I want to stay the starry-eyed, wide-eyed boy I always was.
Believe in the best of humans.
Full of hope for the world.
But it’s becoming harder and harder.
So, what to do when everything turns dark?
I plucked stars out of the sky,
Glued them onto my eye-sockets.
And went on a time-warping, postmodern pilgrimage.
Walter Van Beirendonock
The bedrock of my new collection can be found in artists’ workwear and historical dress,
but wrapped in pure future-forward imagination.
I looked into painting coats and smocks,
Stained and coloured by the radical act of self-expression.
I was fascinated by skeleton suits worn by well-off 18th-century boys.
I briefly slipped into the dazzling mind of Anna Piaggi, as I knew her.
A true master of CLASH.
I then toured a world where high befriends low and banal becomes bespoke.
A tangle of stylings and materials,
puckering, smocking, shocking.
Played hard with it, until it shimmered.
A collision, sure. But CHIC.
Details swollen and altered. Brutality finessed.
Oversized but mostly in the specifics: fabric-covered buttons, major pockets, big cuffs.
Featherweight silks frayed into dream-collars.
And everywhere: STARRY EYES – as a symbol of connection & naïve optimism.
My own childhood memories surfaced.
I gathered family photos,
made them into glitchy and pixelated prints.
Pushed daisies through digital static.
Special Ikat textiles carried that distortion.
I called in Italian fabric artisans — perhaps the last of their kind —
getting the exhilarating patina only time can ingrain.
My skill of precise construction and deconstruction played a big role.
I pieced together garments like a Jean Arp puzzle.
I pierced bowler hats by Stephen Jones with poetic paper flowers.
And atop it all, pins and amulets. Parts hope, parts animal, parts sex.
Full of life.
If you are sad and wondering: Where Have All the Flowers Gone?
Look back. Look below. Look forward.
From the sunny fields they WINK at us,
Softly swaying, WITH STARRY EYES.
##
