Clothes are equivalent to memories. I've bought lots of things on holidays, for special occasions and for pure love of them. I'd had some items for approximately 10 years; some I'd had since Uni! Every May I trawl through my Summer items, pulling out dresses and tops to wear for that short but blissful English Summer, feeling as though I were greeting out friends.
So throwing out around 90% of what I owned was hard.
I did it quickly, rifling through the suitcases I'd shoved them in immediately after the accident when I couldn't bear the sight of them hanging in the wardrobe. I flung them onto the floor, barely looking.
Anything that couldn't be customised
with a lace body underneath was
chucked on the 'chuck' pile.

Today I decided to go to the Tate Modern for a wander and stopped dead at the installation 'Venus of the Rags.' This piece is meant to bring together classical art (in the form of Venus) and contemporary society (in the form of second hand clothes.) I instantly renamed it 'burn survivor edits wardrobe.' The figurine had her head resting tenderly on the bundles of clothes as if forced to part with them. It summed up exactly what I felt last month when undergoing the same process.
Most modern art takes the form of the bizarre and confusing but I felt an eerie connection with 'Venus of the Rags.'
No comments:
Post a Comment