Awake, my sleeper, to the sun

Not many people can wrap their minds around the suicide of a brilliant person.  It should be that the gift of being unique indebts the bearer to share this forever.  The flame of genius should sustain.   As if the fire of art is enough to keep anything but the fingers warm.  It is almost as if brilliancy whites out the ability to dust off ones hands after a tumble.  When you are looking for a reason to give up, any old thing will do.  Hind sight always allows a window into what we wouldn’t see in life.  That in itself is strangely wonderful, that death can shed light on life.  That the future can cast light forwards and back.  The tortured genius leaves us with strands that we can weave and bind into new life.   We can take hold of what was and carry it into the day, letting it snake through our intentions, giving a gilded sheen to the mundane.

I never wanted to see someone replace Alexander McQueen.  There never should have been a need for that.  And yet here we are.  The show must go on.  And what a show it is.  Spring 2011 brings us the return of his house.  He is in there still, but only as much as the fiber dictates the cloth.  His predecessor, Sarah Burton, has fashioned a lovely and timely collection.  Her warrior woman is as much queen as she is matador, as solid as the blade.  The mood is a bit chilly but I find the silhouettes to be flirty, the marriage is crazy dynamic, incendiary.  The prints are retrospective without being cloying.  Burton has crafted a wily beast.  That being said, just because there is a new captain, let us not forget who built the ship.

Below are some of my more favorite looks from the spring 2011 Alexander McQueen label.

Wowsers.  What a show of construction and skill.  Impressive.

Love All Ways,

MJ

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