Yohji Yamamoto

X

"Generally speaking, I am not interested in the future and don't believe in it.  First, I guess it is true that I don't trust the future, but, more to the point, I don't even trust the 'myself' of tomorrow, nor, for that matter, of the day after.  Basically, all I know, and all I am capable of understanding, is the "me" that is here, now, the "me" that has dragged his past with him to this point."

" . . . that for me is an author . . . someone who has something to say in the first place who then knows how to express himself with his own voice and who can finally find the strength in himself and the insolence necessary  to become the guardian of his prison and not its prisoner."  (X)


"I wanted to be able to escape in two hours.  I didn't want to be trapped by gorgeous things, to have an attachment to anything, except maybe books."  (X)


"My whole life is made up of: 'I'm sorry' . . . I feel like I have to apologize to people, to things, to life itself.  It's like, 'I'm sorry to be here'.  I don't want to disturb anyone.  But in my work, in the clothes I create, I'm actually telling people that I'm here.  So, I guess I'm disturbing them, after all." (X)


"I think perfection is ugly.  Somewhere in the things humans make, I want to see scars, failure, disorder, distortion.  If I can feel those things in work by others, then I like them.  Perfection is a kind of order, like overall harmony and so on . . . They are things someone forces on to a thing.  A free human being does not desire such things.  And yet I get the feeling there are a lot of women who do not seek freedom; women who wear symmetrical clothes."  (X)


"Many journalists kept saying, 'Yohji, why are you making such dirty clothing?' " he is saying, referring to the way his clothes come in many shades of black and can often look worn in, a little distressed around the edges.  "But I was seriously thinking that those are beautiful compared to the established style of garment from other famous designers at the time.  Dirty is good."

"I have been collecting so many secondhand clothes for 30 years," Yamamoto says.  "Army uniforms are made with special thread, for certain specific reasons - for the fight, or for protection.  Ordinarily you cannot order those types of fabrics.  There is no ornament; everything is necessary." . . . There is an honesty about these clothes that he likes.  (X)


"If fashion is clothes, then it is not indispensable.  But if fashion is a way of looking at our daily lives, then it is very important indeed"  (X)


"There is always an adoration for women in me which resembles the temptation I have for things that have passed me by.  And so I can only see a woman as someone who passes by, a person who disappears.  Therefore the back is important to me.  I think clothes should be made from the back, and not the front.  The back supports the clothes, and so if it is not properly made, the front cannot exist.”  (X)

some thoughts

on children
they will not have tvs, but they will have movie projectors, video games, and a beautiful library of books. they will have freedom and endless opportunities for travel, for activities, for beauty. but they will learn passion, hard work, and how to contribute to society. they will never have the thought of an inheritance.

criticize little and carefully. if they do not learn, it is the teacher who failed to teach correctly. if they are stupid, it is the parents who gave them stupidity.

if he is shy, find him a small school and teachers that will give him a voice.

on travel
by the time i had reached shanghai, i was on the verge of nausea from the constant traveling. my stay in london and paris was lovely, but the frivolity of my existence sickened me. i had become too greedy and dissatisfied with my experience. it was not enough to visit a city's museums, tourist sights, clubs, famous restaurants, and art shops. i desired foremost to possess places, possession which requires that i know its streets subconsciously; eat home-cooked local food; greet my neighborhood cafe owners, bookshop owners, grocers like clockwork; watch comedies on tv; and live boringly in that city.

instead, i felt like an outsider, a robber of that city's treasures, an instagram photo collector, an ignoramus with no sense of history, politics, and culture. i felt myself awing over sculptures that locals must yawn over. i take pictures of blue skies that others do not even glance at. some moments, i wonder what beauty back home i must have scoffed back, what treasures i simply walked past. i felt reprimanded and wanted to apologize. i realized a duty, in spite of my shyness, to talk to locals.

i suppose it was a humbling experience.

on money
in the matter of spending money, one should be stingy with oneself but not with others. giving joyfully without hope of gains is a wonderful learned habit.

on parents
you will become like your parents one day, so learn to love them even if they are not lovable. but as a parent you have a choice. you may go along with your learned instincts, and act out your parent's faults. or you may choose another way, and save your children some unnecessary grief.

I love when you tell me not to speak

the last days in milan

bae doona bae doona bae doona!

 

 

 

 

please take care of my cat (2001) linda linda linda (2005) the host (2006) air doll (2009)

cloud atlas (2012)

weekly reminders

among every three people, at least one can teach you something
- confucius, from an email father sent recently

you are not entitled to anything...and you are no better than anyone else
- A's mother, in college

happiness is not about acquiring more, but desiring less
- somewhere, most likely the internet

since you only live once, why not view meeting with someone new as fate and an occurrence never to happen again? then, i think you will hold less grudges
- mom, last semester unhappy phone call

always be a little kinder than necessary

- jm barrie via tpr, last week

over the weekend

02.07.2012, magnolia

in which i decide not to take clothes home

walk along the navigli. superfly. vintage rochas glasses.present for friend: "k____of ____s."a comic shop with trashy action films on sale (we chose tomb raider, terminator salvation, and a knight's tale for tonight). sixties card for the most perfect italian girl. porcelin raft (labeled "for promotional purposes only. not to be sold") in a two euro shop. a stack of prints (vermeer, de stael, kandinsky, turner...) for a euro each at the two euro shop (i apologize profusely for stealing matisse from you). an artist commune with a fat, lazy cat. a perfect representation of milan (according to the english guy). a whole baked fish from the fish stand. lettuce, tomatoes and grapes with dirt clinging, so fresh, for dinner.

celebrating

with a little pick me up, vinyl records gifts, italy in the final, hot chip monday

.

one where a girl walks by

"i'll just be in and out. go on ahead. you'll know when you see it," he said with a smile, before ducking into what looked suspiciously like a lingerie shop. but i knew better; in the tiny store before, a women's swimwear store with carousels of tiny bits and indiscriminately plastered images of air-brushed ladies, he had magically produced before me a pair of male swim shorts, his only apparel he hoped for the weekend while vacationing in malta.

after a brief hesitation on the steps of the store -- how long is "in and out"? should i return or stay in that location? will i get lost? (me scuuusiii...dov'eee.....) -- i walked on.

he didn't lie as i saw it around the next corner. against a backdrop of patina-tinged buildings and small trinket vendors, a painter had inserted his masterpiece, settling it into an easel of multicolored cobblestone, and lashing it in place with conical wires that were haphazardly hidden and so peeked out of the top right of the painting.

was he happy with his work, to be so careless? if he were an impressionist -- because the work suddenly reminded me of monet's white buildings -- then perhaps yes: as i grew accustomed to and perused this sight, it did not grow real but felt more and more like a mirage, a shining palace, a castle in the sky, white and languid in its sealed sphere, and repealing the heat, dust, and cacophony of this casual afternoon in late may.

curiously, though, no one else took notice: a man at the corner was busy texting and had glanced to see why i stood still. another boy, in black tights, had completely turned away to focus on shadows. and everyone was moving, in and out of the scenery, as far forward as to the edges of that miraculous sighting, like little ants, blindly adjusting their course to a rivulet of water.



another small miracle, the rumble of long travel always near:

♪ 12am

♪

moody

Skins Kim Noorda Michelle Williams Daniela Kocianova

mix: mornings

slowdive spanish air tropic of cancer be brave (wtf video) burial stolen dog purity ring lofticries shlohmo sippy cup 

mornings are impossible for me. unfortunately i am one of those who will forgo breakfast and makeup for an extra 30 minutes of sleep. i adore the triumph of swiping one's finger across the snooze button: ...ah, time is still on my side.

but, alas, the magic dwindles quickly with each successive swipe until only dregs remain. on my last wish, i make an attempt to rise and it's a slow unfurl--shifting a foot from under the comforter, stretching fingers overhead in lattice form, opening my eyes wide towards the ceiling.

in another five minutes, i'll be up.

but i'm never truly awake in the morning until i make the walk to school with music in my ears. the world seems all too familiar and mundane otherwise. unlike coffee which jars me into anxiety, good music is an easy passage into reality, cushioning the moments when dreams subside under warmth sunlight and, later, the hushed hallways of my school. it tinges the world anew, adds in a dash more gradient, infuses cracks in the scenery with intrigue and becomings. 

girl

i am so unmotivated when my props aren't in order. a reordered watercolor box (true to nature, my old one was lost in my very home) and a beautiful field sketchbook have incited my newest surge of visual outputs. i will try to update this blog more often.


the medium is still new. i use it like i would acrylic or oil. must improve.

fall/winter blues

winter closet + dieppa restrepo lavender cali + boy by band of outsiders seersucker shirt

the shirt

perfect blue

seersucker material ≠ ironing

3/4 sleeves ≠ habitual sleeve rolling

cooling ≠ sweaty run to school everyday

comfortable, boxy slouch

when i left his apartment that day, i walked down three sets of dusty click-lit steps. then through a shaded hallway with dripping floors and down a stone staircase. he must have been behind me but i couldn't hear him through the roars of my luggage wheels. i waved to the gateman, who for once was not slumbering, and stepped outside the gates to greet a busy morning street.

so, so different from that one quiet summer dawn, when i woke up at 5 am to walk with him to the town's edge and the haze had faded everything to cold neutral and i couldn't believe how small his town was to be surrounded by such endless cloud-wreathed mountains. and we had both kept silent in comfortable companionship in what seemed like a suspended place and time.

but that day, as i was leaving for the final time, everything was as i came: people, buses, cars in never-ending traffic cacophony, like a million jeweled bugs gone crazy in the sun and humidity. i closed my eyes and time folded, how could two months stand between two identical settings, and then it quickened to spite me: he stepping to my side and yelling down a cab. and i putting the suitcase in the trunk and shut. there was just a moment before i closed the door and waved goodbye.

on some hot summer days, on some street corners, if i'm lucky, if the heat and gasoline smells and car honks mix just right, i would recapture that moment of splitting between his world and mine. i wanted to hug him, an altogether foreign and modern gesture (so i didn't). i wanted to tell him, tactlessly, 爷爷，我永远爱你 (but i just nodded and smiled weakly). time waits for no one, a lesson i need relearning and can only remember in desperation. remember: my body dragging my heart into the car; in the back window, seeing his small figure disappearing into the crowd.

three, korean cinema

The Classic (2003)

The movie itself is a bit melodramatic and the ending is too neat for my taste, but i do love the music.

Deli Spice - 고백 (The Confession)

Attack the Gas Station (1999)

In the beginning the film reminded me of certain anti-social japanese films (the semi-nihilist characters, absurd humor, and wonton violence), but thankfully it got off that track--there was good comedy, explanation, and a satisfying ending! Actually, I do remember a Japanese movie released the same year, "Adrenalin Drive" (with Masanobu Ando!), which is similarly awkward funny and joyfully.

Shell - 작은 사랑 (A Little Love)

Le Transperceneige (2012)

"In a post-apocalyptic world, or what's remaining of it after a world war and glaciation, the few survivors find themselves in Earth's last remaining train, named Transperceneige. The train continues to move following a circle in a desert of snow and ice. And, while the poorest live in pathetic conditions, suffering the cold and hunger, those living in the 'premium class' lust, party and live like Kings. The Transperceneige continues to travel in this vicious circle, but one day one of the 'miserables', Proloff, decides to change status quo, discovering all the secrets behind Earth's last train." (Source)

How amazing is this premise? Based off a French comic*, the movie will be directed by Boon Joon Ho ("The Host", "Mother") and produced by Park Chan Wook ("Old Boy"). I am more excited by this lineup than if it were switched around. Boon has never disappointed me and I have confidence that he'll make it amazing.

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*in other news, the japanese are making a rurouni kenshin live-action. yuu aoi as megumi? but she's too cute...and awkward. cannot wait to see soujirou though i know it will disappoint.