he National Gallery of Victoria is currently featuring an exhibition of couturier dresses which rely on the technique of drape, a technique derived from the garments worn in ancient Greece.
The exhibition includes designs by Jean Patou, Versace, Paco Rabanne, Christian Dior and Rei Kawakubo that illustrate the two main expressions of the technique: ”clinging drape” and “elevated drape.” It traces the line of inspiration from the three archetypal garments of ancient Greece, through the various re-discoveries and homages paid them in the last century or two.
It’s a brief, stimulating exhibition that would fill perfectly a spare holiday hour. It opens with a display of a red clay urn, dated to 420-400BC, showing figures wearing all three of the classical garments.
The chiton, according to curator Paola Di Trocchio, was
a piece of cloth wrapped around the body leaving one side open, fastened at the shoulder and corded at the waist.
The himation, was “a cloak draped diagonally over a chiton,” while a peplos was
a tubular cloth folded over so that the top of the tube reaches the waist and when gathered at the waist creates the appearance of a second piece of cloth, or peplum.
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The star of the show is also, alas, the least photogenic.
It’s a dress — nay, gown — designed by Gianni Versace shortly before his murder in 1997, before his poor, ill-favoured sister turned it all to dross. It’s single-shouldered, bias-cut and of an unearthly silk.
It’s as if a giant pearl had been unwrapped and floated, like gold leaf, over a woman’s body. All the dulled opalescence, the miniscule crêpe are here, though discernible only at intimate quarters.
The result is a gown that’s remote, even chilly, which nevertheless invites the closest, most lingering scrutiny. It’s a gown fit for a queen. Or, better, the gods.
A more rambunctious creation is provided, naturally enough, by that star of mischief, Vivienne Westwood. Her gold Wedding Dress from 1999 is magnificent, and its placement next to a Day dress, made by an anonymous designer in England in 1883, both eloquent and strangely moving.
Paola Di Trocchio writes,
Westwood’s intense love of historical costume and spectacular silhouettes present a lustful femininity that exudes aristocratic, even royal, power.
As in the Versace gown, the dress generates much of its power from contrast or tension. In the Versace, it’s the tension between remoteness and invitation. In the Westwood, it’s the tension between abandon and enclosure. The spectacular spill of molten silk is gathered up, at the last moment, into something that looks like a fantastical icecream cone.
And take a closer look at the Westwood’s country cousin, the dress from 1883. Look at the detail near the hem: the successive tiers. First, two rounds of stepped pleating (narrow-wide-narrow), then two rounds of ruching. One can only salute the unknown maker, and his or her profligate devotion to craftsmanship and beauty.
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Drape is on at the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne from now until June 27. Entry is free.
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Images: by me; beginning letter courtesy of Jessica Hische: “Daily Drop Cap by Jessica Hische”
It’s as if a giant pearl had been unwrapped and floated, like gold leaf, over a woman’s body.
I see this image and enjoyed rolling it around my mind this morning.
Best in the post were the contrasts you provided.
I had never heard the word ruching before.
Thanks Cheri for reading so closely. Much appreciated! SGx
Are there any pictures of chitons, himations and peplos? I’d love to see what they were wearing.
Clearly, my stereotype of the “toga” is totally inadequate.
One very dodgy picture of an urn …