Fashion changes rapidly, but there are some motifs and inspirations considered as timeless, such as flowers. Some shades only last for one season, but not a season goes by without a floral motif appearing at some point in at least one collection.
Symbols of rebirth or at times disturbing fleurs du mal, flowers keep on returning for one main reason - with their beautiful colours, extraordinary and at times disturbing or bizarre shapes, they are nature's gift to mankind and they are also elegantly (and effortlessly) attired (remember the line from the Gospel: "Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these").
It is obviously possible to go down the simple or banal path and just come up with colourful floral prints, but the best designers can achieve unusual and innovative effects, by focusing not on flowers in general, but on one flower in particular or on a family of flowers. In this post we will look at two designers who moved from the Araceae family.
This family of monocotyledonous flowering plants is characterized by a spadiceous inflorescence accompanied or enclosed in a large calicular or spatula bract (spathe). The leaves can vary considerably from species to species. One interesting characteristic of the Araceae is that many plants in this family are thermogenic (heat-producing), the high temperature attracts insects but also helps to convey the scent further.
Among the flowers of the Araceae family there is the Zantedeschia or calla lily that, consisting of a spadix that has a male upper part and a female lower part, is characterized by a cornet shape. The name "calla" comes from the Greek "καλός", meaning noble, beautiful or handsome.
"Kαλός" is the perfect adjective to describe a dress from the mid-'80s inspired by the calla flower and created by the late Italian designer Cinzia Ruggeri.
Part of Ruggeri's A/W 1985-86 collection, the silk and synthetic fiber dress in this post was entirely constructed with white fabric calla lilies, smaller for the bodice and with their heads towards the wearer as if they were a bouquet, and gradually larger for the full-skirt composed of flowers hanging upside down.
While you may not realise it if you superficially look at the dress, the gown is regulated by two principles – repetition and variation, as the fabric flowers are repeated, but they also vary in size. It is a joyous gown, in which you could easily picture yourself dancing all night long, but it could definitely be a wedding gown for a femme fleur bride in love with life, irony and camp impertinence.
Ruggeri also designed shoes inspired by the calla lily: manufactured in Italy by Linea Lidia, they featured the calla motif around the heel. The main difference between the dress and the shoes was the fact that the former was made with Zantedeschia aethiopica, that is the calla lily with a white spathe, while the shoes, in black leather, featured a white calla lily, or more unusual colour combinations, with a yellow spadix and a metallic green/black or cerulean blue/black lily.
After being part of a retrospective about the designer in Rome, these creations will be included in the exhibition "Cinzia says…" on from November at London's Goldsmiths CCA, so you may be able to see these designs in person if you happen to be in the UK later on this year.
Now let's move onto another flower belonging to the same family of the calla lily – the anthurium. Also in this case the name comes from the Greek and in particular from the terms ἄνϑος, "flower", and ουρά, "tail", referring to the spadix. The spadix of the anthurium is often elongated into a spike (even though it can also be globe-shaped or club-shaped). Beneath the spadix there is the spathe, a type of bract that varies in shape.
Often used in fashion for its beauty, the anthurium at times caused controversy: in September 1978, the Cultural Section of Cologne-based Photokina, the world's biggest trade fair for the photographic and imaging industries, refused to feature some images by Guy Bourdin, deeming them "in bad taste".
Among them there was also a picture of four naked women with a strategically placed anthurium flower (Vogue, 1977, View this photo), the spadixes of the flowers looking like erect penises, but also evoking hermaphroditism (the anthurium is also an hermaphrodite flower containing male and female flowers).
This season anthurium flowers also appeared during Paris Fashion Week, first as a decorative accessory on Ludovic de Saint Sernin's S/S 23 runway (View this photo), then they took centre stage at Loewe's.
The invitation to the runway show was a real anthurium, while a giant fiberglass anthurium flower grew from the floor over the runway set. Loewe's Jonathan Anderson was fascinated by this flower, that he described in the show notes as "a product of nature that looks like an object of design," but he was also interested in playing with the real/fake dichotomy.
In Ruggeri's case we looked at repetition and variation in the flower sizes composing her dress; in this collection Anderson also opted for size variation, but he often went for a supersized anthurium to create molded bodices that at times were wrapped around a model's torso (a solution reminiscent of Schiaparelli's 1949 dress incorporating in its bodice a giant jungle leaf, as illustrated by René Bouché View this photo) or used life-size enameled metal painted flowers as breast cups.
Anthurium andraeanum flowers have a wide range of spathe colours - white, rose, bright red and green - and Anderson also tried to recreate them.
We all love a dress that breaks the Internet and Jonathan Anderson satisfied the needs of many fashionistas with his Instagrammable magnified anthurium creations. The only problem was maybe the freedom of movement.
In Ruggeri's ingeniously constructed design, the softness of the fabric flowers still guaranteed freedom of movement to the wearer (the same thing could be said about the calla lily wrapped around the heel, rather than on the toe, of her pumps); Anderson opted instead for a more hyperreal interpretation of the flower, that was turned it into a rigid armour, while the life-size dimensions of the flower and the leaf on the sandals still caused some hindrance.
There were also some metaphorical hints in Loewe's collection: the spadixes of the anthuriums looked like erect phalli, but the inflorescence of anthurium produces bisexual flowers. This reference opens further meanings for this collection, in which maybe Anderson was playing with more than just the real/fake dichotomy and hinting at a fluid sexuality through his designs. Looks like flowers can therefore be more than just metaphors for beauty and elegance. So, which will be your favourite flowering plant family?
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