How long have you known me now: a year? Year and a half, tops? It's time I come clean: I'm not really interested in fashion. I mean, not in the 'must have that bag' sense. I really love style, and I love the creativity of some designers more than others, but I hate hate hate the business of fashion, and- I'm so glad Jen had the courage to talk about it in her Savoy post - the whole PR machinery.. yuck.
As we speak, I am poaching pears and figs in a cloves, cinnamon and a little allspice, with brown sugar. The figs were a bowl for a pound @ Borough Market on Saturday, before we went to the Tate Modern. The pears, we actually picked from a tree near a pub, in the car park actually, in the countryside. They were falling on the ground and rotting: beautiful pears. Meant to be admired, in a bowl, then eaten. Tonight I ate one perfect pear. Perfect ripeness. With pecorino cheese. And it made me think of Arte Povera.
What I love is finding beauty in the ordinary. That's what drew me to photograph 'street style', and continues to. I love when I admire something someone is wearing and they have a story about how cheaply they got it, or someone gave it to them, used and worn. Or they found it in a charity shop, unloved and discarded, but saw the beauty in it, and transformed it into something desirable. Just simply by seeing it in a different light.
This was all shot at the Tate Modern on Saturday, and some, like this piece, was from a great exhibit called Arte Povera: a movement started in Italy in the Sixties, which basically combines my three favourite things: Italy, the Sixties, and.. 'beautiful poverty'. The opposite of bling. Poached figs and pears, picked ripe from a tree.
That's why the previous post - Roz's idea - means so much to me. Thank you for spreading Roz's vision around. It's just such good karma, and I really believe it is helping her heal with miraculous speed.
Oh and I love when we go to a museum: after an hour or two, everything starts to look like art.