It’s been a while since I was in there. I came out changed. Whatever happened in there, I cannot fully articulate, but seeing and hearing those things worked me up to trust my world and wish to master something. We tend to get that when in the presence of perfection. How far do you see? And will you go there?
Music was guiding me through transitional space after transitional space. It was majestic, soothing, magical. I was lured with sound, colour and perfectly theatrical silhouettes. And then I entered, or more like it immersed into, a giant box. Much like Alice in Wonderland, I was overwhelmed with the sight of shelves of artfully displayed pieces with agency, as I would later learn. Pieces that contain you in their story, that transform you in a character. As I stood hypnotised, sounds flooded in: a lullaby gone wrong, white noise, a music box reminding me of childhood, birds chirping, crowds chanting, an old typewriter, and Samuel Barber’s melancholy adagio for strings.
Minutes must have passed without me wanting to move. Then I returned for the next days, every day, just to be in my secret place, where every item, every one was painfully beautiful: armour like tunics in strong brown leather and stacked metal fit for pirates and guardians, geisha platforms bordering the animal world, headpieces for battle and masquerade. All were exuding the sensual, strong physicality of women warriors of old. It was seducing and intoxicating.
Alexander McQueen‘s perfectly curated shows must have come from a perfectly curated body of ideas. Birds and the natural realm, English gothic, sex and sensuality, death. Soaring must have hurt. It was also final. There’s no way back after you glimpsed into the sublime.