Irenebrination: Notes on Architecture, Art, Fashion, Fashion Law, Science & Technology

From Sweet Treats to Bitter Realities: Chocolate Eggs and the Looming Choc & Social Dystopia

Last year, in the months preceding Christmas, several fashion brands introduced special editions of panettone, the traditional Italian Christmas cake.

The Easter holiday is shorter compared to Christmas, and many opt for vacations in other countries, implying fewer lunches and dinners with family and friends, events that may require a large cake that can be shared, so only Dolce & Gabbana continued the trend of the designer cake.

Aside from panettone for Christmas, D&G have a licence with Fiasconaro for a colomba (dove), the traditional Italian delicacy for Easter. Mainly coated in sugar and almonds, D&G's version is covered in chocolate and contains cream filling. Extravagance is the norm for modern panettone/colomba cakes, so you often find them in the most exotic flavors, enveloped in layers upon layers of creams to enhance its appeal.

But someone else outdid themselves in luxury this Easter - Prada-owned Milan-based Marchesi pastry shop. Known for its steep prices, Marchesi's Easter eggs and colomba cakes seem as costly (and kitsch) as a Fabergé egg.

Adorned with tiny sugar flowers or intricate basket-like woven patterns, these confections in Willy Wonka style range from €600 to €1,300 (there are actually cheaper options starting from €90), ending up being pricier than your monthly rent or mortgage.

Who knows, perhaps consuming them will grant you extraordinary powers; perhaps a taste of this colomba or chocolate egg will instantly lift you from the deepest pit of depression you've been in for ages now; maybe they are more potent than drugs. Hmm, maybe I should get one.

Yes, I know what you're saying, "That's Haute Pâtisserie, just like Haute Couture and that's not for mere mortals." You're absolutely correct: just like there are individuals who cannot afford designer clothing, there are also those ones (me included) who cannot afford these cakes and chocolate eggs.

In many ways this is a banal truism - most people can only purchase inexpensive clothing, ranging from second-hand to ultra-fast fashion; likewise, food-wise, some of us can purchase gourmet delicacies, while others settle for an average supermarket chocolate egg if they're fortunate enough.

However, Marchesi's eggs may be hinting at a future trend, a dystopian world in which chocolates are too expensive for most of us.

The world has an insatiable appetite for chocolate, but cocoa, the vital ingredient of chocolate, sourced from the seed of the cacao tree, is facing challenges. 

In 2023, a study revealed that forests in Ivory Coast and Ghana were cleared to make room for cocoa plantations (despite originating from South America, the cacao tree is predominantly cultivated in Africa).

However, while Africa is losing its forests to cocoa production, another issue arises: human-induced global warming has elevated temperatures, affecting West Africa, the world’s largest cocoa exporter.

On a global scale, February 2024 witnessed the highest temperatures ever recorded. Rising carbon emissions and the resurgence of the El Niño phenomenon have contributed to these elevated temperatures. The heat has affected the crops, which were already damaged by extreme rainfall in December. This situation has been further worsened by disease outbreaks and inadequate investment in aging plantations (many small farmers are struggling to afford to replace ageing trees and buy fertilisers, the latter also registered an increase in prices). Consequently, cocoa prices surged.

In February, farmers in Ivory Coast voiced concerns over the damaging effects of high temperatures and insufficient rainfall on their crops. By March, Reuters reported that major cocoa processing plants in both Ivory Coast and Ghana had either halted or scaled back operations due to an inability to afford purchasing beans.

The price of cocoa beans in the meantime soared to unprecedented levels, surging from nearly $6,000 per ton in February to over $8,000 per ton in March, and surpassing $10,000 per ton during the week leading up to Easter. (prices are more than three times higher than those in March 2020). This places cocoa beans at a higher value than several precious metals and demonstrates a growth rate surpassing that of bitcoin.

Consequently, chocolate product prices across various companies went up (Cadbury's festive chocolates experienced a more than 50% increase in price from Christmas 2022 to 2023, attributed to the surge in cocoa costs). So, it is plausible that we may witness further price increases in chocolate products or reductions in the size of chocolate bars and packets in the future.

The record cocoa prices, though, do not lead to higher incomes for producers, as the raw material is exported and transformed into finished products elsewhere. Smallholder producers in West Africa, where much of the cacao supply originates, depend on cocoa for ther livelihoods, but do not benefit from increased prices on the trading market because they are linked to the global market through a network of intermediaries, so they have limited bargaining power. The cocoa supply chain therefore completely lacks transparency and this is also caused by the fact that chocolate manufacturers prioritize keeping chocolate affordable for consumers, perpetuating the cycle of low wages for farmers (exactly like the fast fashion industry with garment workers), something that has linked cocoa production with human rights violations such as slavery and child labor. Consequently, chocolate prices are expected to continue rising.

In this food narrative, a stark dystopian divide emerges between two worlds: one where sweetness is a luxury reserved for the privileged few who indulge in opulent sweet treats, and another where the less fortunate grapple with the harsh reality of being unable to afford even the simplest pleasures.

So, what's the future of our beloved chocolates amidst these uncertainties? Will we still be able to buy our favorite antidepressant in the candy aisle of a supermarket or will it be cheaper to buy real antidepressants? Will we still buy chocolate Easter eggs or will we be left dreaming about them and resort to generating Easter eggs with Artificial Intelligence? While these questions may seem daunting and dystopian, they certainly provide food for thought. Quite literally.

From Easter Crafts to Moquette Seats, Get Geometrically Abstract with Enid Marx

As Easter approaches, some of us might be occupied with decorating eggs or considering egg-related crafts. At Compton Verney, an art gallery in Warwickshire, UK, there are quite a few inspirations like an egg box creature, sort of cute and slightly alien looking, then painted eggs, and a fun yet slightly spooky wool egg cozy resembling a colorful balaclava, complete with small openings for the eyes, nose, and mouth.

However, it would be reductive to stop at Easter inspirations (especially for fashion design students!). So, let's go beyond these inspirations.

A few of the painted Easter eggs at Compton Verney were indeed decorated with felt-tip pens by Enid Marx, and all these items are from the Marx-Lambert collection. This collection was created by the artist Enid Marx (1902-1998) and her partner, the historian Margaret Lambert (1906-1995), who both shared a passion for English popular art.

From the late 1930s, Marx and Lambert started gathering popular ephemera, like scrapbooks, Valentines, paper peepshows, children's books, Staffordshire dog figurines, and toys.

The collection at Compton Verney showcases a variety of items, from glassware and ceramics to corn dollies and papier-mâché figures. The collection was the starting point for Marx-Lambert’s book "When Victoria Began to Reign," published by Faber and Faber in 1937 (further volumes on English popular art followed).Young graphic and textile designers who might not be familiar with Marx's work should take the opportunity to learn more about her. Marx, also known as "Marco" throughout her life, was a printmaker and painter, creating linocuts and designs for book jackets, postage stamps (notably, she designed the frame around Queen Elizabeth II's portrait on the British Wilding series of penny, halfpenny, and three-halfpenny stamps, as well as the 1976 Christmas stamp issue featuring medieval embroidery), posters, and cards and also wrote and illustrated children's books.

Marx's career was influenced by her father, a paper-making engineer, who instilled in her an interest in mass-produced design and popular art.

In 1927, Marx established her own textile design workshop, focusing on block-printed textiles and specializing in linens, muslins, and organdies.

Marx was inspired by the works of Phyllis Barron and Dorothy Larcher and, like them, she favored natural dyes over new chemical methods, incorporating strong graphic qualities and a rigorous sense of design into her patterns. She also experimented with dynamic abstract prints and motifs, utilizing rhythm and pattern variations by rotating, alternating, or overprinting blocks.

Marx gained her reputation through her industrial textile designs for the London Transport Board and the Utility Furniture Scheme.

In 1937, she was commissioned by the London Passenger Transport Board to design moquette seat fabrics for London buses and tube trains. These designs were meticulously crafted to conceal wear and dirt while avoiding the disorienting effects of patterns in motion (so there are two design dilemmas here that she had to solve - fashion and textile design students, please take note).

For what regards concealing dirt Marx noted that strongly contrasting tones and vibrant colors were more effective in maintaining the appearance of cleanliness over time, as opposed to using colors that would tone in with the dirt.

Four of Marx's original thirteen designs, including the moquette officially known as Messrs Holdsworth's number 11581 and, colloquially, as the "Shield" pattern, became iconic fixtures in the London Underground for decades.

The "Shield" pattern consisted in a continuous pattern of infinity signs and diamond shapes, creating a sense of endlessness and symmetry. Rows of these shapes were meticulously aligned on a grid, forming a repetitive and harmonious pattern. Within these shapes, variations of lined patterns added depth and contrast to the overall design. 

In 1943, furniture designer Gordon Russell extended an invitation to Marx to join the Board of Trade Utility Furniture Design Advisory Panel. Tasked with implementing wartime austerity standards in interior and furniture design, Marx created over 30 designs.

The patterns needed to be visually appealing yet simple and cost-effective to produce, so Marx worked within constraints such as a limited number of looms, four pre-selected colors, and just two types of yarn (fashion and textile students do you find working within certain constraints too limiting or more stimulating? Experiment with this technique by putting limits to the materials or palettes/techniques in your work).

The textile patterns Marx developed under the Utility Furniture Scheme primarily featured geometric or abstract designs (although Marx incorporated some floral motifs) with small scale repeating patterns. 

There are therefore multiple lessons to learn from this post, first and foremost never underestimate the value of a collection; get curious about its donors and explore their lives (and Marx’s is extremely rich, so you'll be amazed at what you may find...).

And if you're feeling inspired to decorate eggs, while knitwear aficionados may try recreating the egg balaclava-cozy, graphic and textile designers should opt for eggcellent bold geometric patterns inspired by Enid Marx maybe borrowed from her hand block-printed designs or from the moquettes at the London Transport Museum archive.

Memories from the Second World War: Silk Maps, From Escape Aid to Fashion Statement

In yesterday's post we looked at an artist who moved from a painting to create a multidimensional map of a cityscape. But can we instead move from a map to create a bodyscape informed by geographies? Absolutely. And the history of fashion features a lot of examples of map and geographical prints, unanimously considered as timeless motifs.

Maps are actually trending at the moment also at the National War Museum at Edinburgh Castle, Scotland, where a dedicated display examines the purpose, importance and personal significance of military maps in the Second World War.

While some fashion enthusiasts might overlook "Maps: Memories from the Second World War" (running until January 25th, 2026) as niche interest for geopolitics aficionados, there are diverse sources of inspiration underlying it.

Primarily, incorporating footage from the National Collection of Aerial Photography (NCAP), the display draws from aerial perspectives, a great inspiration in fashion and interior design as well.

During the years spanning from 1939 to 1945, harnessing the aerial perspective was paramount for gaining strategic advantages and creating precise maps. Within this timeframe, the British Armed Forces alone produced over 36 million photographs and 342 million maps. 

In our times photographs or videos shot by drones serve recreational and military purposes, but in those years, the historical importance of aerial photography was strictly linked to the war, as proved also by artifacts on display here, such as Flight Lieutenant Thomas D. MacMillan's logbook and a stereoscope for viewing 3D landscape images.  

Another inspiration is Joyce W. Cairns PPRSA's painting, "Major Robert W. Cairns MBE, TD, MA Father's Memorabilia, North West Europe" (1995). Major Cairns served across various war fronts, and the painting showcases mementos and memories including functional maps used by troops and those preserved as keepsakes and reminders.

The maps kept as mementos are actually the ones that will pique the interest of fashion enthusiasts. A silk dress from 1945 (on loan from the Worthing Museum and Art Gallery), fashioned from escape and evade maps from the Second World War, stands out as one of the exhibition's most captivating pieces with those yellow and orange hues streaked with blue, representing rivers and lakes.

A British Army Officer conceived the idea of printing escape maps on silk: Christopher Clayton Hutton, an inventor and MI9 British Army Officer, recognized silk's waterproof, quiet, resistant and concealable properties, making it an ideal material for maps.

Facing initial difficulties in obtaining cartographic data, Hutton eventually secured cooperation from mapmakers. These maps, crucial for moving on remote areas and hostile territories, were issued to pilots and Special Forces in the event that they were shot down, trapped behind enemy lines and needed to escape.

Hutton's passion for finding unusual solutions to problems caused by the war actually prompted him to influence uniform design, with convertible uniforms that from RAF uniforms could resemble those of the Luftwaffe and that may have helped the wearer to disguise and escape. Furthermore, he designed specialized flying boots with hidden compartments for concealing maps and other escape equipment. The boot consisted of a black leather walking shoe and zip-up suede legging. The wearer could separate the leggings using a pocket knife stored in the boot, providing a less conspicuous option than conventional flying boots. The leggings could also be repurposed as a waistcoat for added warmth.

When the maps no longer served their original purpose, they were repurposed into clothing during the post-war rationing era.
Such artifacts are not uncommon and can be still spotted in museums.

In a previous post we mentioned a luxurious bra owned by Countess Mountbatten, fashioned from an escape silk map given to her by a boyfriend in the Royal Air Force (Milan and Trieste are still visible, each city on one breast...). Similarly, the V&A archive in London houses woven silk maps from 1940 belonging to Cecile Tonge Stuart, a prominent socialite and licensed aviator nicknamed "Bat" for her busy night life. Stuart's maps were personalized for private use.

Intrigued by the trend? Check out in vintage markets for original silk maps from World War II, or find contemporary fabric maps and come up with your own DIY map project.

Image credits for this post

Daily Express war maps from 1944 and stickers. Image © Stewart Attwood

F24 aerial camera with a 5 inch lens and hand grip mounting, used by the Royal Air Force for reconnaissance during the Second World War. Image © Stewart Attwoo

'Major Robert W. Cairns MBE, TD, MA Father's Memorabilia, North West Europe', (1995), by Joyce W Cairns PPRSA. Image © Stewart Attwood

Assistant Textile Conservator Stella Gardner adjusting a silk dress made from escape and evade maps used during the Second World War, on loan from Worthing Museum and Art Gallery. Image © Stewart Attwood

Detail of a silk dress made from escape and evade maps used during the Second World War, on loan from Worthing Museum and Art Gallery. Image © Stewart Attwood

Printed silk map, Victoria & Albert Museum Archive, London, 1940

From Appropriation to Reinvention: Beyond a Cross, An Urban Sculpto-Pictorama

Frequently throughout fashion history, we've witnessed designers appropriating others' creations, whether from the archives of a renowned fashion house, from a more recent runway show or from traditional garments of distant cultures.

While this could lead to legal complexities regarding copyrights, there are instances where such borrowing ignites a spark of innovation, but this can also happen in art, a discipline that in turn can help us reimagining original inspirations. So, let's consider Red Grooms' reinterpretation of Paul Gauguin's "The Yellow Christ".

Gauguin's original, "Le Christ jaune" (The Yellow Christ, 1889), drew inspiration from his time in Brittany, France, where he immersed himself in local history and customs. The vibrant depiction of a crucifixion scene against an autumnal landscape, with peasant women praying at the foot of the cross in their distinctive regional costume symbolizing the cycle of Christian life (birth, life, death, and rebirth) and the harvest season. Gauguin's bold use of colors aims to evoke emotions and highlights nature's spirituality. Besides, the autumnal palette of yellow, red and green in the landscape echoes the dominant yellow in the figure of Christ. 

American artist Red Grooms took Gauguin's "Yellow Christ" and transposed it onto a New York City backdrop. The result was "Yellow Christ on Park Avenue" (1990), a mixed-media artwork in which the original painting underwent a metamorphosis, shedding its original meaning to become something new.

Decades before this painting, Red Grooms, along with his then-wife Mimi Gross, crafted monumental installations such as "The City of Chicago" (1967) and "Ruckus Manhattan" (1975). These immersive artworks, termed "sculpto-pictoramas," depicted urban life on a grand scale, featuring detailed recreations of cityscapes.

"The City of Chicago" (1968) marked the beginning of a series of mixed-media installations, each capturing the essence of urban life. Spanning 25 feet square, this environment set the stage for subsequent works. Years later, for example, "Ruckus Manhattan" emerged as a colossal reproduction, encompassing over 10,000 square feet of the borough's landscape. From Battery Park to Times Square, this installation boasted intricate details, including a nearly life-size subway car and a metal Brooklyn Bridge.

The creation of these environments required the collaboration of numerous assistants, collectively known as the Ruckus Construction Co. Using materials such as papier-mâché, vinyl, fiberglass, cardboard, canvas, hot glue, burlap, and paint, along with staple guns, sculpture wire, fabric, foam and plexiglass, the team meticulously crafted every detail to bring these immersive worlds to life.

In his rendition of "Yellow Christ", Grooms departed from the traditional painting overimposing it into a three-dimensional portrayal of Park Avenue.

Initially conceived as a celebration of the city, the artwork evolves into a commentary on urban existence and its impermanence: through a blend of materials and techniques, Grooms creates indeed a multidimensional grid-like map of the cityscape, blurring the lines between architecture, painting, and sculpture.

Cars seem to flow over the figure of Christ, cascading over it like water from a fountain, while the praying women are transformed into buildings. The colors are brighter, almost cartoonish and this metaphorical portrayal reflects the vibrancy and complexity of American pop culture. 

Grooms' reinterpretation merges past and present, it is a symbolic journey from the sacred to the secular, encapsulating both the allure and the pitfalls of urban life. Besides, within this portrayal, we also witness a merging of different disciplines: the painting overlays the cityscape with its architectures, crafting a three-dimensional tableau, a tangible map, perhaps symbolizing suffering and anguish in the urban context (can being stuck in the traffic in New York be compared to the agony on the cross?).

The mixed-media technique adds depth to the artwork, intertwining cityscapes, architecture and, painting, culminating in a metaphorical cartography of American pop culture's exuberant architectural landscape. This interplay of layers and dimensions constructs a microcosm, a mini-metropolis, emerging from the depths of the Yellow Christ. Thus, through acts of appropriation and reinvention, a work of art can be turned on its head, offering fresh insights and interpretations that resonate with contemporary audiences (that said, fashion design students reading this, exercise caution and refrain from appropriating paintings or any other creative works that are still copyrighted; seek inspiration from public domain sources or obtain proper permissions and licenses when working with copyrighted material).

Visual Discrepancy, From Paintings to Fashion

In yesterday's post, we observed how a single figure in a Lamentation painting, Mary Magdalene, captured the attention of the viewer with her gesture of grief and despair, along with the details of her attire, nearly overshadowing the other characters.

Actually, in depictions chronicling the passion of Jesus Christ, secondary details and characters often emerge as visually striking elements.

For instance, in Pieter Bruegel The Elder's "The Way to Calvary," amidst the chaos of hundreds of figures, one can still spot a man, likely a soldier, clad in a red and white hose, pushing Simon of Cyrene to bear the cross.

Not far from this scene there is also another soldier in a striped white and blue hose, while a man in a diagonal striped coat and a hat, portrayed in the centre of the painting, is just minding his business, walking steadfast while around him there's chaos.

Vibrant stripes also appear in "Christ before Pilate" by the Master of Cappenberg (Jan Baegert?).

In this panel from The Liesborn Altarpiece, Roman governor Pontius Pilate, reluctant to condemn Christ to death, but fearing the crowd, washes his hands saying that he is not to blame for Christ’s death. The woman behind Pilate is his wife, who told her husband not to get involved in Christ's fate because of a dream she had about him.

Christ, next to Pilate, appears weary and dejected, the crown of thorns piercing his forehead.

His humble tunic contrasts with the sumptuous clothing of Pilate and his wife and with the deep red patterned textile which backs the throne (in all the panels of this altarpiece there are vibrant fabrics).

Christ's gilded halo shines bright, but it's the striped hose worn by the soldier next to him that grabs the attention.

According to Michel Pastoureau's analysis in "The Devil's Cloth: A History of Stripes," striped clothing often indicated societal outcasts or wicked characters throughout history.

In his work Pastoureau analyzes the negative connotations of vertically or horizontally placed colors in fashion in Western societies, reminding us that striped clothes were often used throughout history to mark people outside the social order, at the margin of society - from jugglers to prostitutes, slaves, servants and criminals. The stripes indicated condemnation, infirmity and transgression of the social order, while in Medieval paintings the devil himself is at times depicted wearing stripes.

This concept aligns with the negative characters depicted in these paintings: indeed in the two paintings the three soldiers in striped garments contribute in some ways with their actions to Christ's death, executing orders and exerting their powers, while the peasant in the striped coat seems to be even indifferent to the chaos surrounding him. 

In both the examples, the stripes created a visual discrepancy, especially in the second painting: the eye is naturally drawn towards the characters in striped garments, something that contrasts with the scene around them (it was a common trick of Flemish painters to put a figure in striped clothes in a painting or panel, to attract the viewers' attention). Stripes in these works of art represent a visual priority, what is striped is indeed seen before what is plain, Pastoureau reminds us.
 
In contemporary fashion Harri London's inflatable latex trousers from his 2020 graduate collection at the London College of Fashion offered a modern interpretation of visual discrepancy through brick red or mint green and white stripes and an exaggerated and distorted silhouette (the soldier's silhouette in "Christ before Pilate" was seemingly distorted, but elongated).

Fitted at the waist but ballooning out to double the width of the wearer around the thighs, before tapering in again towards the ankles (this is possible thanks to a trouser-integrated air pump with an inflation valve at the bottom). The striped motif in Harri's collection was also replicated in the tank tops with matching shorts made from micro hand-carved wooden beads created in an artisan community in Channapatna, India. 

The designs made for a playful rather than fetishistic take on latex and were also donned by Björk's musicians in the video for "Atopos" from the album "Fossora".

Fashion design students, here's a final exercise for you: characters in striped clothes are not rare in paintings depicting the passion of Christ, try and spot them and observe if their attire defines their roles, reflecting on how the stripes contribute to crafting an unconventional silhouette.

A Masterpiece Reunited: The Lamentation Altarpiece Through the Lens of Fashion

In the previous post, we explored a collection of paintings reunited and exhibited together after centuries, while also drawing connections between art and fashion. Let's continue the thread looking at another recently reunited work: The Lamentation Altarpiece. This theme is particularly fitting as we're in the Holy Week, the period between Palm Sunday and Easter, observed by Christians commemorating the Passion of Jesus Christ.

Created around 1515 in Franconia (now part of modern Bavaria) by an artist simply referred to as the "Franconian Master," this artwork found its way to a church in the UK where it was disassembled and sold in the '90s.

The wings of the altarpiece, featuring St. Christopher carrying the Infant Christ and St. George and the Dragon (on the inner panels), as well as St. Catherine and St. Barbara (on the outer panels), were acquired by Compton Verney, an art gallery in Warwickshire, UK. Meanwhile, the central panel depicting The Lamentation found its home in the National Gallery of Scotland.

This 500-year-old altarpiece holds an aura of mystery. It was probably commissioned to commemorate the 1527 death of Kasimir Friedrich, Margrave of Brandenburg-Ansbach, as his coffin is depicted in the artwork, surrounded by his family and peers.

Friedrich's demise in Hungary likely inspired the depiction of St. Christopher, patron saint of travelers, on the front left panel, while his brother Georg's succession might explain St. George's presence on the front right panel. The stylistic resemblance of St. Christopher and St. George to the works of Albrecht and Hans Dürer is notable (the artwork was at one stage signed by Dürer, but this was proved to be a later addition).

On the other hand, St. Catherine and St. Barbara are rendered in a distinct style, leading to speculation that they were repurposed from another altarpiece to fit the height of The Lamentation. Apart from the Dürer brothers, the artist may have drawn inspiration from Lucas Cranach the Elder.

What's intriguing about recent studies on the piece is that they were conducted by Christine Cluley, a volunteer and tour guide at the Warwickshire art gallery. Driven by her passion, Cluley embarked on a decade-long quest across Europe to uncover the truth behind the panel's origins.

Cluley meticulously traced its provenance, even discovering it listed in a German inventory from 1768, and identified it in another painting. Ultimately, the altarpiece made its way to England in the 1920s before being sold in 1993.

It has been determined that the side panels belong alongside the centerpiece, leading to two likely candidates emerging as the author of the artwork - Hans Baldung and Wolfgang Traut, contemporaries and admirers of Thomas Cranach and Albrecht Dürer (Baldung was one of Dürer’s most celebrated pupils). Yet numerous aspects of the altarpiece remain unknown and shrouded in uncertainty.

Now, let's turn instead to what we do know: fashion connections (naturally, what else?). St. Catherine's jewels, particularly the thick chains adorning her neck and décolletage are fascinating, as well as the voluminous green cape enveloping her dress. Jewels are also abundant in the portrayal of St. Barbara (could we reimagine them? Artificial Intelligence seems to be pretty inventive when it comes to recreating Renaissance jewels in a modern key), yet the most intriguing detail in this panel maybe lies in the golden and brown petticoat St. Barbara reveals beneath her red gown (reminiscent of Undercover's A/W 17 palette).

Fashion-wise, St. George steals the spotlight. The limp, lifeless dragon in his left hand looks in a sorry state, while he is resplendent in an armor matched with what looks like a pink pleated skirt. Unlike the conventional defensive metal skirts, which often consisted of overlapping metal plates forming apron or inverted cupcake-like skirts for protecting a knight's crotch or legs, here we find a proper knee-length skirt made of fabric, creating a clash between the hard armor and the soft fabric.

On whose runway would we see something like that (Comme des Garçons, maybe?)? Who knows, but if you want to imagine it, try playing around with this idea with Artificial Intelligence and you'll get some interesting renditions of this ensemble (in the first one included in this post Midjourney almost managed to recreate the striped motif on the skirt).

The central panel is a richly colored composition, titled "The Lamentation of Christ with a Group of Donors," depicting Christ's body being lowered alongside donors positioned on the right side of the painting. However, the scales and perspectives are somewhat perplexing, as the donors appear diminutive compared to other figures. Two of the donors sport the gold insignia of the chivalric and religious Order of the Swan, founded in 1440 by the Elector of Brandenburg and particularly esteemed in Franconia, where the author of the painting was active.

While the deceased Christ should logically command attention, the emphasis seems to be on Mary Magdalene, expressing her sorrow in a traditional gesture of grief (think about this character and the representation of her sorrow also in "The Descent from the Cross" by Rogier van der Weyden), along with St. John. The former stands with arms raised, drawing focus to her red paned sleeves, while St. John dons a striking blood-red cape (another symbolic color often used in paintings to depict this character in lamentation / deposition scenes). In both instances, the figures exude dynamism and movement, largely thanks to the the depiction of the fabrics of their garments (St. John's cape seems suspended in mid-air).

As seen also in previous posts, paintings can impart great fashion lessons, especially if you keep your eyes open and try and spot interesting details. As for this story of a masterpiece reunited, well, it offers an additional valuable lesson: moved by her passion, a tour guide conducted thorough research on a work of art, proving one doesn't require academic credentials to do an intensive research, but great passion and sound investigative skills.

From a Reassembled Polyptych a Journey Through Piero della Francesca's Fashion Trail

Securing artwork loans from major international museums can pose significant challenges, especially when a specific piece is needed to complete a display or dedicated exhibition. However, the Poldi Pezzoli Museum in Milan recently achieved the remarkable feat of reuniting Piero della Francesca's Augustinian altarpiece.

This polyptych, crafted between 1454 and 1469 by the early Italian Renaissance master for the church of the Augustinians at Borgo San Sepolcro (now Sansepolcro), originally comprised 30 panels, most of which went missing by the end of the 16th century.

As the Frick Collection in New York was closing down for renovation, they agreed to lend four missing panels - St. John the Evangelist, the Crucifixion, St. Monica, and St. Leonard. This agreement helped securing further deals, with the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga in Lisbon lending their St. Augustine, the National Gallery in London contributing St. Michael the Archangel, and the National Gallery of Art in Washington loaning St. Apollonia. With the addition of the Poldi Pezzoli Museum's Saint Nicholas, the Augustinian Polyptych's remaining works (View this photo) can now be admired by visitors (until June 24th), 555 years since they were created.

The exhibition curated by Machtelt Brüggen Israëls (Rijksmuseum and University of Amsterdam) and Nathaniel Silver (Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston), scholars of international standing, also offers an analysis of the painter’s techniques and materials used, while telling the story of the dismemberment and reconstruction of the polyptych.

If you're a fashion designer do not dismiss this reconstruction as uninteresting as there is a lot to take in between the details and colours of the artworks. Besides, the Poldi Pezzoli Museum offers an itinerary dedicated to Piero della Francesca that could prove inspiring. The museum's team has skillfully juxtaposed objects from their collections with details from Piero della Francesca's paintings, trying to spot links and connections.

Comparisons between weapons and armors abound: visitors will be able to view an engraved, bronzed, and gilded Oriental-style helmet (Nuremberg, c. 1550-70; View this photo) alongside a detail from Piero della Francesca's Crucifixion with an imaginary reconstruction of how the Roman soldiers would have looked like (the soldier seated at the foot of the cross wears a pointed helmet - View this photo). 

Two falchions from the 1600s (View this photo) prompt a comparison with Saint Michael's sword in the Augustinian Polyptych: this falchion features a pommel and a blue leather or fabric hand grip that matches the angel’s anatomical cuir bouilli cuirass.

Dyed blue and reinforced with metal elements for shoulder protection, along with leather strips for arm and leg defense, the cuirass in the painting is adorned with pearls and precious stones, lending it an air of refinement more suited to spiritual triumph than earthly combat, unlike the 4th-century anatomical armor (with very functional shoulder and side hinges View this photo) from the Poldi Pezzoli collections to which it is juxtaposed.

The anatomical armor may not offer groundbreaking inspiration for fashion designs (after all, the history of fashion is rife with anatomical bustiers), but the bejeweled section of Saint Michael's armor in the polyptych is particularly inspiring and may be reimagined in rigid materials or recreated using knitwear techniques.

In the lower right corner of St. Michael's portrait, a section of the Virgin's robe with thistle and pomegranate decoration (View this photo) corresponds to 15th-century fabric fragments (View this photo) and to a section taken from a chasuble from 1550-1600 (View this photo) in the Poldi Pezzoli collection.

This brocaded velvet, produced on complex drawlooms, features a vibrant red color obtained through expensive crimson dye. These fabrics were very precious and were used for deluxe clothing and furnishings intended for special occasions.

Fashion-wise St. Augustine is probably the most interesting figure of the altarpiece. He is wearing a sumptuous brocade cope, intricately embroidered with scenes from the Gospels, from the Annunciation to the Crucifixion. The cope is held in place by a gold and enamel morse depicting Christ emerging from the tomb against a deep blue background.

His robe is likened to a silk, gold, and linen hood of a 14th-century cope with The Coronation of the Virgin based on a pen-and-ink drawing by Sandro Botticelli (View this photo), transferred to silk by means of a perforated cartoon that has been pounced with charcoal powder, a technique called spolvero also used by Piero della Francesca in the Augustinian Polyptych.

The morse is instead compared to a gilded copper morse from the 14th century, featuring the Angel and Virgin of the Annunciation against a dark blue background (View this photo). In both cases the morse has the shape of a four-lobed rhomboid surrounded by a band of small spheres.

St. Augustine's accessories include a gold and rock crystal (a colorless variant of quartz) crozier. Because of its ethereal appearance this precious material was also a symbol of purity used in liturgical objects as proved by a cross from the 1500s from the Poldi Pezzoli Museum.

In Piero della Francesca's portrait, though, the crozier is of an improbable length considering the fragility of the rock crystal and the limited size of the stone’s formations found in nature. 

St Augustine is also wearing rings of gold set with precious stones over his silk gloves (View this photo; View this photo): they are very similar to the gold, enamel, and rock crystal rings from the 14th and 15th centuries in the museum and they prove Piero della Francesca's attention to detail in portraying the style of goldsmithing of his time.

Talking about details, check also the 15th girdle made of fabric with silver threads embellished with twenty-two gilt silver fittings in the shape of radiating stars, that belonged to an aristocratic lady from Lombardy, that evokes Piero della Francesca's belt of St. Nicholas of Tolentino. The outline of the buckle is almost identical to that of the saint's belt, even though the latter is more humble.

So there's enough to research here in this newly recollected and reassembled works. Not convinced? Looking for something more modern?

Well, there is actually a final Milan-Piero connection: the Piero della Francesca dress (1986) by the late Cinzia Ruggeri (who mainly lived and worked in Milan), featuring a print of one of the angels from the Pala di Brera (the Montefeltro Altarpiece or Brera Altarpiece, 1472-1474; View this photo).

Ruggeri appliqued multi-colored rhinestone gems on the dress to give a three-dimensional effect to the angel's jewels and gems. While this was a trendy trick in the '80s, in this case it was a direct reference to Piero della Francesca's mastery in depicting jewels and gems and in rendering their luminous reflections (the angel also reappears in a frame of a video by Ruggeri - Per un vestire organico - Towards an Organic Way of Dressing, created for an event in 1983 at Venice's Palazzo Fortuny). With such rich inspirations at hand, there's therefore no excuse not to explore Piero della Francesca's creativity and influence.

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu: Anrealage Homme A/W 24

Quite often men and women’s wear collections conceived by a designer for the same fashion house look similar and the same prints, palettes or moods are reiterated throughout both collections (think about Prada, for example, where also the set is reused for two different shows).

However, Kunihiko Morinaga, known for his technologically innovative women's wear shows where magical transformations occur with garments changing colors on the models' bodies, took a different approach for his inaugural menswear collection.

Unveiled in mid-March during Rakuten Fashion Week Tokyo, the debut of Anrealage Homme took place on the circular upper floor of the Telecom Center Building in Tokyo Bay.

Departing from high-tech experiments and innovative fabrics, Morinaga left behind the Doraemon floating balloons from his A/W 24 collection showcased in Paris in early March.

The theme of this collection seemed to revolve around craftsmanship, as evidenced by the opening suit adorned with pink buttons and fuchsia-traced pockets. This wasn't about Barbie pink, though, but it was a more subtle reference.

Physically, pink doesn't exist as a single wavelength of light in the visible spectrum like red, blue, or green. Instead, it's perceived when the red and blue cones in our eyes are stimulated simultaneously, with less input from green, creating an illusion of pink. So, in a sense, pink exists as a perceptual phenomenon rather than a single, distinct color in the spectrum.

This illusion created by the brain was one of the themes of the collection that included quite a few trompe l'oeil knitted pieces, from duffel coats to varsity and souvenir jackets, and sweaters with intarsia that evoked schoolboy uniforms. This trompe l'oeil effect and this duality between illusions and reality was replicated in the kilts and pencil skirts that, when the models turned around, revealed to be knee-length shorts.

In some designs, in their colors and imaginative knitted motifs, you could detect Harajuku styles from the early 2000s, something that contrasted with the formal Chanel-like suits with details remade using buttons.

Morinaga also explored themes of transformation and mutability using elements that could be buttoned or unbuttoned, appliquéd on headdresses and jackets (a collaboration with emerging brand Nori Enomoto).

Two looks connected the collection to the previous A/W 24 women's wear collection: those created in collaboration with Reebok that paid homage to the Instapump Fury 94 sneaker. 

For those unfamiliar with Morinaga's work, this collection may seem like a departure from his women's wear, but it actually marks a return to his roots. This was the designer setting on a journey in search of lost time, and creating new designs that are shadows, almost incarnations of his original fashion landscape.

When he first launched Anrealage in 2003 at the age of 23, Morinaga demonstrated his devotion to fashion through designs incorporating buttons and patchwork techniques, elaborate creations that served as acts of faith to fashion itself (Morinaga tried to inject back this sense of devotion in this collection, a feeling strengthened by a new choral version of a soundtrack by Ippei Sugihara from one of his previous shows).

The last twenty years dramatically changed Morinaga bringing him towards an entirely new direction, something not completely understood by many who still see as impractical (or unwearable) some of his more experimental designs integrating color-changing fabrics.

Anrealage Homme re-shifts therefore the discourse onto the idea of crafts and artisanal techniques, offering textile research, but also an alternative to technology and a new option to Morinaga's consumers through a genderless vision that embodies a quirky sense of fun. Wile this is marketed as menswear, many women will indeed find some of the items in the collection desirable.

By stepping back into the past, Morinaga willingly interrupted his experiments in futuristic design to recover his identity and his soul, and wonder where he would be if he had followed those inspirations rather than his high-tech inclinations.

This journey to the past through creation assumes a circular movement, not driven by nostalgia but by a desire to see this vision of the past coexisting with his present creations.

While this collection brings challenges, as Morinaga faces a heavier workload, and sets high expectations for future collections, it could be an interesting parable for young designers and fashion design students. It teaches us indeed that in life you can only go forward, you can only live in the present and walk towards the future; yet in fashion you can bring back the past into the present and reinterpret the point where you started, seeing it anew with fresh eyes and reinventing it with unwavering dedication.

Sensory Overload: "People Mountain People Sea" by Gary Card @ The Oil Street Art Space (Oi!), Hong Kong

In the archive of the Victoria & Albert Museum there is a tin-glazed earthenware figure dating back to the late 17th century, portraying a man's head connected to his legs, with his arms emerging from his breeches. This figure is associated with the frontispiece illustration of the 1606 play "No-body and Some-body," depicting a man without a torso (View this photo). The character gained popularity when the play came out, prompting potters in London to craft ceramic figurines depicting him. His popularity led to the Dehua kilns in China producing and exporting similar figurines.

The blue and manganese-purple figure from the V&A archives served as the primary inspiration for the multi-colored fiberglass sculpture titled "The Dream of Mr. Somebody" (2024) by Gary Card.

Installed in the Oi! Lawn, outside the Oil Street Art Space (Oi!) in Hong Kong's historic yacht club clubhouse (established in 1908), the sculpture serves as a welcoming piece for Card's inaugural large-scale solo exhibition in the city - "People Mountain People Sea" (running until July 28th).

Over the past two decades, the British artist, set designer, and illustrator has collaborated with numerous designers, companies, fashion houses and stores, including Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Uniqlo, Vivienne Westwood, Comme des Garçons, Dover Street Market, LN-CC, and Tim Walker.

His work has graced the pages of prestigious publications, from The New York Times to Vogue and Dazed & Confused. While Card continues his commercial collaborations, in the last few years he has also been focusing more on his own artistic endeavors.

The exhibition's title in Hong Kong alludes to a Chinglish idiom indicating that a place is very crowded, a definition reflected in the sensory overload experienced within the exhibition, exemplified by "Mr. Somebody."

According to Card, the figure of Mr. Somebody, adorned with an assortment of objects and towering over a mountain constructed from various items commonly found in Hong Kong, symbolizes the hyper-connected global network in which individuals engage through the consumption of products and information.

In many respects, the objects surrounding Mr. Somebody serve as a reflection of Card's own fascination with material possessions (as a teenager, he was drawn to comics, cartoons, and the thrill of discovering treasures in second-hand shops, from antiques to  Chinese vases and vintage kimonos).

Mr. Somebody acts as a conduit to modernity, introducing visitors to other artworks characterized by a sense of kaleidoscopic overstimulation and confusion, emblematic of contemporary life.

Within the exhibition venue, visitors encounter densely populated scenes; while some artists layer fabrics to create monumental designs, Card employs a diverse range of mediums, including painting, sculpture, illustration, graphic design, and set design to create his universe.

One of the spaces within the venue is transformed into an immersive visual and sensory experience, a pavilion enveloped in mirrors and digital screens, inundating visitors with digital animations. In this space, stripped of references to consumption, the sculptures take on new life and form, while contributing to the creation of a disorienting atmosphere for visitors.

The fusion of Eastern and Western influences resonates within Hong Kong's cultural landscape, but also within Gary Card's artworks.

His series of "encrusted" sculptures and paintings blend indeed  Western and Eastern inspirations, modern and ancient motifs, and familiar and unfamiliar objects. Drawing from his cultural background and his interpretation of Hong Kong's diverse landscape, Card incorporates elements recognizable to locals, often presenting them in novel ways. For instance, his artworks may echo locations Card saw while travelling in Hong Kong, such as Wah Fu Celestial Hole, an unofficial shrine where broken statues of gods and goddesses are collected, but their Pop Art colors re-contextualise the sculptures.

Several fiberglass sculptures, including "Little Charm Boy" and "The Merchant and His Camel", are based on archival pieces like a 19th-century snuff bottle featuring a boy holding a gourd vase, and a Tang dynasty figurine portraying a camel.

Yet the snuff bottle base has been replaced with an array of assorted, outdated technology and ambiguous shapes, while the central character, the boy, has been transformed into a guardian-like figure protecting his purposeless hoard.

Symbols of the Silk Road trade route, Bactrian camels used to transport goods out of China across the western regions into Central Asia and beyond, and Card hints at this cultural exchange between East and West incorporating random objects in his camel, at times in a surrealist key (check out the upside-down moustache for the eyebrows).

Card's sentimentality for inanimate objects is evident throughout his works, emphasizing the value we place on possessions. Many items featured in his sculptures are sourced from photographs taken during his visit to Hong Kong in 2023, as well as from past magazine editorials, advertisements, kitsch souvenirs, and Internet graphics.

The multimedia paintings "Journey to the Unknown" and "Laughing Cloud Head" are for example inspired by the Yuzi (pomelo citrus fruit) wrapped in plastic film with red ribbons and decorated with auspicious stickers, gifts commonly exchanged during the Lunar New Year. These ordinary objects are re-contextualized and blown up, rendered in unfamiliar proportions and incorporating visual fragments drawn from Card's trips to Hong Kong over the years.

Through his pieces, Card encourages to re-discover the familiar (and at times the banal) with fresh eyes, echoing British pop artist and sculptor Eduardo Paolozzi's fascination with the ability of the artist "to achieve a metamorphosis of quite ordinary things into something wonderful and extraordinary."

The more colorful pieces in the exhibition clash with the ones in the Research Room that contains past works and maquettes that served as inspiration to develop the "People Mountain People Sea" exhibition.

Here, visitors will also spot selections from his evocative "Homunculus" series (2020) created during the Covid-19 pandemic and amidst the solitude of the UK lockdown, while the initial 3D printed prototypes of the sculptures on display offer a glimpse into the artist's creative process.

In reflecting on his sculptures Card muses on the dichotomies between commercial and sacred, cartoonish and realistic, Eastern and Western influences. He explores the concept of "barnacles of time," suggesting that each iteration of his characters accumulates layers of meaning and experiences, evolving into something new while retaining traces of their original form.

While this is an interesting concept that may also prove inspiring for fashion designers, there is a final and more personal dichotomy at the bottom of Card's exhibition, also connected with fashion: the artist seems divided between his fascination with surplus of objects and his commercial work for fashion houses and brands, and his art, that stems from the language of consumption, but that is leading him towards a form of pop collage characterised by dazzling colors.

While his Hong Kong exhibition gravitates towards the realm of art, his recent work for the multibrand concept store LN-CC in Hackney, London, and the launch of his latest toy ("Sad Sack") developed with Unbox Industries and available from toy company Amaz by Lokianno, still anchor Card in commerce. It seems that, at least for the time being, he will exist in this intermediary space where he is still surrounded by his cherished objects, but where he is still able to detach from them and ponder about the culture of materialism, consumerism and consumption.

Thrift Clothes Virtuoso: Francesco Colucci X Fashion in Motion at The V& A, London

In the history of fashion there have been performances in which models underwent live dressing processes before an audience.

As you may remember, for their Autumn/Winter 1999 Haute Couture collection (titled "Russian Doll") Viktor Horsting and Rolf Snoere piled up one garment on top of the other on model Maggie Rizer. Starting in a minidress made of hessian sackcloth, Rizer ended up entombed in a thick coat, turned into a sculpture and unable to move. A comment on the relentless rhythm of fashion and of consumption, the concept was reversed in the duo's Autumn/Winter 2010-11 collection with Kristen McMenamy turned into an awkward monumental robot-like figure dwarfed by a pile of garments that were one by one removed by the designers and adapted on the other models.

Olivier Saillard also made a virtue out of the art of dressing Tilda Swinton in his performances "The Impossible Wardrobe" (2012), "Eternity Dress" (2013) and "Cloakroom" (2014). In "Embodying Pasolini", the actress donned the costumes created for the films of Italian writer, poet and director Pier Paolo Pasolini.

Despite different in their essence and at times evoking a sense of detachment from the audience passively watching, these performances still underscore the transformative power inherent in fashion. Each layer of clothing, each costume, altered the wearer's appearance, remembering audiences that we are blank canvases awaiting to become works of art through the medium of fashion.

Yet beneath the surface of these presentations lies a calculated beauty, a fashion trapped within constraints. Every aspect of these transformative rituals featured specific designs and was meticulously planned, leaving nothing to chance. As spectators we admire the attires, we witness the spectacle and passively absorb it.

Last week, thrift clothes virtuoso Francesco Colucci engaged in a similar live dressing session with his muse, the artist Diamond Peach Lollipop, at the Fashion in Motion event dedicated to him at the Victoria & Albert Museum in London.

However, Colucci is a dresser with a cause - sustainability. His unique vision and the grand designs resulting from his dutifully applied layers are indeed the result of an endless ragpicking exercise that he has mastered in the last 10 years.

After moving from his native Italy (where he studied art) to London, Colucci started working at Traid, a charity collecting and selling second-hand clothes, but also raising funds to improve the conditions of workers in the textile industry and support organic cotton farmers.

At Traid Colucci initially served as a sales assistant before assuming the role of visual merchandiser. This new role allowed him to start curating the window displays that turned into a weird and wonderful platform for his self-expression.

Employing materials donated to Traid, Colucci breathes new life into old garments, accessories, and objects, reconfiguring them and creating new narratives.

Whatever is available in the Traid shops serves as his inspiration (note to fashion design students: always pay attention to materials and let them inspire you, as Louis Kahn taught us to do with his approach to the brick).

Remixed and combined with his roots, with his passion for the films of Pier Paolo Pasolini, Michelangelo Antonioni, and Luchino Visconti, and with a dash of Danilo Donati's ingenuity and Piero Tosi's knowledge of materials.

At the V&A's Raphael Gallery Colucci piled layer upon layer on his model Diamond Peach Lollipop, clad in head to toe in one of their sparking skins and trademark face masks that erased identity and gender. The process offered the audience an exclusive glimpse into Colucci's creative journey.

Colucci's vision thrives when the face of his dummies or of the model he's dressing is a blank canvas, a gender-neutral slate awaiting his transformative touch.

Employing donated garments and cast-offs, Colucci constructs ensembles that experiment with layering, textiles, volumes, and shapes, uncovering unconventional applications for clothing, accessories and assorted items or interior design objects.

Some creations evoke the spirit of Leigh Bowery - chameleon-like, audaciously controversial, unflinchingly bold - celebrating body distortions and exaggerated volumes, revealing Colucci's penchant for masks matched with monumental structures.

Colucci's performance at the V&A also included mannequins adorned in ensembles crafted from Traid's donated garments, of the kind you may spot in the windows of Traid's shops across London, such as bustiers made from upholstery fabrics of the kind you may see in your auntie's living room, and craftwork crochet blankets and cushions transformed into evening gowns and cobra-shaped heads of alien figures.

A bit like the late Anna Piaggi and Iris Apfel, Colucci combines in his practice rich fabrics with cheap plastic objects such as inflatable rucksacks and hats, or with metallic elements that look as if they were sourced from a hardware store rather than a haberdashery shop.

Creating like a naughty child, Colucci wittily subverts the intended purpose of a design: a ballerina's black tutu formed a halo around the head of a dummy, the crotch of the tutu used to partially obscure the face of the dummy, evoking a surreal S&M aesthetic reminiscent of Alexander McQueen; a rugby shoulder protection was transformed into the oversized head of an eerie extraterrestrial creature, creating a contrast with the magnificently monumental Altarpiece of St. George at the V&A's Raphael Court.

In Colucci's creations, colors and patterns clash and intertwine: grand gowns reminiscent of Galliano at Dior are fashioned from fabrics ripped from sofas, the exercise echoes the ethos of Margiela's Artisanal collections, but stems from the habit of all those of us who always lived low on resources and high on resourcefulness and that often manage to create grand fashion designs from yesterday's pile of trash.

Colucci emerges as a beacon of untamed creativity and a torchbearer of the eccentricity that once defined London, a free spirit amidst a city dealing with the aftermath of Brexit, the demise of punk icons, and a monarchy breaking the Internet for all the wrong reasons.

Fashion students would do well to ponder about Colucci's artistry, as he offers invaluable lessons gleaned from the art of thrift that can be very enriching. His message is indeed very clear: don't discard, but remake, remix and embrace, unleash creativity, and live authentically.

Image credits for this post

All images in this post courtesy of the Victoria & Albert Museum, London