In context: Rene Gruau and John Galliano

I've blogged about Rene Gruau before and was delighted to see that John Galliano had sifted through the archive to draw inspiration from a man who helped to mould the Dior image with his illustrations throughout the 50's and 60's.

I have much love for Gruau's work but his books are all out of print and sell for serious money on eBay - the closest thing I have to a print is a card I received for my university graduation, which has lasted through several house moves and now has pride of place on my fridge.

Gruau's work is painterly, spontaneous, cheeky, seductive, inimitable and just a tiny bit risqué - all words that you could also use to describe Galliano's work.

Gruau'l illustrations for Dior

This illustration was used for Dior Cherie and was also a promotional image for the recent Gruau/Dior exhibition at Somerset house

It's great to see that Galliano hasn't used the clichéd 50's silhouettes that are being done to death.  His subversive eye tallies more with translating Gruau's often abstract paintmarks and translating them into dresses.  A Philip Treacy headpiece looks like a brush stroke and an exclamation point to top off an outfit.  A bow mutates into a shimmering tulle overlay on a ballgown.  A train folds and is tucked so it becomes a whole with a dress.  All the dresses have a fluidity that is synonymous with Gruau's work.  More brush strokes are transposed onto the skirts themselves.  Gruau's trademark love of opera gloves is evident.  And the make-up!  Ah, the make-up... No shading - just black, white and red.

What do you think of Galliano's couture?

I Heart Shen Plum

I'm having a serious girl crush moment on the work of Toronto-based illustrator Shen Plum, whose line drawings are a mix of storybook perfection (anthropomorphic animals)and gorgeous, brightly-hued girls with prismatic rainbow accents

Yeah Yeah Yeah's Karen O

Pics 2-4 from Girls Girls Girls (hopefully nothing to do with the Motley Crue song)

Mournful but not morbid, ethereal without being wishy-washy and dreamlike without veering into cliched 'fairy-Lula-girl-in-a-wood-with-a-floaty-dress-on-a-tyre-swing' territory.  Just my cup of tea.

Shen Plum shows her stuff mainly in Toronto, but you can buy jewellery and other bits from her Etsy shop, prints from ES Illustration and super-cool badges from Stereohype, which are getting nicely settled into my wish list as I type.

Anna Piaggi's Fashion Algebra

If you follow my blog you'll have an inkling of the horrible technology problems that I'm having, so it'll be no surprise that I've turned back to books.

See, books won't suddenly shut and refuse to open again. You won't turn a page of a book and find it covered in error messages. Books can still be read even if you're not near a wireless hotspot. And if you have a problem with a book, the answer usually doesn't involve calling a hotline where the rep on the phone snidely informs you that you're chained to a contract even if the provider no longer covers you *shakes fist for the millionth time this week*

'Hem. Excuse me. That was a bit of an over elaborate lead-up to showing you a few scans from a recent acquisition; a copy of the now out-of-print Anna Piaggi's Fashion Algebra, published by Thames and Hudson in the 90's and made of of the most notable of Piaggi's D.Ps for Italian Vogue up to that point.

The introduction and subsequent chapter title pages have words that are led around the pages or arranged like poems, and are short and sharp.




This is the Chapter 12; Characters title page. All the title pages are in monochrome to really contrast from the multicoloured, multi-medium D.P's within.



Multicoloured Pantone goodness

A very green season with all the shades of a colour chart, from Veronese Green to cinnabar.  To the list of classic greens are added those that are techno-botanical:  the new artificial greens - like the acrylic green of Gianni Versace (left) and the metallic verdigris of hair at Yohji Yamamoto (right, bottom).  The crocodile bags by Anna Molinari are also green (far left).  And there are greens mixed with blue by Missoni.  February 1996, no 546.

A spread about the beguiling nature of the Gibson Girl.  Ah, to be that clean-cut and have picnics and ride penny-farthing bicycles (I presume that this is all that a Gibson Girl did).  The little text blurb reads:

The return of the old-fashioned picnic, with all the style of Le Dejuneur sur  l'herbe:  wicker hampers from Milan, by Lorenzi and by Eve; tableclothsby Ken Scott; thermos flasks from Hermes.  Even the new bags in fabric and in straw (Jean-Paul Gaultier) have that picnic look.  August 1994, No 528.

Tweedy ladies taking tea and discussing the local news in suits by John Galliano, Alexander McQueen and Yohji Yamamoto.  Then there's the puritan style of Vivienne Westwood or - for hanging out the washing - the colourful escapism of Clements Ribeiro... November 1997, no 567

This book is fairly expensive (I got a great deal because I bought one without a dustcover) but is well-worth trying to source a copy.  I can't remember the last time I pored over a book like this and tried to take i every image.  It's almost impossible to absorb everything, so everytime I come back to it, I find something new and totally wonderful.

Not So Wonderwoman

This is the new Wonderwoman.  While most people in the States are wondering why she's no longer wearing an American flag, others are wondering about the feminist implications of the addition of trousers and tough leather jacket.  Is she joining the X-Men?  Is she in Twilight or something?  No?  Well, ok then.  This can't be for ease of movement.  I realise the Wonderwoman is only two dimensional but even she must find it hard to run in PVC.

Here's my two cents:  If Wonderwoman was such a feminist figurehead then why are her tits three times the normal size now she's covering up? 

Bring back the shorts I say.

Penguin Decades - The 70's

Another day, another set of artisan book covers.  Yes, I know this isn't a book or an art blog, but it's so obvious to state that art and fashion intermingle from time to time that I feel visibly embarrassed to type it, like when I found out that Michael Jackson had died way after everyone else had, so whenever I said, "Did you know that Michael Jackson died?" I would get a patronising, ingratiating look, like I hadn't quite processed it, or was deeply grieving or was, in fact, just one of those people who didn't own a television.

Aaaanyway, Penguin Books has decided in it's infinite wisdom to reissue some of its more controversial books from the fifties to the eighties to coincide with the book company's 75th birthday this year.  "What relevance is this to a blog devoted to fashion?" I hear you cry (or not).

The covers of the seventies books (a decade not known for it's feelgood factor if the Penguin choices are anything to go by) are designed by none other than textile mistress Zandra Rhodes, who came to a greater prominence in that decade.



So, back to the question of how relevant this is...

For one, Rhodes is a fashion designer.  That's the first link right there.  What I find slightly odd is the choice of Rhodes for the seventies and not the sixties.   While it's true that she was most prominent in the seventies, her work was noted then for the use of bejewelled safety pins that could be considered a casual subversion of punk mores than her textile work, which first raised controversy when she graduated from The Royal College of Art.

She also co-designed paper dresses (that were sold in Miss Selfridge, of all places).  The plot thickens.  It could be considered coming full circle that her designs that were once printed on paper for dresses should now be printed on paper for books.  The keyword is 'cyclical', something that has been playing on my mind - the notion that history is doomed to repeat itself.

The designs also remind me more than a little of Turner Prize winner Grayson Perry's previous collection of fabrics for Liberty, where an innocuous paisley pattern contains skulls and an innocent pastiche of teddies and dolls also contains AK47's and fighter jets.  Or is the similarity just something I'm seeing?

Probably my favourite post ever.

Forever in Blue jeans
Originally posted on 30/07/09


Now that we're in a capital R Recession, nostalgia seems to have become a more highly coveted commodity than crude oil. Nothings more zeitgeisty now than pulling together, having an allotment and darning your socks with Brillo Pads or somesuch, because apparently we are now living during the Blitz and having to deal with the Horrid Hun and V2 rockets, and not in actuality having to deal with 15% pay cuts and having to buy cheap plonk and prosciutto. I'm being facetious of course.
In some ways it's probably a return to the norm (perhaps not the darning socks with Brillo Pads bit though...) because we all - yes, I do mean everyone - seem to have become supremely wasteful. Why make your own stuff; it'll take you hours that would otherwise be better spent on watching America's Next Top Model and eating bean burritos*, when you could pop down to Penneys/Primark and pick up a cocktail dress for three euros**? What everyone, me included, seems to forget is that people used to make their own stuff. This isn't meant to be a guilt trip by any means, but imagine what a happy place the world could be - recycling, individuality, holding hands under the rainbow, yurts, drum circles and so on - if we actually did.

A lot of books have been released on the grounds of this newfound Saving The World nostalgia in regards to fashion and clothing, notably Sew and Save and Make Do and Mend, which are reissued facsimile copies of the original 1940's booklets (see what I mean about the Blitz?). Another slightly less obvious example is the revival of the Jackie Annual. Do you remember being a kid and reading Bunty, Judy or Mandy magazine, with it's photostories about having your first kiss, and advice on how to wear make-up without your parents getting mad at you? Jackie and it's rival Blue Jeans (about which I can find virtually nothing) stopped being published in the early nineties and are as a rule a wee bit before my time. However, I was saved by an industrious granny who would bring me back annuals from local charity shops, along with less welcome things, such as encyclopedia indexes and copies of Stephen Hawking's A Brief History Of Time. I started collecting at eleven and stopped at fourteen. I think at one point I must have had about seventy to eighty annuals, including a much loved Monkees Annual from 1965 and a copy of another annual called Misty, which published exclusively horror stories about witches and magical yet vengeful trees and highwaymen hanging from gibbets. As you can probably tell, I wasn't the most popular kid in primary school.

This is my 1981 Blue Jeans annual, in case you couldn't tell for whatever reason.When I was younger I was much more enthralled with the Buster Bloodvessel interviews and frankly ridiculous photostories involving women who steal babies because they are grieving for a lost loved one, and the girl always ends up with a broken heart after her boyfriend dies in a motorcycle smash up cum race in a bid to buy her an engagement ring that the real, practical bits. In a way, Blue Jeans ruined my life because I was convinced that I'd be euphorically married at seventeen, and even if I wasn't, I would have a sizeable collection of zazzy headbands to make up for it.

But I digress. Now that I'm older and wiser, I'm much more taken in by the sheer amount of sewing that these girls had to do in between holding minor clerical jobs and crimping their hair. For example, this beauty...

It's Quicker by Tube'. Worra pun. Ok, so this may look a bit childish, but I can't help but wonder what would happen if the gold and silver snakes weren't worn as jewellery but instead used to add texture to clothes. Over the material = instant 3D stripes. Under the body = a mad textured effect. It's make and do piping and you can wear it around your neck! The sausages are great too. I'd love to make a few of these longer and in really dark, muted Winter colours - forest green, midnight blue, cranberry and so on - and pile them over an otherwise boring outfit, hopefully in a way that wouldn't make my head look like a christmas pudding. It reminds me very much of some of the Sonia by Sonia Rykiel A/W '09-'10 knits that had textured piping placed underneath the wool and twisted into three-dimensional bows that are slightly disconcerting and cool at the same time.  I'm a super sucker for 3D and novelty knits; it's the wee kid in me that does it.  Ahem, anyway, on to the next point...

If I had any handbag in the world, it would probably be a Chanel 2.55, because I'm generic that way. However, I shall never get my hands on one, unless I suddenly get more money than sense (not looking likely judging by the negative figures bank statement) or mug an Olsen twin (would be a bit counterproductive as I would have to buy plane fare to New York). However, Blue Jeans has evidently saved the day by providing it's own instructions on how to make a quilted bag of your very own. Hallelujah! Actually, it's not a bad idea. You could make some very badass colour combinations, or at least contrive to make the art of combining colours as badass as it possibly can be. Grey and bright yellow spring to mind - ooh, and a few pyramid studs to really add a contrast.

I'm still a bit of a novice at throwing an outfit together. As a rule of thumb, if it doesn't go with jeans and black Converse, then it's officially a bit scary and sits at the back of the wardrobe or on the floor. I am trying to break outside the norm though - with mixed results. So it was with trepidation that I looked at the Fashion Workshop below. I didn't really fancy sewing shoulder pads into my t-shirts. Oh how wrong I was. This double page (lovingly scanned and merged by the boyfriend - ta hon) combine stuff I really should have thought of - military buttons, d'oh - with slightly more consciously 'retro' stuff, like painting Mondrian-esque lines on your jumper and instructions on how to make those Cleopatra snake armbands. The text is obviously teeny, but the files are quite large so you should be able to zoom in.

*That might just be me.
**Again, that might just be me.

Might as well get it over with...

... and import my older posts and just delete the old blog altogether. Out with the old, in the the new. That's how it goes, isn't it? Let's hope so. Since this post from last October (I think) I've since bought Nina Chakrabarti's book and it is amazing . Amazing. I might buy another copy. One to keep pristine. The other one to look at and doodle in on rainy days.

Nina Chakrabarti's line drawings straddle the line between whimsical and intense and incredbly fun. Her series of fashion sketches that come with the Sunday Times Style supplement always manage to while away a few minutes of doodling fun, but the results always stick in the mind for much longer.





The above pages are from her book My Wonderful World of Fashion, which I ordered not two minutes ago while waiting for my Dad to finish watching the tv (Oceans Twelve, I ask you) so I can see Dawn of the Dead. I'm already slavering in anticipation. That or I might have fashion rabies. Her designs, tips and suggestions are a million miles away from the likes of Trinny and Susannah, which is definitely a place where I want to be. And she positively encourages you to go mad with the ol' felt tips. It's a good thing.

The bottom picture is taken from a spread from the inaugural issue of I Want You Magazine, which is available in toto online and as part of a limited print run. The spread, which can be seen here, reminds me of the Mexican Day of the Dead iconography... but that might just be because I have Dawn of the Dead on the brain. Eerie and amazing. The work here marries perfectly my love of fashion and also of squiggling elaborate moustaches on the women from the Littlewoods catalogue, although I think i'll leave the intricate and carefully-thought pen and ink work to Chakrabarti herself...

Rene Gruau

This is an old-ish post from the vaults, and one of my favourites. I originally posted it last September but it's still relevant (or at least I hope so). Well, except for the Lisbon Treaty references...



Like fabric-painting and the scaremongering tactics of oddball political activists in the run up to the Irish Lisbon Treaty Referendum (non EU readers can switch off at that bit), fashion illustration seems to have fallen by the wayside without anyone even noticing it.

At my recent university graduation, my Daddy Dearest's business partner gave me a very thoughtful card (and Brown Thomas gift voucher - hello, tortoiseshell Ray Ban CATs with a graduated lens... aham, excuse me) featuring the singular illustrations of Rene Gruau.

I have a very sad love of fashion illustration due almost entirely to the even sadder fact that it's the only way that I can usefully use a degree in History of Art without actually having a job concerning art in any way, shape or form. Gruau's illustrations can be found in 100 Years of Fashion Illustration but any books on the Man himself are hard to find and retail at roughly £300. Ouch.

What I love about Gruau's illustration, hopefully without sounding like an Art teacher (which incidentally is another job that I am NOT qualified to do despite a History of Art degree...sigh)

- Firstly, the starkness and sparseness of composition. Gruau rarely if ever used more than a handful of colours and there's no fore or background. There's no clutter and no distractions.
- The colours that he did use are chosen very carefully for maximum impact. Every colour seem to offset the other one. he didn't outline or make overt definitions, which makes you subconsciously think about the clothes (ok, makes me think subconsciously about the clothes)
- A use of line and a woman's silhouette that makes you think of Richard Avedon's work in the late 40's and early 50's. Both Avedon and Gruau were noted for making Dior's 1947 New Look even more iconic.


Hopefully you can see where I'm coming from, though the above isn't the best picture to prove my point. But you can see how both the photographer and the illustrator same the same preoccupation with line and whimsy. Below are my two favourite Gruau illustrations. Stark, sparse, abstract and totally wonderful. And something that couldn't be achieved with a camera.