Vivienne Westwood: Turn It Up
Dancing, kissing, and falling down on the catwalk, Vivienne Westwood’s runway models have been anything but conventional. Westwood rocked the establishment; she revolutionized British tailoring; and she never turned down the music. Well, not until her work went on a traveling world tour, organized by the Victoria and Albert Museum.
Currently at the de Young museum in San Francisco (March 3–June 10, 2007), Westwood's "36 Years in Fashion" leads you into a dark, semicircular maze of moribund mannequins and muted fashion show videos. The rooms are dimly lit, in the sort of respectfully quiet atmosphere usually associated with exhibits of sacred Mayan art or Egyptian mummies.
Don’t get me wrong, the de Young, designed by Herzog & de Meuron, is a stunningly beautiful and unique museum. The interiors don’t have any of the white-walled, brightly lit sterility of traditional modern art museums. But despite the architectural panache, the exhibit design of the Westwood show feels worse than conventional–not for the content or the building, but for the way the dark interiors diminish what could showcase an electric, subversive spirit.
Westwood’s irreverence isn't completely lost on the de Young staff, who keep the show open late on Friday nights and allow live bands to enter the space (a very popular decision). But why-oh-why would they not also let us see the color in Westwood's work? Or hear the music that accompanies her shows? Instead, we get listless displays arranged like Macy's windows, vignette after vignette. If you look up at the runway videos, you see the clothes in motion, with expression and what Westwood describes as “the face” –an essential element to her design. Sure, live models would be a lot to ask, but, light? Sound? Mannequins who didn’t resemble haunted anchors?
Out of the entire collection on display, only one mannequin displays any emotion or movement, a limbless male torso wearing the “snake outfit” from the Clint Eastwood collection (1984). He sits up high, but on a side wall. In asphalt-painted galleries, black dresses on black mannequins surround him. One silk-screened dress is in such a poorly-lit corner that it would take a squinty-eyed aficionado to notice how the graphic ink sits boldly above the fabric. Next to it, one stunning bejeweled and feathered corset looks like a dusty old hat, lacking light to sparkle its jewels.
When it comes to exhibit design, one size certainly does not fit all. And though museums may lack resources, they should not lack creativity. At the very least, a little light could do a lot to bring out the color and craft detail in this collection—or at least it would have kept one lady from tripping on a platform step as she attempted to navigate around a dead-end.
Currently at the de Young museum in San Francisco (March 3–June 10, 2007), Westwood's "36 Years in Fashion" leads you into a dark, semicircular maze of moribund mannequins and muted fashion show videos. The rooms are dimly lit, in the sort of respectfully quiet atmosphere usually associated with exhibits of sacred Mayan art or Egyptian mummies.
Don’t get me wrong, the de Young, designed by Herzog & de Meuron, is a stunningly beautiful and unique museum. The interiors don’t have any of the white-walled, brightly lit sterility of traditional modern art museums. But despite the architectural panache, the exhibit design of the Westwood show feels worse than conventional–not for the content or the building, but for the way the dark interiors diminish what could showcase an electric, subversive spirit.
Westwood’s irreverence isn't completely lost on the de Young staff, who keep the show open late on Friday nights and allow live bands to enter the space (a very popular decision). But why-oh-why would they not also let us see the color in Westwood's work? Or hear the music that accompanies her shows? Instead, we get listless displays arranged like Macy's windows, vignette after vignette. If you look up at the runway videos, you see the clothes in motion, with expression and what Westwood describes as “the face” –an essential element to her design. Sure, live models would be a lot to ask, but, light? Sound? Mannequins who didn’t resemble haunted anchors?
Out of the entire collection on display, only one mannequin displays any emotion or movement, a limbless male torso wearing the “snake outfit” from the Clint Eastwood collection (1984). He sits up high, but on a side wall. In asphalt-painted galleries, black dresses on black mannequins surround him. One silk-screened dress is in such a poorly-lit corner that it would take a squinty-eyed aficionado to notice how the graphic ink sits boldly above the fabric. Next to it, one stunning bejeweled and feathered corset looks like a dusty old hat, lacking light to sparkle its jewels.
When it comes to exhibit design, one size certainly does not fit all. And though museums may lack resources, they should not lack creativity. At the very least, a little light could do a lot to bring out the color and craft detail in this collection—or at least it would have kept one lady from tripping on a platform step as she attempted to navigate around a dead-end.
Posted by: Suzanne LaGasa on Apr 10, 07 at 11:48 AM PDT
