03 Sep SMARANDA ALMĂȘAN
Today’s post has been a long time coming. Because before we’re going to talk about the artist who inspires me, I have to address a question which has multiple answers, and has been debated for so many decades: is fashion art? The consensus is that fashion design is a form of the applied arts, which is different from fine art. In my teenage years, I had a fashion blog which at some point turned into a temporary job as a fashion writer and not only I would keep up with collections from all over the world, but I would also research the history of many iconic fashion houses. As I was seeing an Alexander McQueen runaway show or that iconic Viktor & Rolf bridal gown of the Spring 2011 collection defying proportion and function, I couldn’t help but wonder if some of the creations are not just designs, but artworks in their truest form.
There’s no denying the powerful symbiosis between fashion and art. When I first saw Piet Mondrian’s paintings, I was in shock: I knew that visual depiction, only it was an Yves Saint Laurent dress I had bought my virtual character on Stardoll.com when I was nine years old. It goes the other way around, as many times I can spot remarkable clothes in a painting and I can recognize the designer who created the actual outfit. But just because Takashi Murakami partners with Louis Vuitton for a monogram bag, that doesn’t just grant the object the automatical label of art.
I too have gone back and forth over this Cinderella status of fashion in the world of art. The argument of the majority stems from the fact that fashion design always serves a function, that of being worn by a public. Furthermore, people view the fact that it’s supposed to follow the shapes of the human body as a limitation. But why a canvas is a proper way to express your concept and some fabrics shaped into a dress not? I would add that fashion should be celebrated as well for the sculptural aspect it entails: each fold, crease and cut takes a profound thought process that every other artist is familiar with.
Ultimately, I think the oversight comes from the fact that there are not enough writings on the aesthetics of fashion, although the eighties have seen quite a number of reviews on fashion written by art critics. And this may be because it wasn’t taken seriously because of its commercial aspect, fast pace of seasons, and mass production. But just as you can’t put all the painted canvases of this world under the same label, you can’t place a Zara basic white T-shirt and an intricate construction by Rei Kawakubo in the same category. The truth is, when I see some clothes I don’t think at first about wearing them. An instant conversation is born and I suddenly wonder what was the designer’s inspiration, what did they want to convey into the world that they chose a certain print or silhouette, I read a story between the lines when I see the whole collection, I suddenly have so many answers- just as it happens when I see an incredible painting or sculpture. To put it in the words of Arthur Danto “to see something as art requires something the eye cannot descry — an atmosphere of artistic theory, a knowledge of the history of art: an artworld”.
When I say fashion is art, I unequivocally think of Smaranda Almășan. Following her work throughout the years, I have learned so much from the contagious energy of eclectic prints and clashes of patterns, the intricate story every kimono tells, the peaceful return to nature and tranquility, the vivid love for the sea. The first time I discovered the artist was in 2016, as I saw the collection for Vienna Fashion Week online: I still remember being so fascinated with some contrasting mint shorts and a red and pink patterned top. Not only I loved the color scheme, but I saw the ensemble as the epitome of fearlessness.
Fast forward six years, and I was finally seeing a Smaranda Almășan design in real life- the sweater in the photo above. It was overwhelming to know it was mine at first, aside from the print which I still consider one of the most enthralling works I have in my house, which showcases the artist’s superior understanding of color and shape, I was shocked with how soft the fabric was. It all became clear- I could wear it, it was no longer just a beautiful photo on Instagram. To this day, every time I add one more piece by Smaranda Almasan into my life, when I see it for the first time I have those good long minutes of “this belongs into a museum” and “I hope I can preserve it the best I can”.
When I hear the argument that the very thing that does not legitimize fashion as art is the fact that it’s completion requires being worn by a person, I think about the situations I have encountered while wearing the pieces. I personally believe a garment is a way the designer starts a conversation with the person who acquires the work, and furthermore, with society when the work is worn out in public. When I first wore a kimono part of the Bird Of Paradise collection, my partner noticed that everyone was staring as I walked on the street. Normally, if I would have gotten this reaction I would have just thought I chose the wrong environment to wear it, but seeing the response I just got braver and found even more joy in taking it out on urban journeys. This was the moment when I became aware fashion can birth performance art- as you take the item of clothing outside, you discover various things about yourself in the process of filtering the world’s reaction. Fashion is not a frivolous affair, it is intertwined with the message we convey about ourselves when we step outside, inevitably having profound links to cultural and sociopolitical aspects.
I also love looking at a collection as a whole, there is clearly a concept and some lessons which will enrich your life in the process. The Bird of Paradise and its unique embroidery of meaningful symbols on the kimonos resonated with me, the significance of returning to nature and working to preserve our planet’s resources being fundamental.
This May, I got to see the Smaranda Almășan collection on the runway of Romanian Creative Week and I was once again convinced of the relentless passion and meticulousness of the artist. Not only it featured the most spectacular prints, in true Smaranda Almășan fashion, but the choice of the satin silk as the leading fabric created whole new depths to its sculptural qualities. Everything was conceived to perfection, from the video showcasing the clothes playing in the background, to the hairstyle and attitude of the models, culminating with the music which complemented the atmosphere.
A few days after the show, I learned about the inspiration behind the spellbinding collection Smaranda created. The book written by Cella Serghi, Pânza de păianjen (EN: Spiderweb) and its main character, Diana, served as focal points and learning this, I suddenly understood so many of the references. To put it honestly, I felt like when I visit an exhibition and I try to grasp what I’m experiencing, then proceed to read the curatorial text afterwards. When I saw the aprons on the runway, I loved their prints and the way they added new dimensions to the dresses, but once I was reminded of Diana, I loved them even more. In the book, she would always make her uniforms at school stand out by bravely altering the aprons she was required to wear and although she could get in trouble for that, she couldn’t help it, it was her form of expression through fashion.
When my aunt asked me who I’m writing about this week and I told her I’m going the fashion route, she replied “I don’t know a lot about art, but anyone who’ll see up close those satin silk pants of yours [my Cella pants from the new collection] will know they are a work of art”. And I know she is not just referencing the aesthetic aspect. For me, it’s the sum of conscientious spirit, the revelatory insights and the positive changes wearing the designs have brought into my life.
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