Wednesday, July 7, 2010
What with Louis Vuitton getting all full skirted on us, I've been mugging up on the master, reading an old Penguin copy of the fantabulous Dior By Dior. Such a neat and unassuming looking man is he in photographs, doffing his hat to the press in that smart but quiet grey suit or contemplating his garden near Milly in Normandy, but what he did for womankind! Oh my!
His autobiography is full of intriguing insights into what made him tick. My favourite today? His musings on self-doubt, for, you see, even geniuses worry about the efficacy of their art
He writes:"One visualises the dress in grey, in pink, in green, first in mat, then in shiny black...No, none of them will do! The only thing that has been decided so far is the weight of the material, for the shape of the toile has decided that in advance. The bales of cloth mount up on the floor; they seem to get uglier and uglier; time passe; silence falls...
Once at home, I find myself thinking about the delectable toile in the middle of the night - those collection-haunted nights which turn into days in a feverish sarabande. The next day I do actually manage to reach a decision.
In spite of all this concentration, it does sometimes happen that materials which have been chosen with the greatest possible care are found to have kept some unexpected revelation in reserve when the dress is sewn together. Couture is the perfect marriage of design and material. There are many instances of perfect harmony - and there are few of disaster."
None I've seen Christian. I bow to you.
Posted by Mrs Press at 7:29 PM