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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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 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.
Fashion note: the denim jacket worn by this viewer works perfectly with the wool.