orange you glad

Hope you all had a lovely Easter - and Passover - and Bank Holiday Weekend (I love that phrase!). I can barely see as I type this - the blinding rays of SUNLIGHT are such a shock to the system. Just wanted to post some more shots before I went out - the sunshine is making me want to wear hot colours now, orange and pink and cobalt blue, bit of turquoise (that's Charlotte, btw, laughing: she's with the V&a press department, and is an absolute delight).

Also wanted to share with you something that I found, a virtual tour by someone who goes by the name ArtList1, while trying to choose a Bowie song to go with more of my shots from the David Bowie Is show at the V&a. I wish he (or she) had chosen music perhaps less.. ambient, but still, it's a wonderful visual tribute to what I still feel is the best exhibition I've seen. This is a museum - and a team of curators and designers - exploring the audio visual and technical possibilities, pushing the envelope. Which of course is the best tribute to a creative spirit like David Bowie that one could do.

They chose orange for some reason as a theme for the show, so that's what today's post's theme is, too.

And for anyone who hasn't yet seen the show, I love what Selfridges is doing, starting this Thursday, 4th April: a whole bunch of surprises tied in with the exhibition. Including makeovers with Bowie looks. Which reminds me of a story. I'll save that for another post.

the definition of glamour

1: a magic spell (the girls appeared to be under a glamour — Llewelyn Powys)

2: an exciting and often illusory and romantic attractiveness (the glamour of Hollywood); especially: alluring or fascinating attraction —often used attributively (glamour stock) (glamour girls) (whooping cranes and … other glamour birds — R. T. Peterson)

It's hard to describe, you'll have to see for yourself. But whatever that indescribable definition of 'glamour' is to you, it's there, at this exhibit, at the extraordinarily renovated V&A Fashion Galleries, and their new exhibit, Ballgowns: British Glamour since 1950. 

You come in downstairs, where the permanent - yet new - exhibit resides. And that alone feels pretty darn glamorous. And you think, great. But then.. there are these stairs.. and you're up in what feels like heaven, the dome of the V&A. The gowns for the ball, and these giant balls. And I'm not sure who the woman in the top shot is - in this season's leopard print, lizard - but I'm guessing she was one of the curators, either Oriole Curren or Sonnet Stanfill - both absolutely glamorous names. Whoever she is,   she was simply glowing with glamour.

blown away @ the v&A

I was not prepared for yesterday's press event at the V&A, Ballgowns: British Glamour Since 1950.

Or rather, I was not prepared to be as blown away by it as I was.

I knew - because I'd seen in the Times Style section, and on the BBC News, and in the invitation itself, that this show would coincide with the launch of the redesigned fashion gallery. And I knew I'd love it. But still, I wasn't prepared for the impact, architecturally or emotionally. I was so blown away, in fact, that I got a bit... snap happy. I even started shooting other people shooting the mannequins. A brief return to my streetstyle roots. And I know that rather than try to get all complicated and try to encapsulate my experience into one perfectly cohesive post, I'm going to do it in stages.

Maybe not quite one glamorous gown at a time, or maybe I will.









The weirdly serendipitous thing about this, my first choice, is that when I researched further into it (see description, below), I found that the woman in the photo - the owner and wearer of the dress, by a designer named Yuki, is an American actress named Gayle Hunnicutt. Further investigation revealed that while she had only the briefest of Hollywood careers, she was married to the late actor David Hemmings (see Blow Up: Bad Boys). During his cutest bad boy years, from 1968-1975. Which couldn't have been easy: an American wife, in London in the swingingest years, married to the baddest boy. I tip my cap to her.

And then she married Sir David Jenkins, the journalist, but they separated in 2008. I would so love to go for a coffee with this woman, and hear the story of her life.

I never used to get it, all the fuss about a dress. But this one was worn by Lady Jenkins, to a ball at Windsor Castle, by a girl from Fort Worth, Texas, the daughter of an American Colonel. This kaftan must have caused quite a stir at the time. I wonder what the Queen made of it - or her. I'd love to hear how this particular Cinderella felt, in this gown, at the ball.

There is so much - so very much - woven within a dress. Memories of moments, 'thrilling and exciting.' Of love: at once eternal, and yet, ultimately, fleeting. I think of the Beatles song, 'In My Life.'

All our lives are so rich, so full. We all have so many stories yet to tell.

The new space - which will blow you away, I promise - and the new show, Ballgowns: British Glamour Since 1950, will open to the public this Saturday at the V&A. Thank you to the lovely Charlotte, and more to come.

blow up: bad boys

Art imitating art imitating art: I shot these at the press preview for BRITISH DESIGN 1948-2012 at the V&A. If you can imagine, it's this massive exhibition, and I had entered into a dark time warp of Mary Quant mannequins, original David Bailey photos of Mick Jagger, and there's this screening, in the darkness, of a scene from Antonini's Blow Up. And my heart nearly stopped because I remember as a young girl having such a crush on David Hemmings, who played a photographer that (I later learned) was modelled after David Bailey. And this great iconic music from the period is playing, and I was mesmerised, watching this scene.. it's just so blatantly sexual. And as I started shooting - because it is SUCH a treat, as a photographer, to be allowed to shoot inside a museum - and another press photographer saw me shooting, so he starts shooting too... here we are, shooting still photography of movement, but it's not live, it's frozen in time, but we're still trying to catch action.



I remember David Hemmings from Camelot. We had gone into NYC on a school trip, Derrick Johnston - the cutest boy in the school - had just confessed his love for me and all the kids were teasing us about it on the bus. That was my absolute romantic, coming of age film. Everyone loved Lancelot (Franco Nero) and yes, he was cute - and the prototype for all my future romances in NY with cute French boys - but I was equally drawn to Arthur, Richard Harris. The English man, with his wit and wisdom and, well, Englishness. And then, about halfway through the film, who should appear but this sprite. This bad boy. MORDRED. Played by David Hemmings, with his cute little goatee and that blonde hair.. I mean, this guy was trouble with a capital T, and he only had a few lines in the whole film, but I was totally intrigued.



Of course, when Blow Up came out, I doubt it even played in our local suburban cinema. I don't even know how I knew about it - God knows, I was way too young to be able to see it. I must have devoured magazine or newspaper articles. I was fascinated with the idea of a mystery developing - literally developing - from a blow-up of an image that the David Hemmings/Bailey character caught in a London park. Hampstead Health, I'm pretty sure it was. And so I've whiled away a good hour or so, blowing up these stills, and musing on the concept of bad boys.



'I only went out with bad boys in college,' my friend Margaret said recently, 'and then, when I was ready to settle down, I got in touch with the good guy, who had always loved me.' I, on the other hand, married the one bad boy I knew - and wouldn't you know it, he calmed down. But it does seem that, as men go, they do fall into one or the other category. I mean, as women, we can have a phase where we're trying our best to be bad, so boys will like us, while inside, we're secretly good. But bad boys don't seem to operate that way. They're bad just because they feel like it. And they don't care whether we like them or not, which, I suppose, is why we do.

Images blown up by me, courtesy of Antonini's Blow Up: showing at the Victoria and Albert Museum until August.

starman

Yesterday I had the privilege to be invited to a press preview of the British Design 1948-2012 show, opening this Saturday at the V&A. If you click below, you can have the full experience, as this section of the show played music from that time:



All set? Great.



This is just one of several HUNDRED items in the show - at this rate, I will be devoting my blog to it all year (provided I post once a day). This was one of David Bowie's stage costumes, designed by the Japanese fashion designer Kansai Yamamoto (whose recent show I also had the privilege of seeing - at the V&A!). Bowie had commissioned Kansai to create the wardrobe for his Ziggy Stardust character. Kansai had - admiringly - described Bowie at the time as 'neither man nor woman.'

He was, in fact, such an icon, that when I saw his first show - in college, with a group of friends - I remember some cute guys from school driving us in a van across the border to Canada, very thrilling! - and so psyched we were - in the mid/late 70s, this was - to be seeing Bowie live, that even I had my most glittery glam outfit on (always the Virgo, it was a simple, fitted, long sleeved plain glitter tee: as minimalist as you could get back then).

But that's the thing about being an icon: you've always got to be moving forward. David Jones, aka Bowie, played that night to an audience of kids all glam rocked to the hilt - in a soft, grey, vintage suit. Ziggy Stardust was gone. It was the dawn of the Thin White Duke.

Some other versions of the song, for your viewing pleasure. And a rare find of the original video of Space Oddity.
















BRITISH DESIGN 1948-2012: INNOVATION IN THE MODERN AGE at the V&A opens this Saturday, March 31. Thank you, Charlotte, for inviting me: it's a wonderful show, and I can't wait to come back.

sisters: a composition in black and white

As per previous post ('the girl with the converse sneakers') here she is with her sister, wearing black.

My sister is blonde, I am brunette.

I love my sister, and she loves me, but we are opposite in nature. There were times when my mom dressed us in matching clothes (I remember especially a gorgeous white silk material with huge purple flowers with greenery - my mom somehow had a dress in it, too - we called it our 'purple people eater' dresses). But somehow, the general rule was that blondes wore shades of blue, and brunettes the red/pink area. I'm fine on the pink front, but I 'don't do red'. I also remember one time - we were teenagers - she wanted to borrow a sweater and I didn't want her to because her bosoms were bigger than mine (still are, by a cup size), and I didn't want her to stretch it out. Floods of tears ensued.

Actually, come to think of it: a lot of my favourite clothes now are hand me downs from my kid sister. A pale pink 'poorboy' turtle neck, for example - which I might just wear today! It's cold enough.

If all goes according to plan, we'll all be together in one week's time. Can't wait!

Must run. Off to see a dear dear Italian friend who is visiting from Rome - a virtual sister. Have a lovely Friday, sisters. Shot - as before - at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

bright young things

What is it, about summer, heat, sunshine, that makes certain moments.. golden. When you know, AT THE TIME, that you are living in a memory. One that will stay with you all your life - that you will look back at that moment, that snapshot - maybe all the other people in that photograph will be long gone, or perhaps simply gone from your life - and you will think: YES.

Yes, this is all that matters. Being present, here, now, alive.



The day I shot these was just.. GOLDEN. It was so hot, and I was in town - had just met a friend at the V&A - and while I cooled my bare feet in the water, this bunch were frolicking around, posing for each other's photos.. it was all so Gilbert and Sullivan that I suggest you click below while reading this piece.





There was a great series on the BBC recently, called the Age of Glamour. Brought on, ironically, as a result of the Wall Street Crash. One show - which I can't link cause it's gone - was about that golden period between the wars, when the privileged youth in England were on a kind of creative rampage. Dubbed the Bright Young Things, they were all about image, breaking the rules, having fun, and especially, reinventing themselves, and recording it, via the medium of photography.

It was all about image. About self expression, and seeking attention, and getting photographed, being in the papers. Being.. famous. Seen. They were, I feel, the original Self Style Bloggers. Everyone was a star in his or her ascendency.



Funny connections... Mat Buckets (buckets & spades) - who recently graduated! Congrats Mat! - tweeted about the show, and I promised him I'd do this post, which will have to be split into a few - too many shots. And then the gorgeous Imogen left such a good comment and I stopped by HER blog and saw she'd done a gorgeous post, titled.. yup, THESE BRIGHT YOUNG THINGS.



It is totally raining out - grey and cold and wet, real monsoon season in London town - so it felt like the right time to catch up and go back to a memory of sunnier times. Hope you're having a lovely summer weekend, wherever you are. Except if you're in the Southern Hemisphere, of course, in which case, a wintry weekend. Whatever: hope you're creating happy memories, as we speak.



Shot these bright young things in the V&A courtyard. Of course.

the girl in the yellow skirt

I don't know what caught my eye first, that day: the composition of the chair and the dance it made with its own shadow, or the girl in the yellow skirt, reading a book.



Probably the girl: it was an absolutely glorious day, coming out into the sunshine after the utterly spiritual experience (unexpected - it really was a last minute plan) of seeing the V&A's Fashion in Motion catwalk show, by Yohji Yamamoto. The thing for me about seeing any great art form: a transformational film, (like Terance Malack's Tree of Life, which we saw yesterday), or an art exhibit at a museum.. or, a good catwalk show, is how it makes everything after that experience feel like art. It changes the way I SEE.

A girl in a yellow skirt, for example, can become a sculpture. Sitting by a wall in a shaft of yellow sunlight.




Actually, come to think of it, she was actually the second girl in a yellow skirt I saw that afternoon. (And yes - whoever asked is that actually a plastic inflatable skirt, I believe you're right!)



I love how many overlapping stories can happen in once place. This family, coming out of the cafe, for example: there's a whole other story in that, I bet. Which keeps bringing me back to the dream like film: has anyone else seen Tree of Life yet? Did it move you as much as it did us?



The thing that struck me about this girl was how absorbed she was in her book: how oblivious to all that was going on in the huge open courtyard with the pool and fountain at the V&A. (This was the same time I shot the girl in the lace shorts - who is NIA, by the way: more about her, coming up), or the previous post, the girl in the straw hat. Even the guy next to her, who didn't seem to know her, was aware I was shooting, but she never looked up. Not once.

I guess I'll never know, but now I'm really curious: I wonder what book she was reading. What do you think? Actually.. while I'm at it, I need a new book. Any suggestions? The film of my favourite book is coming out soon, by the way: One Day, by David Nicholl.

couples

From the Yohji Yamamoto catwalk show (Fashion in Motion) at the V&A, as before.. so many shots I want to show you, so little time.. speaking of time, only three more days to see the exhibition, before it ends.

the girl with the pink lace shorts

I saw this girl inside the Yohji Yamamoto exhibit at the V&A Museum last Friday, but we couldn't shoot there, so I didn't ask where she got her pale pink lace shorts. Then, after, I met and shot someone else, a lovely woman (post coming up) and then saw this girl and realised they were all friends. I didn't write her name down - we were all meeting a lot of people at once, it was almost like fashion week - but she's visiting from Australia and she works for the designer/brand who made the shorts.

When we were kids, growing up in suburbia, we'd sometimes walk past a house that we called the 'vanilla, chocolate and strawberry house.' It was painted in a combination of these colours - a creamy white, pale pale pink, the colour of not strawberries, but of strawberry ice cream, and a chocolate brown. I'm sure that house has long been renovated, expanded, extended, and repainted, but I can see it so vividly in my memory. I love that combination: in clothing, as well as as a food item.

the most beautiful song i have ever known

When we saw Vanessa Redgrave speak at the Hay Literary Festival in June, when asked about the arts, and her phenomenal contributions in her lifetime thus far, she humbly spoke of music. How music is the most personal of all human expressions. So in order to try to convey to you how deeply moving and yes, spiritual, my experience of the Yohji Yamamoto catwalk show, held in the incredible space of Raphael's 'cartoons' (called, in fact, the 'Raphael Gallery' - where all the Fashion in Motion events are held), at the V&A last friday, the best thing I can do is ask you to click here while reading this post:







This was the first music playing when the show opened, as this couple, dressed in black, but walked out sombrely, together. It felt like a wedding. The song, Ave Maria, is one that is deeply personal to me - connected, as is often the case in life, to a moment so random: watching an episode of West Wing, with my father, as he lay in bed during his last summer. It was a personal moment - and deeply profound.





As was this show. It was an expression, I felt, of the sanctity of marriage. A celebration of love. All of the models in the show were real couples. Not just real couples, but real LONDON couples. Cast, often, from the street. So we're basically talking 'London street style.'

They were different sizes, and shapes. Sometimes, the woman was taller, or older. One couple were male, another, female. It had the effect that all true art seeks to achieve: it made me think about how each of us - like each object of clothing, or each painting, or each tree - is unique.

And whatever it is that draws us to our loved one.. it is a mystery.

We watched in awe. I wish I had filmed it. It will soon be available to view online.





There is still time, though, to get to the Yohji Yamamoto show before it closes on the 10th, and one of the highlights, for me - besides seeing the clothes, almost being able to touch them (I saw a few girls quietly, reverently do so) is to watch the films of other catwalk shows he has done in the past. In the meantime, I will try to focus on a couple in each post.

After this song, he played.. everything. Even, at one point, Jimi Hendrix.

All photos by me, during rehearsal and during the show, last Friday.