Clearly, my comfort zone lies with visual culture. There are many other areas of aesthetic experience which are a part of the overall concept of “art into life” but are generally woefully neglected on this blog. I am no music critic, so I am generally reluctant to go there except when music edges into the realm of performance art. But today’s news of the passing of the inimitable Davy Jones seems to demand a moment of reflection on boy bands and teen idols.
I’m not sure why I feel quite so apologetic about the possibility of writing about the dresses on the red carpet at the Academy Awards. For someone interested in fashion and aesthetics, there is no question that it is an exciting event. And I was, predictably, at a party with a slew of girls last night watching the evening unfold on E!. But there are two problems. For starters, it wasn’t that exciting. I’ve been trying to figure out all day why it felt like such a let-down (except for the moment when Sascha Baron Cohen poured Kim Jong Il’s ashes all over Ryan Seacrest … that was truly funny … most of all when the security team swooped in like lightening and whisked Sascha Baron Cohen away). Second, writing about it seems too obvious. Everyone is writing about it and who needs to hear 50 opinions on the same 8 dresses?
I think much of the issue, in both cases, is that the dresses just weren’t that interesting. Many were lovely, to be sure. Sadly, none was really outrageous in that oh-my-god-did-she-look-in-the-mirror-before-she-went-out? kind of way. As one of my companions noted last night, long slit like cut outs on your triceps ultimately just look trashy no matter how you dress them up. Yes, Jenny from the block is beautiful and looked stunning and sexy, but if you ask me, at the end of the day the dress seemed a little trampy.
All of this 50 degree weather in Boston in the middle of February has me thinking that spring is right around the corner. I know — when March dumps 20″ of snow on us I’m going to be in for a big surprise — but in the meantime, the mood is definitely “getting ready for spring”. In that spirit, here are some of the looks for spring that I would buy if money were no object. I love that statement — if money were no object — since it makes whatever follows almost completely irrelevant. Since, after all, money is almost always the object. But it is hard in the world of fashion to have a whole lot of fun without the suspension of disbelief where price tags are concerned, so I like to run with the fantasy anyway. These are decidedly not my “favorite looks for spring” of these-were-the-most-beautiful-things-to-come-down-the-runway variety, but more of the hell-yeah-I-could-see-wearing-that(-if-money-were-no-object)-and-I-haven’t-already-talked-about-it-in-another-post variety — ok, adding also the caveat not-if-I-were-realistic-about-my-figure, but it is truly impossible to have any fun with fashion if one is realistic about one’s figure, so I will gladly toss that right out the window.
I am always intrigued by photographs that explore the changes in a person’s face over time. It is a fascinating way of questioning what constitutes identity. If you ask me, it can also be wildly unsettling — or, at the very least, completely mesmerizing. It’s not a new project — think Rembrandt’s self portraits or, in more recent history, Chuck Close — but I do find it particularly engaging as a photographic project.
The photographer Betina La Plante somewhat accidentally stumbled into a project about identity over time.
