Dior, Designer of Dreams
Christian Dior was a legend.
Women don’t flinch at spending five thousand dollars on a coquettish handbag, crafted in black lambskin with Cannage stitching, dangling from their gold-braceleted, bronzed arm.
Cannage stitching?
The stitching pattern or cannage is inspired by the Napoléon III chairs once used by Christian Dior to welcome his customers on the day of his show in 1947. These featured a “cannage” pattern, a lightweight weave made with materials like cane and raffia that was later mirrored in the signature stitching of the Dior bag.
As a child, Christian loved the garden his mother Madeleine had planted in their family home in Granville. He devoured Vilmorin-Andrieux’s garden catalogs and loved to draw outdoors, in his enchanting garden, surrounded by his silent leafy muses. When Monsieur Dior finally entered the world of haute couture, the blossoming scent of his childhood dreams came alive. Dior’s ballgowns were studded with bouquets, traditionally embroidered flowers and hand-dyed silk petals.
He was also superstitious
In every show, at least one model had to carry a bouquet of white lilies. Superstitious and attentive, he slipped a sprig of the delicate dried flower into the hem of every one of his haute couture models. He also kept a four-leaf clover, two hearts, a piece of wood and a gold coin to hand. Number 8 was his magic number. With its sensual form, the number marked the contours of his revolutionary silhouette: clean and curved, emphasised bosom, hollowed waist, accentuated hips. In addition, he regularly consulted his tarot card reader.
J’adore…
More than 2,500 people attended his funeral, including the 21-year-old Yves Saint Laurent. After the funeral, Yves was immortalized by LIFE Magazine with a melancholy pensive look. Yves had not only lost his mentor, but was also about to become the world’s youngest couturier.
Enfin.
A week ago, I was strolling through Amsterdam with a big, ugly, bright green shopper on my arm. I had to pick up some ballgowns for my brand new photo shoot that will soon see the light of day.
And what catches my eye?
This:
Pristine white Dior dresses, behind a layer of raw black spray paint, are right in front of me.
I gasp.
All around me, hamburger-eating people are rushing along the high street. Nobody stops.
Except for me
I take in the display in silence. This kind of image nourishes my aching artistic heart. It reveals a raw, hidden beauty.
Art ceases to be art without freedom of expression, and graffiti exercises this right more than any other medium. Taking creativity to the streets means that artists don’t need to worry about gallery curators or an artistic elite, and can therefore be completely unrestrained. Status doesn’t matter, and the lack of limitations allow graffiti artists to break conventions and push boundaries.
For a prêt-à-porter dress, designed by Monsieur Dior, you’d pay $4,000. Here, on this wall, an haute couture concept is being given a different perspective in one fell swoop.
Yet…
Graffiti artists are often associated with drugs, crime, loitering, and unemployment. This is how it is framed mercilessly by the media. Of course that is nonsense, because many graffiti artists have a job and kids and pay taxes.
Why do these raw images stimulate me so much?
Now I get it
They make my inner artistic muse sing!
Because this is where apparent contradictions meet, coming together to make fresh new art forms, which are screamingly present. The message behind the message. The deeper layers and the value they add or take away.
Fashion designers such as John Galliano and Vivienne Westwood understand this. They interweave a kind of splendor with shocking taboos. They don’t shy away from boundaries. They ACT. Shamelessly. And that is why they became bold, well-respected fashion designers.
Genius.
This is how I look at the world. I don’t like perfection because it’s too finished. There’s nothing you can add anymore.
I do like imperfections, a tear, scar or crack
I like the imperfect perfection. It rubs, grates. Emotion and brilliance crack to reveal a hidden treasure. The Japanese have a word for it: Kintsugi.
There is a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in.
On this wall, I see two geniuses at work: the fashion king and the graffiti artist. Looking from their own perspective, both genius.
Continuing to look at what is happening around us out of genuine curiosity opens the door to magic and inspiration.
I’m writing a book about it.
Be a designer of dreams. Bold and grand.
That’s what I wanted to pass on to you.
Would you like to let your artistic heart dream, to glow, be great again?
You can!
I would LOVE to invite you to join my Membership.
Let me teach you how to look with fresh eyes, how to dream and to trust. I’ll let you taste colorful happiness and smell heavenly inspiration.
Your inner muse is SO welcome.
She (or he!) can register via this link.
With glowing perfect imperfect love,
Marenthe 💞
Does the MEMBERSHIP still feel a step too far? Why not start with a free masterclass?
Get this genius inspirational masterclass for free. Also? You will my secret tips!