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)

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.

one where a girl walks by

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.

distance

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uta barth tinna heiska andy denzler

some inspired by elephant magazine ( a sample here).

gilman 2010

excuses were on hand and repeated for sincerity: "hello, we are reporters from the newsletter. hoping to get a look before everyone starts rushing in." but they were not necessary. the day light had not faded but the inside was quiet and dim. white, the halls seemed endless, leaking paint and wood polish. paper signs and unwrapped furnitures marked the incomplete; one room flickered blue, a projector was left turned on. we endeavored to silent wariness by tiptoes and reconnaissance but our excitement were hard to contain as we imagined our teachers' glee; each would have their own office: beautiful desks, wooden chairs, wide shelves for books, and a window view. no more walks to dell house, of former hotel fame and several professors to a room spacing.

in the new gilman, there are memories that lingered. the rooms are still lined side by side reminding me of sweaty afternoons in the basement, nodding off to the poor air conditioning's endless drone. the hut is still a open space equilibrium, though more like an airport now with its sky high glass ceiling and panopticon modernity. the halls are as narrow and endless as before; though now covered in light and unbroken chiffon yellow.  i am most impressed by the staircases. how cramped they were before and now sweeping and bottomless. 

true, i miss the old gilman of freshman year. the place where i pulled all-nighters and had to test for usable outlets. where the worn sofas were large and enveloping. and the night came in drifts of unwelcomed sleep.

hard times/good times

in court i often have downtime. this is when i drift into sketching. it is a perfect location, stained and straining with human experience, grief, and lives colliding. i usually sit up front with the judge so that i face the "clients," some in prostrated attentiveness as if the rows of cold benches were pews and the judge their revered priest, some in stony, silent indifference, and the worst, rowdy nonbelievers who muttered and whispered their discontent under the bailiffs' watchful eyes.

yet they were all united by their setting, a human circus of drugs, abuse, poverty, and violence. often i would sneak among them, more comfortable to sit in the chaos than pretend i was above it. i was in domestic violence court when i chanced upon the person i drew above. he slept through the entire proceeding. at the end when the judge asked him to come up, this conversation followed:

judge: why were you asleep?
man: sorry sir, i was very tired today.
judge: why were you so tired?
man: i had to wake up at 5 today to get to court, sir.
judge: do you live far away?
man: no sir. i actually moved houses yesterday. over the weekend, i got shot.
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judge:......are you fine?
man: yes sir. just tired.