by Jerome du Bois with Catherine King
You see something --something stupidly wrong-- and it bugs the hell out of you, but you don't want to write about it because --well, why bother? It won't change anything, these people have impoverished minds. So forget about it. But then you see it again, and again, and it sticks in your craw, like a bone in the throat, and so you say to yourself, You know, they're throwing it in my face, I'm going to throw something right back. (Well, we both are, Catherine and I, since we've talked a lot about this; I'm just doing the principal writing here.)
So there they are at Biltmore Fashion Park, a couple of dozen huge photographs of "Treasures From The Vault" plastered (vinylized?) on several of the outside walls of the newly redone upscale mall. "The Vault" being Dennita Sewell's fashion sanctorum at the Phoenix Art Museum, and the "treasures" being some of the dresses and other accessories stored therein, in their grey boxes.
What follows in this piece is about the complete lack of imagination evident in this publicity for the Museum, both in the photos themselves and in the concept --"Treasures from the Vault"-- itself. I have nothing to gain from writing about this. So why do it? Because I'm talking to myself, telling myself how I --how Catherine and I together-- would have done it to the nines, because it makes me feel better, in these shallow, stupid, lazy-ass times, to imagine how sweetly beautiful the whole damn thing could have been, and how it could have been worth some congratulations. (And, not incidentally, traffic for the Museum.)
The treasures are mostly dresses, but Sewell also included a matador's suit of lights, a couple of fancy fans, a pair of gloves, a leather motorcycle jacket, a '20s men's bathing suit, a Campbell's Soup pattern miniskirt (from the soup company, not Andy Warhol), a woman's hat, and . . . one . . . woman's . . . shoe.
I think it was the one shoe that got us going. Who displays one shoe? in a world where most people have two feet? Dennita Sewell, whose mind must reside inside a grey box, does. It's a beautiful antique, this shoe, all red and gold and velvet, and it must have a partner somewhere nearby. Why not put them together? You know, a pair of shoes. It --they, the pair-- would have evoked emotion, and stimulated empathy, in the viewer.
The solitary shoe is a perfect stand-in for the emptiness, the impoverished imagination, within all the photographs, every one of which is totally contextless, on plain, one-color backgrounds, the dresses hung on boring white mannequins. Look: put the pair of shoes on a brocade carpet, at the foot of a bed with a baroque duvet, and include a pair of stockings --one hanging down the foot of the bed, the other rolled up next to the shoes. That's context.
The matador's suit of lights? Outside, idiota, in the sun, so it sparkles, and standing in the dust, with a red wall behind it, and long-stemmed red roses at its feet and falling through the air around it.
Are you getting the idea? Gaslight and fireplaces for the antique evening gowns. Go-go boots and disco balls for the Sixties party stuff. An urban street scene for the Fifties brown suit ensemble. River rocks and a tree branch for the vintage bathing suit to hang from. A vintage Sixties kitchen suite for the Campbell's Soup shift. The motorcycle jacket draped over a vintage Indian (motorcycle). A film noir night scene for the black cape and slanted hat outfit. Fancy fans on bird's-eye-maple tables, with jewelled lamps and pearls spilling out of velvet drawers. The evening gloves on a lace tablecloth, next to a man's top hat and walking stick.
No time? Hell, she had years to set it up. The props are all over town, beginning with the Costume Institute's connections and including just about any antique store worth the name, most of whom would be happy to cooperate for a little attribution. Those photographs could have been beautiful. As they stand, they look as embarrassing as jackalopes stuck on a bare wall.
As to the second part, the treasures themselves. Except for the pieces which are in the "After Dark" exhibition at the Museum, the objects in the photos should be right there, in Biltmore Fashion Park. In vitrines, of course, or securely under glass, but there, in strategically-placed venues, with neatly printed descriptions and pointers to the Museum. It's easy: the dresses, of course, could be distributed among Saks, Escada, Macy's, Amy's, and so on. The matador's suit of lights? At Polo, naturally. The vintage bathing suit at Tommy Bahamas. The Campbell's Soup dress? You guessed it: Williams-Sonoma, in a frame up on a wall.
You see how this works? The fans go to Betsey Johnson, in the glass case just next to the register. The Apple Store gets the motorcycle jacket. Fortuny's three confections gracing Godiva's. And Stuart Wietzmann should have the shoes --both of them.
In the gang photos, showing all the pieces, you could have little notes on the bottom saying, "On display at . . ." for each one, thereby getting people into stores they normally wouldn't go into.
This isn't difficult, and don't talk to me about insurance or lighting or wear and tear. Just check out the "After Dark" exhibition, with all the breathing and sneezing and sneaky touching and harsh lighting going on there. (I'd say the Biltmore stores are pretty well insured, and secure, as well.) In our idea, the pieces would be both protected and on display, and every one would advertize the Museum in an unobtrusive but charming way. Not to mention the word of mouth: "You won't believe what I saw at Polo today . . ."
In fact, they've probably got things in those grey boxes that would fit many of the stores at the Biltmore. If only Dennita Sewell had the imagination, she and her crew might have got some real synergy swinging between the Biltmore and the Museum. Instead, they've got dullsville; they've got nothing --nothing except some big vinyl photographs, most of which are smaller than the window-display banners in Pier One and Restoration Hardware --smaller, but just as corporate, just as boring.
Posted by Jerome at December 11, 2006 09:00 PM | TrackBack