Art: Journey To the Centre of a Heartbreak

Silent train whisked us off into the heartlands. We  disembarked  two and a half hours later. There were hardly any signposts  as to where to turn. An arrow grafittied onto pavement- that's all. It felt like looking for clues to Baba Yaga's house. Finally there it was - squashed between the sky and the relentless sea we entered Banksy's Dismaland. Even the prosaic queuing and anxious faces did not dispel the magic of what was to come. The Mickey Mouse hatted officers had the look of bored and grumpy bouncers. They were unusually rude and in your face. I got scared. Where was the customary politeness? I was told to hold out my arms and was scanned with a cardboard scanner which almost scratched my nose. I was told to look into a cardboard camera. It was clear it wasn't real, but the rudeness and the props were so reminiscent of London life I wasn't so sure. We wanted to buy the catalogue, the shop windrow shut in our face making sure we knew they saw us. So far so like the Soviet Union- you don't matter, not even your cash. The attitude was real. 

Inside the park you were left alone which was a good approach to let everyone explore and enjoy the sites - the distorted Disney mermaid fountain, broken police vans, miniature refugee boats trying to moor their overcrowded cargo, disintegrating children's toys, Cinderella with a broken neck after a road accident being snapped by the paparazzi. Cakes had teeth, friendly Mickey was being eaten up by a snake. All over Dismaland there was danger- it already ended Cinderella's life  or turned rabbits into mutants with human ears growing from their backs,   Or the danger was coming- the rudeness which could rattle your feathers and make you feel helpless, blood shedding trees, mountains opening up in despair, revealing bloody gashes, waves about to swallow up happy families on the beach, blue lava squeezing its way into every crevice of our lives. Are we to take it seriously? Is the cereal boxed, happy clappy danger real or pretend? Perhaps not even the artists  displaying their works at Dismaland know for sure. What's certain is the uncertainty- we are teetering on a brink of something dark- are we going to enter it oblivious like Mickey into the mouth of the snake or is Mickey the one who will cut our throats wearing his placid Disney smile? The bells are ringing- wake up and open your eyes.

Old Stuff

It's been a while since I posted last. I wanted to write something about the jacket I have been repairing for someone. The jacket is years and years old and to be honest it does not feel nice to touch by anyone else but the owner because it's so old and so imbued with his smell and secretions that I'm sure it has an animal  life of its own. It's crusty and smells if sweat when you iron it. And it made me think about our vulnerability and need for attachment. There are so many articles right now about feng shui and getting rid of stuff on a regular basis as a means of generating changes and letting go of the past. There's something human about holding on to things though. I wonder how the owner of the jacket felt when he was told that this was the last time he was going to be able to repair it. Will he come to terms with it or will he try to repair it himself despite the fact that the jacket is quite crusty with dirt and bits of skin? For me personally clothes offered some kind of continuity and comfort at times when it was  hard to go on without any bearings. They mapped out my history even when other continuities were broken. And now when I feel like I can let them go because other parts of my life feel more established and concrete, like my creativity is not something passive and just a background to my life it is a phase which I have proudly reached and which signals a kind of maturity (and this might warrant a new wardrobe). I might not get rid of everything but that's because I truly don't want to because I am accepting of my own progress and my own humanness which I want to explore.

Furthermore... Is Fashion Frivolous?

My last post has sparked some responses among friends- especially the statement that fashion is frivolous so it got me thinking. Maybe this is me coming to grips with my Polish, serious background and standing up for what has meaning for me personally.  Growing up I was surrounded by lawyers, doctors, teachers, serious people with serious jobs and also serious people who had respect and a certain power because of their jobs. It made perfect sense- doctors save lives, they make our life less complicated and painful, lawyers at their best they can defend people who deserve defence, they make sure injustices do not happen, they highlight issues which need addressing and teachers teach- inspire, help others grow, they support and develop the brains of those who need it.

So how does fashion fit into it all? Is it the throwaway industry which is dismissed by doctors, lawyers and teachers? Well it depends on the person, doesn't it. Not every teacher or doctor will be fashionable, but the more fun, exciting, adventurous ones might. It will bring colour to their lives, it will add an extra dimension to a day when they can and want to shake off some of the seriousness.

Fashion does not even have to be frivolous as it is either- it all depends on the people who run it and who love it. It's up to the industry to look after its image. I think the days of when fashion was a total extravaganza without a look at its impact on society are over or reserved for very few. The longevity of fashion too depends on a more interesting, complex and humanitarian approach to the people within it- the unpaid interns in London and factory workers in Bangladesh who work for next to nothing and have no say in their destiny. As for inspiration it is that for sure, maybe not every day and maybe not all of it, but who does not enjoy a nice looking thing?

Maybe the question is double edged and maybe we should acknowledge how much we actually love and need fashion. I did an experiment  with someone I liked and wore a red dress because I read somewhere that red is the colour for romance. And so it worked- he did notice me and commented on it. So sometimes things are that simple and we are that simple- animals who respond to primary colours. On an another occasion I was put off by my teacher who was not wearing shoes at our exhibition- there was an ongoing issue of her being too slack in her approach and the lack of shoes just did it for me. Too relaxed too soon or out of synch with the rest of us. So clothes are signifiers, being done up or being dressed up will command respect or disapproval or state an intention. Things are more relaxed now in terms of dress code, but we are still trying to achieve something with garments, at least our newly liberated selves can have more fun with them as we choose our attire based on a situation or mood. For me personally clothes have always been a marker of my otherness, the not-wanting- to- be-a-doctor stance simply because I couldn't wear want I want or at least it looked that way. I didn't want to work for certain companies because their dress code was too stuffy, I found it claustrophobic, restrictive and depressing. I thought of joining the army at some point, but the idea of a uniform put me off- and it wasn't so much the beautiful ceremonial ones, just the idea that I would have to wear what I liked only on days off. Having to comply with a corporate dress code, even of the casual Fri variety always made me feel rebellious- how will I know I want to wear jeans on a Fri? What kind of lifestyle is this which rotates on such regular basis? It felt all too impersonal. So maybe the answer is valuing fashion will put me on the margins of respectability and the question is whether I am okay with that. I might always be in a minority and I might also be the only who values it for the way I do and as much as I do. But isn't fashion supposed to be individualistic?  And maybe also it asks for others to see past my feathers and ask themselves why I wouldn't want to be a lawyer or a doctor and by that time they already in a different world.

The Beginning

I have just finished a diploma in Fashion and Clothing and I guess I am wondering what to do next. Fashion still seems like a frivolous occupation - one which I am struggling to express my depth with. On the other hand there is something rebellious inside which makes me think that I do not want to conform, that I not value fitting in so much, but see it as a necessity, which will help me feel connected and real as I explore my own world and ideas. Conformity is like a safe haven I can come back to when my rebellion feels futile and where I can rest for a while. Conformity is boring because there is no space for drama in it. It's a place of rest and a place which I value, but only  as a counterbalance to destroying it all. So is the point of fashion- rebellion, its reactive quality- one which provokes a response upon visual contact? In such case where can it find its place within the real world- the everyday 9-5 which presses down on us? Does fashion exist as the other side of the spectrum- the non- conformist glimpse of our duality, the other end of the spectrum and a reflection of what we are sometimes capable of? It's a strange and perhaps a limited world which nevertheless can provide a glimpse into human nature. I am beginning a journey with a dubious end- one which will try to fit fashion into my life one way or another. Until now it has been something which symbolised my creativity, my otherness and provided a haven for happiness even when things were pretty rough. It doesn't always work, sometimes clothes make almost no difference at all, but it is on days when I can dress well that I know my joie de vivre is back and I know I am fully functional. So maybe it's just me who hasn't left her victimhood fully yet and who is not able to see fashion for what it is- an icing on the cake without which life would be so much less exciting.