Bando all’utopia e largo a definizioni cromatiche che raccontano di esperienza e distruzione, perché alla fine il sole sorge sempre no?
Così pare.
E questo infonde ritmo ai nervi pallidi e silenti, rifugio sicuro di menzogne ed ovvietà tanto cercate dai più numerosi tra i designers.
Lei no.
Lei vuole il Tutto delle cose.
Non c’è spazio per censure o abbellimenti, la realtà cruda delle forme è sexy ed ammaliante.
Ed ha bisogno di essere riconosciuta e personalizzata.
Lei la assorbe e la riscalda, colandola su carni tiepide e gestanti a dare forma a divinità stilose ed egocentriche, figlie bastarde di amplessi crudi e disordinati.
Onesta, libera ed in volo, Vivienne Westwood non racconta.
Vive.
If the Fashion of Vivienne Westwood had a smell, it would be that of the sex made in a psychedelic and cheering night.
Goodbye utopia and welcome to color definitions that tell about experience and destruction, because the sun always rises in the end, isn't it?
So it seems.
And that gives rhythm to the pale and silent nerves, safe refuge of lies and obviousness much sought by the most part of designers.
She doesn't.
Goodbye utopia and welcome to color definitions that tell about experience and destruction, because the sun always rises in the end, isn't it?
So it seems.
And that gives rhythm to the pale and silent nerves, safe refuge of lies and obviousness much sought by the most part of designers.
She doesn't.
She wants everything of the things.
There is no space for complaints or embellishments, the harsh reality of the forms is sexy and charming.
And it needs to be recognized and personalized.
She absorbs it and heats it up letting it strain upon mild and pregnant flesh, to give shape to stylish and egocentric divinity, bastard daughters of raw and messy intercourses.
And it needs to be recognized and personalized.
She absorbs it and heats it up letting it strain upon mild and pregnant flesh, to give shape to stylish and egocentric divinity, bastard daughters of raw and messy intercourses.
Honest, free and flying, Vivienne Westwood does not tell.
She lives.
She lives.
