Friday, March 15, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Saturday, February 16, 2013
There is a reason the letters for hope lurk in the word misanthrope. Obscured in part, perhaps a little frightened, but they are there.
People will often hate you because they cannot understand you. The people for me are those who try. No person can truly understand another. That is the great beauty and tragedy of existence, that everything is a translation. Every word, every expression, every glance, every effort, every creation is an attempt to make something intangible tangible. It is a noble attempt that can never succeed—something is always lost in the translation. The only difference between people that matters is while many become angry at the inability to understand, others make the attempt.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
"No one who went to an Alexander McQueen catwalk show could ever again have believed that fashion is merely superficial."
"Even when he became the toast of Paris, surrounded by the trappings of wealth and fame, he could never stop himself from obsessing over the dark side of beauty, like a little boy turning over a ladybird to examine the black and wriggling legs underneath."
"He was a Brothers Grimm of fashion, enchanting and captivating the audience with the most incredibly beautiful clothes, only to make their stomachs lurch with the underlying menace that shot through his work."
"To wear McQueen is to be dressed in hourglass armour. When I interviewed him a few years ago, he told me: 'I grew up with three older sisters, and I saw them go through a lot of shit, I always wanted to be able to protect them.' He did this the best way he knew how. 'They would call me up to their room and I'd help them pick out clothes for work. Just, you know, what skirt with what cardigan, but I was always trying to make them look strong and sheltered.'"
"He loved to describe himself as an anarchist, but when he received his CBE he told his parents that he locked eyes with the Queen and that it was like falling in love."
"The genius of his clothes lay in his ability to keep the joy and hope symbolised by beauty and perfection in a tantalising equilibrium with the darkness which rumbled beneath."
Posted by A Timely Mystique at 7:17 PM
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
The space between is exquisite. Ask any typographer--the space between letters is often more important than the letters. The space between lines in a body of text is more telling than the lines of text. The space between limb and torso is what gives the body its curve. The space between fingers is designed to fit another's. Space is invisible, but not hollow.
Posted by A Timely Mystique at 9:06 PM