Exótica, fluida, boêmia, "gypset" – essas são as palavras que devem dominar o mundo da moda neste ano. O look hippie-chic dos anos 70 já está à nossa volta e roubou a cena na apresentação das coleções Primavera/Verão 2015 nos principais desfiles do mundo.
Das túnicas florais da grife Céline e calças boca-de-sino de veludo cotelê da Louis Vuitton às maxi-saias e turbantes da Saint Laurent, os anos 70 estão indubitavelmente de volta. A estilista britânica Bella Freud até batizou um novo perfume com o nome de 1970, cujos tons predominantes são o almíscar e patchuli.
O look "gypset" dos anos 70 – combinação dos termos "gypsy" ("cigano") e "jet set" (que remete à sofisticação) – é global, glamouroso, luxuoso, hedonista e extravagante. Ele evoca imagens como almofadas no chão e incenso, artistas plásticos, estrelas do rock e suas fãs.
Enquanto isso, em Londres, uma nova exposição no Museu de Moda e Têxtil celebra justamente a moda boêmia daquela década e a obra da estilista Thea Porter. Falecida em 2000, suas roupas hoje só podem ser usadas por um grupo restrito de colecionadoras – entre as mais famosas estão Julia Roberts e Kate Moss (que usou um vestido cigano de Porter em uma festa pré-nupcial).
Mas o que fez aquela década ser tão influente na moda?
Thea Porter vestiu os Beatles, Elizabeth Taylor e Babra Streisand, entre outras estrelas
"No fim dos anos 60, as pessoas queriam mudança", explica Dennis Nothdruft, curador-chefe do museu londrino, à BBC Culture. "A moda se tornou mais leve, mais romântica, menos agressiva, mais fluida. O movimento absorveu influências de outras culturas, principalmente as do Oriente Médio e norte da África, e de uma certa nostalgia pelos anos 30 e pela era vitoriana. E a moda também passou a sintonizar mais o que ocorria no mundo da música".
Porter, que o curador diz ser da vanguarda daquele momento, passou a maior parte de sua infância entre Jerusalém e Damasco e foi muito influenciada pela estética do Oriente Médio. Ao se mudar para Londres para carreira como pintora, ela acabou se tornando designer de interiores e logo passou criar roupas.
Os Beatles, Jimi Hendrix e os integrantes do Pink Floyd eram frequentadores da loja que ela abriu e sempre vestiam suas criações – camisas de chiffon, casacos brocados e calças boca-de-sino de veludo.
Elizabeth Taylor era fã dos volumosos caftans desenhados por Porter. E peças como saias e vestidos de inspiração cigana logo se tornaram populares. Criados meticulosamente em chiffons finos e com tecidos tramados e bordados à mão, eram obras-primas do design.
Pouco depois, a estilista expandia os negócios para Paris e Los Angeles. Na capital do cinema, ela conquistou a clientela "hippie-rica" que vivia a onda da contracultura. Joan Collins, Barbra Streisand e Faye Dunaway compraram várias de suas peças. Streisand até encomendou uma série de looks, cada um para combinar com um ambiente de sua mansão.
"Thea Porter foi o expoente máximo do estilo boêmio dos anos 70", define Nothdruft. "Ela tinha um jeito diferente de ver a vida".
Looks dos anos 70 voltaram às passarelas nos desfiles que antecipam o verão europeu
Mas por que o hippie-chic volta à tona justamente agora? Para o especialista britânico, trata-se do "pêndulo da moda". "Nos últimos anos fizemos uma abordagem da moda muito rígida, moderna, utilitária, com muita estamparia digital. E o look boêmio dos anos 70 é exatamente o oposto disso, representa uma maneira mais relaxada de se vestir", explica.
E será que o momento que vivemos também não permitiu essa volta? Sim, diz Nothdruft. "O estilo dos anos 70 parece mais verdadeiro, mais honesto, mais humano. Na atual era digital, as pessoas estão valorizando mais essas qualidades – e estão valorizando experiências e viagens. As grandes redes de confecções chegaram a um ponto de saturação – é por isso que o vintage está cada vez mais popular."
O início dos anos 70 foi uma época de idealismo, radicalismo, anticonsumismo, contestação social e mudanças, com ênfase no debate sobre a igualdade de raças e de gêneros. Mas o boehmenismo já estava entre nós muito antes disso: surgiu como uma filosofia que influenciou as artes no século 19, principalmente como uma rebelião não-conformista contra a ascensão da rigidez burguesa. Foi apenas no fim dos anos 60 e início dos 70 que isso se fundiu com a contracultura e com o movimento hippie.
É claro que a noção de uma moda hippie-chic é uma contradição em termos, um paradoxo tão absurdo quanto o vivido há 40 anos, segundo a escritora Laura McLaws Helms, que também atuou como curadora da exposição sobre Thea Porter e escreveu um livro sobre a estilista. "O look hippie começou como um modo de afirmação política – uma espécie de antimoda – mas logo se tornou a própria moda", argumenta.
Mesmo assim, ao que parece, os estilistas de hoje desejam se conectar ao clima autêntico e livre dos anos 70. A grife italiana Valentino convidou a veterana Celia Birtwell, um dos grandes nomes da moda daquela década, para colaborar com sua coleção pré-outono 2015.
A coleção foi composta por vestidos florais etéreos, com acabamentos em renda e enfeitados com os bordados românticos de Birtwell. Os modelos foram aplaudidíssimos, e um deles foi até usado pela poderosíssima Anna Wintour, diretora da revista Vogue.
"Quando se olha para o grande negócio que a moda virou hoje, percebemos que a década de 70 era uma época até inocente", define Birtwell, em entrevista à BBC Culture.
Junto com Ossie Clark, seu marido e parceiro de criação nos anos 70, Birtwell manteve uma das marcas mais badaladas do autêntico movimento hippie-chic, atraindo uma clientela estrelada. "Não pensávamos em dinheiro. Tínhamos mais liberdade", conclui ela.
A heartening testament to the nourishing power of parental love in the cultivation of greatness.
At 8PM on the last day of 1869, a little boy named Henri entered the world in a gray textile-mill town in the north of France, in a rundown two-room cottage with a leaky roof. He didn’t have much materially, but he was blessed with perhaps the greatest gift a child could have — an unconditionally loving, relentlessly supportive mother. Like many creative icons whose destinies wereshaped by the unflinching encouragement of loved ones, little Henri became the greatHenri Matisse thanks to his mother’s staunch support, which began with an unusual ignition spark: At the age of twenty, Henri was hospitalized for appendicitis and his mother brought him a set of art supplies with which to occupy his recovery. “From the moment I held the box of colors in my hands,”Matisse recounted, “I knew this was my life. I threw myself into it like a beast that plunges towards the thing it loves.” And that thing flowed from love, too — it was Matisse’s mother who encouraged her son, like E.E. Cummings encouraged all aspiring artists, to disregard the formal rules of art and instead paint from the heart. “My mother loved everything I did,” he asserted. Decades later, thanks toGertrude Stein’s patronage, which catalyzed his career and sparked his friendship with Picasso, the world too would come to love what Matisse did.
In The Iridescence of Birds: A Book About Henri Matisse (public library), writerPatricia MacLachlan and illustrator Hadley Hooper tell the heartening story of young Henri’s childhood and how it shaped his artistic path long before he began painting — how his mother, in an attempt to brighten the drab and sunless days, put bright red rugs on the floors and painted colorful plates to hang on the walls, letting little Henri mix the paints; how his father gave him pigeons, whose iridescent plumage the boy observed with endless fascination; how the beautiful silks woven by the townspeople beguiled him with their bright patterns.
With a gentle sidewise gleam, the story offers a nuanced answer to the eternal nature-versus-nurture question of whether genius is born or made. Embedded in it is a wonderful testament to the idea that attentive presence rather than praise is the key to great parenting, especially when it comes to nurturing young talent. (Indeed, such maternal presence is what legendary editor Ursula Nordstrom provided for many of the young authors and artists — including,most notably, Maurice Sendak — whom she nurtured over the course of her reign as the twentieth century’s greatest patron saint of children’s books.)
For a delightful touch of empathy via a twist of perspective, MacLachlan places the reader in little Henri’s shoes:
If you were a boy named Henri Matisse who lived in a dreary town in northern France where the skies were gray
And the days were cold
And you wanted color and light
And sun,
And your mother, to brighten your days,
Painted plates to hang on the walls
With pictures of meadows and trees,
Rivers and birds,
And she let you mix the colors of paint…
… And you raised Pigeons
Watching their sharp eyes And red feet,
And their colors that changed with the light As they moved…
… Would it be a surprise that you became A fine painter who painted Light and Movement
And the iridescence of birds?
Beneath the biographical particulars of the story itself is MacLachlan’s larger inquiry into the enduring question of whether artists draw what they see or what they feel and remember — Matisse’s life, she writes in the afterword, attests to the fact that the two are inextricably entwined: “He painted his feelings and he painted his childhood.”
Hooper’s illustrations are themselves a masterwork of artistry, scholarship, and creative ingenuity. She spent considerable time studying Matisse’s sensibility and colors in reproductions of his drawings, cutouts, and paintings, then researched textile patterns from the era of his childhood and even used Google Maps to picture the actual streets that he walked as a little boy. The result is not imitation but dimensional celebration. Hooper reflects on the unusual and inventive technique she chose:
I decided to try relief printing, which forced me to simplify my shapes and allowed me to focus on the color and composition. I cut the characters and backgrounds out of stiff foam and cardboard, inked them up, made prints, and scanned the results into Photoshop. The approach felt right.
T
http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/02/06/john-lennon-yoko-ono-new-pictures-kishin-shinoyama/?smid=fb-nytimes&smtyp=cur&bicmp=AD&bicmlukp=WT.mc_id&bicmst=1409232722000&bicmet=1419773522000&_r=0
In a New Book, Never-Before-Seen Photos of John Lennon and Yoko Ono
03:09
03:20
A little over 30 years ago, the Japanese photographer Kishin Shinoyama walked through Central Park with one of the most famous couples in the world. It was sunset, autumn; they sat on a bench just in front of the pond, bordered by trees, a sliver of New York skyline visible in the distance, including the building where they lived. He asked them to kiss, and he clicked the shutter. Three months later, on Dec. 8, 1980, John Lennon was fatally shot at the entrance to the Dakota, home to him and his wife, Yoko Ono. Just three weeks prior to Lennon’s death, Shinoyama’s photograph of John and Yoko’s kiss at Central Park Pond had appeared on the cover of what would be their final studio album, “Double Fantasy.” Shinoyama made other photographs that day, of course — 800 in all, in fact — but many of them have never been shown until now, on the occasion of Taschen’s forthcoming publication of “Kishin Shinoyama. John Lennon & Yoko Ono. Double Fantasy” ($700), out this month. A video trailer for the book premieres here.
Photo
"Kishin Shinoyama. John Lennon & Yoko Ono. Double Fantasy"CreditCourtesy of Taschen
The book was Ono’s idea, Shinoyama explains over email, through a translator (he does not speak English). It was triggered by a 2010 exhibition in Tokyo celebrating the 30th anniversary of the album. “There were many pictures that Yoko had never seen for over 30 years,” he says. “She said to me, ‘Thank you for taking images of my happiest time. How about making a photo book with these pictures?'”
Three decades earlier, they’d begun shooting in the studio where Lennon and Ono were recording, before winding up in the park, where Ono wanted to take “a cover photo.” The first of that series by the pond was the one. Though he’d been nervous about meeting the former Beatle, as Shinoyama recalls in the video, he was quickly put at ease by how approachable Lennon was: “He was so nice and sweet.” It set the tone for the day. “I did not try to step into their private life,” Shinoyama remembers now. “I tried to not interfere and capture his tender and gentle personality silently, so that I could shoot him in a very natural way, so that you couldn’t imagine that we had never met before.” Revisiting the pictures took Shinoyama back to the moment he learned of John Lennon’s death. “I was in my office,” he remembers. “All of the sudden my phone began to ring, people calling from newspapers and TV. I was too shocked to do anything.” Everyone in Tokyo, it seemed, wanted to get the reaction of one of the last Japanese people to have met John and Yoko in person. “I told my feelings honestly,” he says. “I had the ‘Double Fantasy’ record jacket in front of me at the time. I took it in color, but the record was released with the image in black and white. I wondered why they changed it.”
Shinoyama has a photographer’s awareness of fleeting time. As he says in the video, “Every moment ends instantly — it becomes past, you know.” Looking at his pictures now, does he find anything in them he didn’t notice then? “As I see it now, I still think that John’s and Yoko’s pure love continues on,” he says. “From this angle, I can see.”
.jpg?mode=max?w=780)
