweaters hold bunches of fresh-cut flowers tightly against their chests, as if they were in the working garden of a Scottish estate or a Moscow suburb dacha, straight out of a Tim Walker story for Casa Vogue.
Bill's blue eyes
Although this week was not Fashion-Anything, I immediately spotted the famed cobalt blue of Bill Cunningham’s work wear jacket. He was strolling down the crowded stands, looking equally at humanity and vegetables, with the same gentle and amused smile.
It was so comforting to see such an original and authentic character as the legendary Bill, with his discreet 35mm Nikon, in such an artificial surrounding !
Bill Cunningham and his 35mm Nikon
I asked him if I could take a snapshot, he graciously obliged, and then slipped away after a little pat on my shoulder.
Bill's smile
Minutes latter, as I was plotting my escape route through the back of a farmer’s stand when I saw Bill suddenly aiming his camera at a stack of pumpkins that was in front of me. For a second, I saw him have that unemotional stare of a predator, while shooting at light speed. Most fashion celebrities and famous socialites photographed by Bill are probably too self-focused to have ever noticed this cat-catching-a-mouse stare; they would have felt like an ordinary orange pumpkin.
Sunday in Dumbo
Dogs, too, like to dress as hipsters
On my way to the Flea Market in Dumbo, I came across a little Halloween dog parade on the Promenade of Brooklyn Heights.
Costumed dogs parades are to Fashion what Outsider Art is to Art sold at Gagosian.
Graphic black & white
Pumpkin all-over
A studious jury
Banal entries
A poodle doesn't need a lot to look gorgeous
These nervous greyhounds remind me of young, timid Fashion editors
But outsiders are no less committed than professionals. They believe so much in their creations that they proudly walk next to their models instead of hiding backstage to only appear at the very end.
Rottweiller in satin cape
There were several photographers documenting the event, dangerously crouching at a pit bull jaw’s height. You might check for photos and a full report on Style dog com (skip this ad).
The Alice Cooper wig gives this pit bull a sweet look
I then skated down to the Flea market. There was a beautiful autumn light, which made the vintage cars in the parking lot looked even more like Stephen Shores. If you can’t own a print, maybe you can drive an original.
I was in search of a vintage peacoat for the winter when I saw a great horse theater mask. It had a patient, melancholic expression, with a hint of craziness, just like a real horse.
Maria and Mark at the Flea market
I was contemplating the avant-garde productions in which the horse mask had been used 70 years ago, when I bumped into Maria Cornejo and Mark Borthwick. They have the free spirit, illuminated faces of real artists, and outshined everybody else around them with natural fantasy. Mark was carrying a small, carved dark wood canoe he has just bought. It seems just like the right accessory for his pictures, or music.
Maria and Mark
Wearable Art
The extraordinary plaided Ludwig Kuttner and Beatrix Ost contemplating a work on paper by Greg Lauren
It was at the Take Home a Nude benefit auction that I came accross Greg Lauren’s work: an oil-on-paper, 3-dimensional jacket with tie and shirt that stand alone in the middle of the Sotheby’s exhibition room.
Greg is outstandingly handsome for an artist – as an actor, he would never been cast to play one- but what intrigued me most was the jacket he was wearing. Something that looked like a ragged blanket with a stream cut, and scraps of paper and various material sewn onto the fabric like a collage piece.
I went to visit him a few days later at his gallery space at the corner of Wooster and Grand. A place that I immediately identified from a distance a month ago as an upcoming Yohji store, with half opened crates, and mostly black silhouettes.
It’s also where Greg had set up his studio, surrounded by a forest of mannequins bearing his works.
On front row, from left to right: Fringe, The Marine, "the Boxer, and Superman.
The various style paper jackets and coats evoked the remains of an abandonned house, where clothes left hanging have been dried in the shape of the wearers who have long ago vanished. Upon closer inspection, some pieces have a darker, battered and stepped-over texture, with faded comics colors slightly appearing from underneath, as if they had been unearthed from a junkyard.
In a general way our clothes determine us, and will survive long after: no matter if it’s a dude’s long gone plaid shirt from Uniqlo or a guitar hero’s leather fringed jacket.
Only a very few of us has the power to influence their own clothes.
Greg wearing the Mistake Jacket
Greg also does real jackets that can be worn. But they are more like art pieces that can be worn. There is a “Paris jacket” with sewn-on torn euro bills. Or the “Mistake jacket” with the Mistake explanation hand-written inside on a piece of paper. I’m not obsessed by practical details, but I brought this up to Greg: How do you clean them? You can’t. You don’t bring an art piece to the cleaner, or wash it yourself. You keep it as it is.
I like the idea of never cleaning the fabric, so it gets even more personalized by stains and time. Like a hipster.
Fashion bum, or the Marni Mystery
I was walking down Mercer this morning when I thought I saw a fellow hipster standing in the shadow. He was holding a number of Marni shopping bags, some of them hanging from a walking stick carried on his shoulder. His hood and oversized beads necklace gave him the look of a mystic, a bit of a cool pilgrim.
I then realized he was pausing for two Fashion Beings: a photographer and a stylist who were giggling in excitement. Were they accessorizing the hobo or was it a hipster dressed as a surreal bum? Or were they stealing ideas from a true hip bum?
On a stairway was a scattered stack of various junks and discarded shopping bags from the nearby Marni store: the bum’s temporary belongings, but could very well have been the female stylist’s ammunitions. She kept picking up new bags to try them on the model.
Finally, she brought a little white dog which might have been the bum’s own.
May be the dude was and old friend? May be he was a well paid bum or a supermodel working for free? My guess is that they were trying to make a political Fashion statement, something they wouldn’t have done for a serious magazine.
Perhaps, it was purely visual.
A blond sculptor from Oslo
Art lovers savoring works by David Hominal
I took these snapshots at an opening a month ago at Gavin Brown enterprise .
“Europaïsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft” (please double check the gallery web site for the exact spelling) featured 3 European artists, among them, Ida Ekblad, an artist from Oslo.
Ida Ekblad in front of "Dusty Chimes of Chrome"
Ida is pretty, and speaks with a slightly hoarse voice which reminds you that none only she’s a poet but also a sculptor, working with metal parts she gathered from junkyards. For me the sculptures evoke, in their colors, early Chamberlains from when the cars were painted in pale blues, off-whites, beiges and yellows (which looks great with rust).
Ida was wearing big headphones around her neck, so there was no pressure to engage her in conversation. If you said something uninteresting or dull she could just listen to her music.
Other works by Ida can also be seen at The Journal Gallery, in Brooklyn.
"Royal Festival Hall"
Artists talk
David Hominal's"Windows",encaustic on canvas, sheeps wool.
Fashion note: the denim jacket worn by this viewer works perfectly with the wool.
Repair kits
On board Governors Island ferry
Last week in Manhattan, when the Art crowd jostled into a thousand openings in Chelsea, I sailed off to Governors Island for the inauguration of Pioneers of Change , a festival of Dutch Design, Architecture and Fashion. After a short crossing from the southern tip of Manhattan we landed on this strange island, with abandoned military and administrative buidings and ghost housing for the officers. The sky was grey, about to rain, and there was something a little sinister in the air, which suddenly made me fear of being taken into custody and held in an endless quarantine.
Amazing knitting installation
Eleven identical former officers houses were the scene of installations and workshops by Platform 21. It was funny to think of the regulated life that had probably ruled those rooms where Christien Meindertsma’s giant knitted works now lay on the wooden floor.
More wool
Repairing was the main theme. In one of the houses’ kitchen, a calm blond woman was mending plates she had purposely broken by gluing slightly misplaced parts in an artful arrangement.
In another room, a young artist was selling repair kits for damaged walls with yellow, red, and blue tapes to be applied in Mondrian patterns.
No pig food stains but ingenious repair
But best repairing kit was a wool filler for mending holes in textiles, by designer Heleen Klopper.
Upgrade for classic British look with elbow patches
I immediately used it to fix the elbows of my old, worn-out jacket from the Sydney thrift shop.
And then I repaired a sweater I had brought with me.
My old jacquard revamped
Night was falling, and I returned on the ferry. In the hollow sky, and disappearing high into clouds and darkness, were the two sihouettes of the Twin Towers, drawn from memory by laser projectors.
11 comments