Jean-Paul Gautier S/S 1994.

I love the way this show is so real.
So much character and excitement.
Great faces, awesome audience...!
I love the 90ies.#Things just seemed so much more relaxed and unpretentious back then!

Hiroaki Umeda


how an artist must dress.

How Artists Must Dress

Artists must first of all distinguish themselves from members of the adjacent professional classes typically present at art world events: dealers, critics, curators, and caterers. They must second of all take care not to look like artists. This double negation founds the generative logic of artists fashion.

The relationship between an artist s work and attire should not take the form of a direct visual analogy. A stripe painter may not wear stripes.

The relationship between an artists work and attire should function in the manner of a dialectic, in which the discrepancy between the personal appearance of the artist and the appearance of her work is resolved into a higher conceptual unity. An artist s attire should open her work to a wider range of interpretive possibilities.

The artist s sartorial choices are subject to the same hermeneutic operations as are his work. When dressing, an artist should imagine a five-paragraph review of his clothe the attitudes and intentions they reveal, their topicality, their relationship to history, the extent to which they challenge or endorse, subvert or affirm dominant forms of fashion written by a critic he detests.

Communicating an attitude of complete indifference to one s personal appearance is only achievable through a process of self-reflexive critique bordering on the obsessive. Artists who are in reality oblivious to how they dress never achieve this effect.

Whereas a dealer must signal, in wardrobe, a sympathy to the tastes and tendencies of the collector class, an artist is under no obligation to endorse these. Rather, the task of the artist with regard to fashion is to interrogate the relationship between cost and value as it pertains to clothing, and, by analogy, to artworks.

An artist compensates for a limited wardrobe budget by making creative and entertaining clothing choices, much in the way that a dog compensates for a lack of speech through vigorous barking.

Artists are not only permitted but are in fact required to be underdressed at formal institutional functions. But egregious slovenliness without regard to context is a childish ploy, easily seen through.

An artist may dress like a member of the proletariat, but should not imagine he is fooling anyone.

The affluent artist may make a gesture of class solidarity by dressing poorly. She is advised to keep in mind that, at an art opening, the best way to spot an heiress is to look for a destitute schizophrenic. Middle-class or working-class artists, the destitute, and the schizophrenic can use this principle to their social advantage.

The extension of fashion into the violation of norms of personal hygiene and basic grooming constitutes the final arena for radicalism in artists fashion.
Brave, fragrant souls! You will be admired from a distance.

Markus Schinwald.

We are the perfume of corridors
Unfamiliarised with isolated activity
Traitors of privacy.

We are Utopian craftsmen
Scope heeled diplomats, pretty beggars
Not the product of poverty
We don’t take from anyone.

We are pillared by mild sadness and polymorphic history
Eternally skeptical,
But We Believe.

We are immortal volunteers
Living in the sensation of being everything
And the certitude of being nothing.

We are just an outline.

We disband prompted paths of movement
Extend our bodies,
Become abysmal dancers.

We are illiterate of perfection, following the curves of belief.

Interested only in the gestures of bending.
Scaffolded postures, obscene geometry.
Frozen irony.

Markus Schinwald

Martin Creed.

I don’t know what I want to say, but, to try to say something, I think I want to try to think. I want to try to see what I think. I think trying is a big part of it, I think thinking is a big part of it, and I think wanting is a big part of it, but saying it is difficult, and I find saying trying and nearly always wanting. I want what I want to say to go without saying.

Martin Creed, 2001


my beauty mark.

i've got a beauty mark
written on my skin
close to my heart
my favourite part
my beauty mark
i keep it out of sight
safe from the world outside
this old battle scar
this secret part
my beauty mark
this little death
this mark of sin
forever printed on my skin
i'll keep it for you
this hidden place
this private part
this secret door into my heart
i'll keep it for you
this precious jewel
this darling bud
this reservoir of blood
my beauty mark
i'll keep it for you


I bake myself a dog.

Ricocheting in between.

"I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between."



One of the most heartbreaking, funny movies I have seen in a long time!
I was sitting in the movie theater, not knowing if I am allowed to break out in tears in public or laugh until I die.
Amazing actors, great story, beautiful music and wonderful pictures...!
Oh I love it!

Once Were Warriors.

Since I saw "Boy" on Monday, I am fascinated by the Maori culture.
Tonight I am going to watch "Once were warriors" and I can't wait!


Isabella Blow

I love hats.
I am convinced that hats are even more efficient than plastic surgery.
Knowing that 4 of my friends, aged 25 or under, have been re-modulating themselves with the aid of scalpels and tissues, I am certain that hats are the more fashionable option.
The give me a feeling of extravagance and differentiation.
When wearing one of my hats, I feel as if everything around me doesn't matter.
I am in my little bubble.
My hat-bubble.
Unfortunately, I have a very stubborn hair structure, which influences my hat-days.
My often undefined curls need to be restrained into a chignon, which means time-out for my beloved headgear.

One, who seems to share my passion was Isabella Blow.
Probably a little bit more free-spirited when it comes to her choice of hats, she wore them wherever, whenever as a sign of creativity and outspokenness.

“I live for myself and I answer to nobody.”

Steve McQueen

“If I exorcise my devils, well my angels may leave too.”

Tom Waits

“Truth always rests with the minority, and the minority is always stronger than the majority, because the minority is generally formed by those who really have an opinion, while the strength of a majority is illusory, formed by the gangs who have no opinion — and who, therefore, in the next instant (when it is evident that the minority is the stronger) assume its opinion… while truth again reverts to a new minority.”

Soren Kierkegaard

"Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming– “Wow! What a Ride!”

Hunter S. Thompson

Sang Bleu.

Yves Saint Laurent "No Way Back" by Ari Marcopoulos


Danielle Collobert

It – flows – it bangs itself – slammed into walls – it picks itself up – stamps feet – it doesn’t go far – four steps to the left – new wall – it extends its arms – leans – leans hard – rubs its head – again – harder – forehead – there – the forehead – hurts – rubs harder – becomes inflamed – not the forehead – from within – cries
good start for the pain – head between arms – forehead against wall – and rubbing – skin breaks open a little – not enough – ooh the pain – there it is – feet kicking the wall down low – go on – with the toes – striking hard – thrashing – nothing to be done – doesn’t subside – never will subside – the rage – the pain – cries – hits with flat hands – dull noise – a cry – here a cry – no gasp – a little above a gasp – in shrillness – here it comes – collects at the back of the throat – what’s going to come out – still below the pain – not enough
sobs shaken – saliva at lips’ edge – bitter taste – slides a little towards the corner – nose smashing – lips – the lips twisted sideways – pulled back to the gums – moistening the wall – eyes closed – stomach and chest flattened – unsticks – comes back harder – sharp impact of shoulders – unsticks – comes back again with elbows with knees – bangs fists – fists’ backs – to the bone – starts over – skin reddens – rips at last – it falls – doubled up – dragging arms stretched along the wall – kept vertical by ends of fingernails – it collapses – impact of back – head rings on wooden floor – it pushes up onto its elbow – drags along the wall – reaches hung-up coat – hangs onto – hoists itself – buries its head in the wool – grabs the arms – holds the end of the sleeves tight – overlaps them around neck – expecting softness – but no – squeezes hard – chokes – coughs into tears – chokes – lets go – hangs onto cloth – pulls hard to rip – rips with all its strength – tears pieces with its teeth – spits – chokes – arms fall back down – sinks down – slips onto the ground
a body there – practicing pain – as if it hadn’t had enough of this suffering – at each moment – in floods – in vast wave – trying pathetically to practice it
body striking – disfiguring its limbs with the too full pain – which body sudden empty – which violence against – about empty – pain congealed at last – wanting to reach it to set it once and for all – to keep it there motionless – or set it down in front of it – itself – to make it really visible – in its infinitely numerous images – unceasingly
a body there – no – that body there – the one banging its face against the wall – maybe – no
walls fictive also – unnecessary walls – no – only to see from the place of the present invisible – here – facing the stripped body – arms motionless yet sweeping around in space without meeting anything to lean on – temporary connection – just for an instant – to slow the breathing down – slow down the beating – to quiet down – this body seeking the place – the hollow in which to melt back down again – heat ruptured – and cold of the world around – its place or position unsure to inscribe against the lack – the shocks of the day

continuation-Danielle Collobert

I leaving voice without response to
articulate sometimes words
that silence response to other ear never
if to muteness world not a sound
plunges into blue cosmos
no more question that vertical journey
I leaving slide to horizon
all equal all mortal leaving starting
with the I
at full speed fleeing the horizon
at last to hear only music in the screams
enough enough



...a real work of art destroys, in the consciousness of the receiver, the separation between himself and the artist...also between himself and all whose minds receive this work of art.
in this freeing of our personality from its separation and isolation, in this uniting of it with others, lies the chief characteristic and the great attractive force of art.



...der raum ,der sich drehend und fliehend zwischen ihn und seine pflanzstätte wälzt, bewährt kräfte, die man gewöhnlich der zeit vorbehalten glaubt; von stunde zu stunde stellt er innere veränderung her, die den von ihr bewirkten sehr ähnlich sind, aber sie in gewisser weise übertreffen.
gleich ihr erzeugt er vergessen; er tut es aber, indem er die person des menschen aus ihren beziehungen löst und ihn in einen freien und ursprünglichen zustand versetzt,- ja selbst aus dem pedanten und pfahlbürger macht er im handumdrehen etwas wie einen vagabunden.
zeit sagt man, ist lethe; aber auch fernluft ist so ein trank, und sollte sie weniger gründlich wirken, so tut sie es dafür desto rascher.


Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann

Space, like time, engenders forgetfulness; but it does so by setting us bodily free from our surroundings and giving us back our primitive, unattached state.