Vegetables, acrobats and tambourines...

...Peanuts, mermaids and crickets, treble clefs and parrots...

What do they all have in common?  Buttons!  Oh, lovely buttons (I do like a good button).  More precisely - buttons designed by the Italian surrealist fashion provocateur, Elsa Schiaparelli (1890-1973), whose exhibition at the V&A I felt privileged to visit last Friday.

I've written about Elsa before here  - she of the famous Lobster Dress (as worn by Wallis Simpson) - as I've had a mild obsession with her for a few years now, so the chance to see some of her extraordinary ideas in the - cloth? - was not to be missed.  It was wonderful to take it all in, the beautiful tailoring and the idiosyncratic details, especially, which had passed me by in photos.  For instance, I had no idea about the zips... (I'll come back to buttons later!)

Zips didn't really gain functional popularity until the 1920s when they were used on boots (and the name 'Zipper' - after a pair of ladies' boots in which they featured - replaced their previous rather less catchy label of 'separable fastener').  But Elsa was one of the first to incorporate the zip as a design feature in itself (and there was me thinking that Vivienne Westwood and punk were the originators).  One of her most controversial garments was the 'Skeleton Dress', a collaboration with Salvador Dali, which had large plastic zips down one seam and on both shoulders. It was brilliant to see this for real but my photo of it hasn't turned out well so here's a better one...  Look at that bone structure!

But there were other zips in unexpected places too, big chunky plastic zips, and these gave the garments such an air of modernity that it was hard to believe they were nearly 100 years old.  There was a gorgeous evening dress with zips on the insides of the long sleeves - not only that, but this was the very first time a camouflage pattern had been used purely for fashion fabric.  This was made in 1931...  I would happily wear it now.

So, what about the buttons? Elsa's ideas were made real for her by various jewellers and sculptors, amongst them Alberto Giacometti and Jean Schlumberger (best known for his work for Tiffany & Co) and were fantastically, skilfully crafted in all their intricacy but it's what went on in her artistic mind that particularly appeals to me.Very up my street.  Just the concept alone of turning a carrot into a fastening device, for instance, and just look at the fabric on this where these cheeky vegetable buttons are featured - your five a day and more... ? This was from 1941, a time when French women in particular were being encouraged to grow their own veg.

Then there were the acrobats, as mentioned in my post title - part of Elsa's 'Circus Collection' from 1938.  These were handmade buttons, trapeze artists leaping out from the opening of a pink jacket which also featured blue performing horses with metallic thread manes and saddles.

Oh, I could go on - how brilliant it was to see the actual Lobster Dress, to look at the fancy bottles for Schiaparelli's 'Shocking' brand of perfume, to enjoy the collaborative masterpieces such as those made with Jean Cocteau...  (note the embroidered signature bottom right.)

and just to fall in love with some of her fabrics

as well as to learn about the exquisitely tailored women's suits with a proliferation of large pockets which were named 'cash and carry' pockets, designed to replace the need for fiddly handbags during wartime uncertainty.  Very practical, just grab your essentials, stow them safely in your deep pockets and run.

Well ok - I did go on, but still there is so much more and there's an awful lot that wasn't even in the exhibition; I didn't notice any underwear, for instance! I had hoped to see this favourite...

But, in summary, it was a joy and my mild obsession with Elsa's playful, life-affirming and classily eccentric take on clothes remains as strong as ever.  I just wish I could wear some myself.

NB - There were also several items created for the continuing Elsa Schiaparelli label in recent years by other designers, many of which have been worn by celebrities such as Dua Lipa and Beyoncé.  But they don't feature here as they just didn't do it for me, they looked far too contrived, self-consciously outrageous and OTT, as if just for the sake of it - very much a reflection of now, rather than of Elsa Schiaparelli's own, distinctive era of surrealism.

'Schiaparelli: Fashion Becomes Art' is on at the Victoria & Albert Museum, London until 8th November 2026.

Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather

In a room with dark walls and long, purple, velvet curtains, the high chandeliers emitting only the dimmest glow from above, I was a voyeur. It was warm, and in the background slow, hypnotic music played, as I peered at the objects of desire in all their leather, fur, jewels, ribbons and buckles... out of reach... untouchable. Sex, seduction, submission and power were recurring themes throughout. Pleasure and pain.

Shoes!

Not just any old shoes. Well, some old shoes, yes.... shoes that were centuries old... others which looked like cars (complete with tail-lights, the Pradas worn by Kylie), fairytale slippers (including Cinderella's glass Swarovski one created for the recent Disney film) and tiny, tiny Chinese shoes to fit women's feet that had been bound so as not to exceed the “ideal” length of 7cm. 7 cm! 

(I did feel slightly sick at this thought.)
(I still feel slightly sick.)

The lovely V&A, one of my favourite places in London, is hosting a fascinating exhibition – Shoes: Pleasure and Pain. I'm sure I wasn't alone in wanting to visualise the original wearer of the knee-high red leather boots, with 40 pairs of lace holes threaded with gold braid, lined in silk, so curvily shaped to emphasise her slim ankles and sensual calves. She would have been wearing them nearly a hundred years ago.

Other pictures formed in my head on seeing the Christian Louboutin/David Lynch collaboration, the ultimate in fetish shoes. Like ballet pumps with heels which bent round so they were parallel to the base of the shoe, these were made to be...

impossible to walk in, so that

     the wearer of them

          can only

               crawl.

And they were designed to be viewed from behind too.... their soles are completely transparent.

A picture is forming in your head as well, isn't it? It's difficult for it not to, I know.

Men's shoes too: I wouldn't want anyone to think this was a show that could only interest women. Glorious 1950s winkle-pickers with impossibly pointed toes, biker style boots with straps and buckles (which I noted were from Shelly's... a place much frequented by my friends and me in the '80s).  High-heeled and fancily decorated in beads and studs were the boots worn by those most rugged and macho of men: cowboys. Glam rock platform boots and jewel-encrusted mojaris worn by Indian royalty 200 years ago defied gender stereotypes too. If you've any interest in history, design and society, you can learn a huge amount just from looking at shoes through the ages and, like so many things, they're a reminder that much of what we think of as 'modern' has been done before - long before.

I knew I'd be on foot most of the day, and have to jump onto tube trains and walk down busy streets, so I wore some comfortably worn-in zipped ankle boots. The chunky heels are wearing down and the toes are square. But it was obvious from the display I saw that, throughout history, the most significant and desirable footwear is, of course, not actually meant to be walked in.

Inspired

                              Mr and Mrs Clark and Percy by David Hockney

I felt very uninspired and a little unwell yesterday which may explain why I spent over an hour trying to crack the expression on a dingo's face.  Say that last bit in an Australian accent and it sounds like a colourful euphemism, but I really was just struggling disproportionately with some animal drawings.  I decided to give up for a while and as I put (what's left of) my putty rubber in a home-made card box a memory came to me and I thought I'd come in and waste some time blogging instead.  So, just to bring some colour into these grey, bleak February days, here's something bright and retro, inspired by thinking about Aussies and boxes. (Not cricket!)

I was lucky enough to catch the temporary Ossie (ok it's tenuous!) Clark exhibition in the fashion section of the V&A ten years ago.  I love so many things in the V&A but the fashion exhibits are amongst my favourites and it was brilliant to see some of his striking original outfits from the '60s and '70s while I had the chance.  As a memento I bought these great little postcards of sketches by Ossie’s textile-designer wife, Celia Birtwell, from 1969.  I just love the drawings and her vibrant, graphic fabrics.

Celia and Ossie were part of the sixties 'Bohemian' set, living in Notting Hill and having close connections with many notable rock'n'roll names of the time.  There's something really compelling about the famous painting of them (and their cat) by David Hockney which is apparently thought to be the 'most-viewed' picture ever at the Tate (I make do with my tatty postcard of it, above).  Their clothes were worn by the Beatles, Stones, Hendrix, Twiggy and Marianne Faithfull amongst others.  Looking at the designs above they seem to epitomise the late '60s/early '70s - but Celia was particularly inspired by artists from other eras - such as Matisse, costume designer Leon Bakst (whose drawings I adore!) and Picasso.

I was really attracted to these designs, even though I suspect I could never have pulled off those dresses! - at least not without looking like an auditionee for 'Abigail's Party'... After that visit to the V&A, in homage to her, I made some boxes (I have a thing about boxes), put together very simply from stiff card, and painted her fabric patterns on them in acrylics.  All those years of watching Blue Peter as a kid must have paid off, although I can honestly say that no sticky-back-plastic was used here, nor were they ever intended for a hibernating tortoise.  They were only meant to be a bit of fun but I’ve been using them ever since and amazingly they haven't fallen apart yet.  I always need small containers for those easily-losable things but I rarely find ready-made ones in the right size; these one-offs do the job.  There's a selection of (what's left of) my putty rubbers in the bottom one.

It's ok, I'm not trying to pass the patterns off as originals - they are pure Celia Birtwell

and for my personal use only!  (I add paranoiacally)

And here’s Sandie Shaw wearing it.  The Ossie Clark/Celia Birtwell dress, I mean, not a hand-made box.  I came across this clip by accident and was strangely excited when I recognised the material of her outfit!  (If, like me, you really don't want to hear 'Puppet On A String' yet one more time, even - or especially - sung in German, then I recommend turning the sound off and imagining it's her version of 'Your Time Is Gonna Come').

Sitting here now in an old brown marl jumper I’m feeling so terribly drab…  Maybe I need to don a green and yellow maxi dress to help inspire, especially as I have to cogitate on a koala today.  I wish I could be as creative as Ms Birtwell.

UPDATE:  By pure coincidence I just found that there is this Ossie Clark exhibition going on right now!

Playing along with the art school boys, part two

I was lucky enough to spend a little time recently in some London galleries and museums.  I say lucky because I think of it as a lovely treat to myself, something special - to get to the city and have time to savour a bit of culture.  Whilst wending my way between the exhibits, stopping to “ooh” and “ahh” at some, to be curious and intrigued by others, or simply remain nonplussed at a few, it occurred to me how much I’ve changed since my student days.  Seeing a few clusters of chatty teenagers whose pink hair or unconventionally combined items of clothing screamed out ‘art school trip’ reminded me of my own student group excursions.  We all loved those days out to a place deemed to be of sufficient cultural and educational merit for the tutors to organise a special coach to the Smoke – but not for the right reasons.

Trips to the Barbican, the Tate and the like presented opportunities to do three main things: pose, skive and drink.  We did at least appear well-intentioned on first disembarking the coach, glad to stretch our legs after the dull drive down the M11, having been cramped into the seats of rough textured orange and brown fabric, with flat, matted bits that had resulted from the unsociable chewing-gum-disposal habits of previous occupants.   Stepping into the fresh-diesel air from the stuffy vehicle with its smeary condensation-wet windows, we’d be ushered into whichever exhibition space we were visiting and, at first, it would all be very interesting and exciting.  I have a particularly fond memory of a show at the Hayward in which I was smitten by a mock-up bathroom painted, tiled and kitted out entirely in black (it went with my taste in clothes at the time).   The National Portrait Gallery was appealing too – I’ve never been able to resist looking at and enjoying faces.  But after we’d walked around once and the tutors had disappeared (doubtless to the nearest pub) we had other things on our agenda.  I’m sure I could have learned so much more had I not been as distracted by other attractions but, as they say, youth is wasted on the young.

A trip to the Royal Academy could end up with a wander down the Kings Road, having first bought cans of Skol that would be swigged from as we peeked in the doorways of posh shops we didn’t dare enter.  A morning at the ICA meant an afternoon at HMV and the small, musty-smelling record shops tucked away down nearby back streets.  We ventured tentatively into pubs - classic London dives with large central bars, high ceilings and flock wallpaper, so different from those in our suburban home towns with their copper kettles nestling amongst vases of dust-grey dried flowers.  Some of the nudes we viewed in the metropolis were not just the marble statues or Modigliani models, but the garish photos in Soho shop windows that made us giggle blushingly, and the front covers of magazines which I’m quite sure they never stocked at my local Martins.  Well, I suppose in some ways I did learn a thing or two.

I’d come home not so much with a head full of culture as with a throbbing lager-fuelled ache, a seven inch single in a paper bag, a new T-shirt or earrings and my one concession to the reason for the trip in the first place - a postcard of a Picasso perhaps, from the gallery’s over-priced shop.  The coach journey home was always a far more subdued affair than the outbound drive – the windows misted up with our beery breath this time, as we drowsily added new patches of over-chewed Wrigley’s to the existing ones on the upholstery.  Teenagers, eh?

Anyway, I’m very glad to report that my last trip was a cultural pleasure and made up for all those wasted opportunities.  I came home with a head full of imagery and experiences that educated, inspired and delighted and made me so glad I could go and fill my boots this time in an altogether different way.  I bought a couple of over-priced postcards too – well, you have to, don’t you?  I must say, I don’t really miss the student jolly.  This way was far preferable.

(...life is the art that you make...)

British Design 1948 - 2012

My eye was caught recently by news of this exhibition which celebrates over sixty years of classic British design.  The show will feature 300 exhibits, including furniture, ceramics, sculpture, photography, fashion and more  – look out for such classics as Jamie Reid’s ‘God Save The Queen’poster, and art from David Hockney and Henry Moore. A trip to the V&A always strikes me as good value and worth the effort of taking the train down to London, especially if I can combine it with doing something else.  So here’s an early heads-up, if you’re in the area some time this Summer. 

British Design 1948 - 2012 at the V&A
(Runs from 31st March to 12th August)

And this cries out for a little bit of British sixties pop...