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Fashion Rules: Inside the wardrobes of royal icons. Princess Diana's dresses raise over £800,000 at auction.

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Fashion Rules: Inside the wardrobes of royal icons
Kensington Palace's latest exhibition Fashion Rules allows visitors a peek inside the wardrobes of the Queen, Princess Margaret and Diana, Princess of Wales.

Tomorrow will see the opening of Fashion Rules, Kensington Palace's showcase of gowns belonging to three of the world's most iconic women; HM The Queen, Princess Margaret and the late Diana, Princess of Wales.
Divided into a number of bijoux rooms, the selection of pieces on display is tightly edited and only those that most accurately depict the style, era and responsibility of the three women have been chosen for display.
It begins with some of the Queen's most intricate and tiny-waisted gowns - all of which have been lent by the monarch - and were worn in the 50s and 60s. Hardy Amies and Norman Hartnell were her designers of choice for the period, and every item was created with the exact occasion in mind.

The Queen's dress by Norman Hartnell, which opens the exhibition Photo: Getty
 For example: Amies's grey silk organza gown is embroidered with delicate mayflowers for a trip to Nova Scotia in 1959 - the mayflower being the provincial flower of the region. Hartnell's duchesse satin evening dress is fashioned in the national colours of Pakistan, so that the Queen could wear it to a banquet hosted by the President of the country in 1961.
From the Queen's sober though spangled gowns, the exhibit moves to pieces from her sister, Princess Margaret's, wardrobe. Admittedly more rock'n'roll than her sibling's - there a number of fashion-forward pieces designed for Margaret by Marc Bohan of Christian Dior - they are still equally as regal. A Carl Toms-designed 'ethnic' outfit designed especially for a costume party that was hosted at the Princess's Mustique residence gives a taster of her more lavish, fun-filled social agenda.

The dress made by Hardy Amies for the Queen's visit to Nova Scotia. Photo: Getty
 READ: Princess Diana's dresses raise over £800,000 at auction
The final leg is dedicated to Diana, and includes two dresses purchased by the Royal Historic Palace in the recent auction which raised over £800,000 through the sale of 10 gowns.
One is the cream and pink-beaded asymmetrical Catherine Walker gown worn by the Princess in 1991, and the other - which is not currently on display but will be in a matter of months - the black velvet Bruce Oldfield gown she wore in an official portrait taken by Lord Snowdon.
All but one of the gowns are typically 80s, drop-waisted, brightly coloured (something Royals avoided in the age of black and white television as pale colours would allow them to be seen better), and swathed in sequins.
Curator Cassie David revealed hopes to one day display outfits belonging to the Duchess of Cambridge. At present, the mother-to-be is simply too new on the scene and most of her outfits are still ensconced in her personal wardrobe, ready to be re-worn in true royal style (many of the gowns on display were worn on numerous occasions by each of the three women).
So we'll have to wait a little while longer before we get to peruse Kate's high street and designer duds.
Fashion Rules, Kensington Palace from July 4. For more information visit hrp.org.uk.

Dresses that once belonged to Diana take a starring role in the exhibition. Photo: AP
Princess Diana's dresses raise over £800,000 at auction
A Victor Edelstein gown the late Diana, Princess of Wales wore to dance with John Travolta raised £240,000 in an auction of 10 of her gowns at Kerry Taylor today.

Ten dresses belonging to the late Diana, Princess of Wales, including a gown she famously wore while dancing with John Travolta, fetched over £800,000 at auction in London today.

The lots sold at Kerry Taylor Auctions included some of the "most important and iconic" dresses worn by Prince Charles's glamorous former wife, who died in a car crash in Paris in 1997 while being pursued by paparazzi.
The midnight blue Victor Edelstein dress Princess Diana wore when she famously danced with John Travolta fetched £240,000 Photo: EPA
 "Bidders today were able to buy a unique slice of British history", auctioneer Kerry Taylor said. "We attracted bidders from across the world, including three important museums so we are hopeful that now people will actually get to see some of the dresses that belonged to the People's Princess."
A midnight blue velvet gown by Victor Edelstein which Diana wore to a 1985 state dinner at the White House - where she famously twirled around the dance floor with Saturday Night Fever star John Travolta - was the star lot selling for £240,000. It was bought by a British gentleman as a surprise to "cheer up his wife", Taylor revealed.
Two Catherine Walker dresses - one black evening gown worn for a Vanity Fair photoshoot by Mario Testino in 1997, another burgundy crushed velvet gown she wore to the Australian premiere of Back To The Future in 1985 - each fetched £108,000

A Catherine Walker dress worn in 1991 which sold for £78,000. Photos: Rex/Kerry Taylor
 Other lots featured gowns designed by Bruce Oldfield and Zandra Rhodes, which sold for £50,400 and £48,000 respectively.
Diana, who became a global style icon and was famed for her charity work, wed heir to the throne Prince Charles in a lavish ceremony in 1981. They had two sons, William and Harry, but divorced in 1996.
At Diana's request, the 10 dresses were originally sold in a charity auction in New York in June 1997, just two months before she died.
Florida-based businesswoman Maureen Dunkel bought the dresses, along with four others. She was forced to put them up for auction in 2011 after she went bankrupt - but only four of them sold.

A Zandra Rhodes cocktail dress worn in 1987 that sold for £48,000. Photos: Rex/Kerry Taylor

This green velvet Victor Edelstein dress (left) sold for £24,000, while the midnight blue Victor Edelstein dress (right) Diana wore when she danced with Travolta fetched £240,000. Photos: Kerry Taylor


'Effie' - movie 2013

BBC - Desperate Romantics Trailer

Remembering ... Desperate Romantics. BBC Two

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The series was inspired by and takes its title from Franny Moyle's factual book about the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Desperate Romantics: The Private Lives Of The Pre-Raphaelites.
Moyle, a former commissioning editor for the arts at the BBC, approached writer Peter Bowker with the book, believing it could form the basis of an interesting television drama. Although Bowker had a self-confessed "horror of dramatised art biography", he felt that Moyle's book offered something different, viewing the Brotherhood's art largely through the filter of their tangled love lives.
Discussing the series' billing as "Entourage with easels", Moyle said: "I didn't pitch it as 'Entourage with easels' ... I pitched it as a big emotional saga, a bit like The Forsyte Saga. Having said that, I think it was a useful snapshot – a way of getting a handle on the drama." The series has also been billed by the BBC as "marrying the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood to the values of Desperate Housewives."
Desperate Romantics was the second time the lives of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood had been dramatised for television, the first being The Love School – a six-part serial first broadcast in 1975. Whereas Bowker's drama about the PRB was an adaptation of Franny Moyles' book, The Love School (scripted by John Hale, Ray Lawler, Robin Chapman and John Prebble) was adapted into a novel published by Macmillan in 1975. The new dramatisation was heavily influenced by the earlier series.


When Desperate Romantics was first shown on BBC Two it attracted 2.61 million viewers.The first episode received mixed reviews; Tom Sutcliffe in The Independent described the series as "an off-day" for writer Peter Bowker, adding: "It was never quite recklessly anachronistic enough to suggest a defence of predetermination for those moments in the script that seemed more like a spoof of an artistic biopic than a genuine attempt to rise above its limitations." Serena Davies wrote in The Daily Telegraph that the episode: "sadly didn't go far enough in conveying to the viewers how much the Pre-Raphaelites’ art contrasted with what had gone before it." Caitlin Moran, reviewing the episode for The Times, described it as "so bone-deep cheesy that it appears to have been written with Primula, on Kraft Cheese Slices, and shot on location in Cheddar."
The Guardian review described the first episode as: "a rollicking gambol through a fictionalised Victorian London with a narrative as contemptuous of historical reverence as its rambunctious subjects were." Andrea Mullaney, writing for The Scotsman, also considered it: "a rollicking romp ... it's rather good fun", but cautioned: "historical purists will have to clench their thighs as it plays fast and loose with accuracy – much like the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood themselves, for all their vaunted insistence on painting the truth of nature."

Viewing figures for the second episode dropped to 2.13 million. The third episode attracted 2.15 million viewers, and ratings for the fourth fell to 1.92 million. Viewing figures for the fifth episode rose to 1.96 million viewers. The sixth and final episode of the series attracted 1.76 million viewers.


"The reason behind Ruskin's inability – or unwillingness – to consummate his marriage to Effie remains the subject of debate amongst his biographers. In 1854, Effie wrote to her father: "He alleged various reasons, hatred to children, religious motives, a desire to preserve my beauty, and, finally this last year he told me his true reason  that he had imagined women were quite different to what he saw I was, and that the reason he did not make me his Wife  was because he was disgusted with my person the first evening." Ruskin's only word on the matter was in a statement to his lawyer during annulment proceedings: "It may be thought strange that I could abstain from a woman who to most people was so attractive. But though her face was beautiful, her person was not formed to excite passion. On the contrary, there were certain circumstances in her person that completely checked it." It has been speculated that Ruskin's unfamiliarity with the realities of the female body was the reason he felt unable to make love to her, and that it was either the sight of Effie's pubic hair or menstrual blood that informed his disgust. His relationship with Rose la Touche has also led to claims that he was a paedophile, having met her at the age of ten and stating that he had loved her since their first meeting. This claim is often backed up by letters he sent to illustrator Kate Greenaway – asking her to draw children naked. However, he did not approach Rose as a potential suitor until she was seventeen."


What was John Ruskin thinking on his unhappy wedding night?
Legend says the greatest Victorian was put off sex by the sight of his wife's naked body. A new film will try to establish the truth
Vanessa Thorpe

The secret at the heart of the short-lived, notoriously unconsummated marriage of John Ruskin, the great artist, architect, poet and political thinker of the Victorian age, has baffled fans of his work for a century. United on his wedding night in April 1848 with Effie Gray, the girl who had been the object of some of his most beautiful writing during their courtship, something went badly wrong.

A feature film is due go into production written by Emma Thompson and starring the Oscar-nominated Carey Mulligan in the role of Gray. Together with a new book by Ruskin expert Robert Hewison, it will attempt to clear up the speculation surrounding the sex life of the man sometimes referred to as "the greatest Victorian".

"The wedding night was clearly a failure," said Hewison, author of Ruskin on Venice. "What subsequently happened was that they realised they had made a mistake so made an agreement to postpone consummation." The popular idea that the groom was shocked by the sight of his bride's pubic hair, first suggested by an earlier Ruskin biographer, Mary Lutyens, is a fallacy, believes Hewison.

"The whole pubic hair nonsense is like a great big wall preventing people understanding Ruskin," he said. "The idea that he did not know what women looked like is a nonsense. It is frankly irritating."

The film reflects a growing interest in the Romantic era. Last year the television series Desperate Romantics took a light-hearted look at Ruskin and the circle of artists he championed, including John Everett Millais, Leigh Holman Hunt and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. The BBC2 drama was a parody of an incestuous "brotherhood" that saw Millais eventually marry Gray, the ex-wife of his former mentor.

Last year Jane Campion's film about John Keats, Bright Star, brought the same renewed attention to the Romantic poet and showcased similar contemporary beliefs about love and nature.

Ruskin, who was born in 1819, knew JMW Turner, Thomas Carlyle and Lewis Carroll and was responsible for much of the most innovative thinking of his day. He began writing at 15 and won the prestigious Newdigate Prize for poetry as a student. In 1836-37 his work The Poetry of Architecture was serialised in London's Architectural Magazine and, six years later, he anonymously published the first volume of his major work, Modern Painters. Yet all this early achievement has been boiled down to one night of sorrow in the bedroom.

Hewison points out that, since divorce was not legal, Ruskin's claim of "incurable impotency" was the one secure way of separating from Gray.

Thompson's husband, Greg Wise, who will produce the film and play the part of Ruskin, has been fascinated by the life of the eminent polymath since his time as an architecture student in Edinburgh: "He is a pin-up for many artists and was Gandhi's hero too. Whether on the wedding night Effie dropped her night-dress and revealed herself to be far from the physical ideal Ruskin had imagined, we will probably never know for sure, but I think it is too easy to say that he was terrified of intimacy."

In the screenplay for Effie, which Wise and Thompson hope to start shooting next month in Venice and Scotland, the wedding night is a key plot point. "We will show that night at the start, but it doesn't play itself out until the very end. I have talked to many different Ruskinians and they all have a slightly different take on it."

In a famed letter to her parents, Effie claimed her husband found her "person" repugnant. "He alleged various reasons, hatred to children, religious motives, a desire to preserve my beauty, and finally this last year he told me his true reason... that he had imagined women were quite different to what he saw I was, and that the reason he did not make me his Wife was because he was disgusted with my person the first evening 10th April."

During the annulment proceedings, Ruskin made the statement that: "It may be thought strange that I could abstain from a woman who to most people was so attractive. But though her face was beautiful, her person was not formed to excite passion. On the contrary, there were certain circumstances in her person which completely checked it."

Wise has found that Ruskin scholars tend to dislike Effie and see the marriage "as a six-year hiccup in the great man's progress".

"We have tried to stick to what Effie wrote about the incident," he said, "but you never really know if Ruskin had set her up for it in some way. She had to go to the ecclesiastical court to get a divorce, so if nothing else you have to admire the strength of character of this girl."

After a trip to Scotland with Millais, Gray and the artist became close, later marrying and raising a large family.

For Wise, the Ruskins' wedding night is a symptom of the universal problem of the difference between an idealised image and reality. "In the same way now that men are bombarded with images of what is supposed to be the ideal woman, after the Pre-Raphaelite ideal anything is going to be a let down. Real life is wrinkles and smells."

Wise believes Ruskin became fixated with Effie and the idea of being in love before the marriage. He and Thompson asked Mulligan to take the part before her success in An Education. "Carey has a rare quality of being open and unfettered," he said. "At the time Effie said she would have borne anything, had Ruskin just been kind. But I can't play him as an ogre because the audience need to understand why she married this man."

While Ruskin's personal reputation remains confused, his impact as a thinker is clear. Admired by the novelist Marcel Proust, who helped to translate his work for the French, a number of Utopian colonies were set up in Canada and America in honour of his ideas and some still bear his name. He coined several literary and architectural terms and inspired a school of neo-Gothic architecture.

By the end of the 1850s Ruskin had developed theories about social justice which fed into the Labour party and had written a series of pamphets, 'Fors Clavigera', for the "working men of England". He was the first Slade Professor of Fine Art at Oxford and Ruskin College is named after him. When his father died he gave away most of his inheritance, saying it was not possible to be a rich socialist.

Emma Thompson's film Effie, with Dakota Fanning in the title role as Ruskin's teenage bride, is released in May. Photograph: Joel Ryan/AP/Press Association Images

John Ruskin's marriage: what really happened
Ruskin's marriage to Effie, annulled for non-consummation, still provokes speculation. A new book may explain everything
Michael Prodger

The scandal surrounding John Ruskin, his wife Effie, and John Everett Millais still fascinates a century and a half after the events. What makes it famous is that it wasn't a sex scandal but a non-sex scandal.
The circumstances in which Effie left her husband for the pre-Raphaelite artist have generated at least half a dozen books as well as an opera, a silent film and assorted plays. One of the plays, The Countess, was at the centre of a just-resolved copyright dispute between its author, Gregory Murphy, and the actor Emma Thompson. Thompson has written the screenplay for Effie, a big-screen telling of the story starring her husband Greg Wise as Ruskin, Dakota Fanning as Effie and Tom Sturridge as Millais; the film is scheduled for release in May.

The outline is familiar. In 1848 the 29-year-old Ruskin – two volumes of the influential Modern Painters to his name and at work on The Seven Lamps of Architecture – married Euphemia Gray, the beautiful 19-year-old daughter of family friends. After six increasingly unhappy years, Effie fell in love with her husband's protege Millais and set about having the marriage annulled.

What reverberated then and now was that the reason given for ending the union was non-consummation. But what really snagged in the public consciousness was Ruskin's explanation of why he didn't fulfil his marital duties: "It may be thought strange that I could abstain from a woman who to most people was so attractive. But though her face was beautiful, her person was not formed to excite passion. On the contrary, there  were certain circumstances in her person which completely checked it."

Those "certain circumstances" have been the cause of much salacious speculation. The reasons mooted range from his aversion to children, his religious scruples, a wish to preserve Effie's beauty and to keep her from exhaustion so they could go Alpine walking, to a revulsion with body odour and menstruation. Effie herself was the inadvertent source of the most famous of explanations: Ruskin, she said, "had imagined women were quite different to what he saw I was, and that the reason he did not make me his Wife was because he was disgusted with my person the first evening". From this emerged the canard that Ruskin, used only to the smoothness of classical statues of the nude, was repulsed by the wedding-night revelation that Effie had pubic hair. It may not rival Cleopatra's nose, but poor Effie has gone down as the possessor of the most famous genital coiffure in history.

The truth about the wedding night and marriage can never be fully known, but a new book, Marriage of Inconvenience by Robert Brownell, is about to revise perceptions of the whole sad episode. Much of the correspondence between the parties was subsequently edited or destroyed by Effie's relatives to protect her reputation as the injured party. Brownell, though, has subjected the surviving letters to a forensic reading and has drawn conclusions that are at odds with the established story.

Ruskin and Effie had known each other since she was a child. Both came from Perth families, and the Grays moved into the old Ruskin family home after John's father, a successful wine merchant, relocated to London for business. Effie would stay with the Ruskins during school holidays and John wrote his fairytale The King of the Golden River for her.

Ruskin was an only child, doted on by his parents and afflicted by both his mother's intense religiosity and ill-health. He may well have had tuberculosis, although his father ascribed his ailment to "over Study" – not impossible since, at the age of 12, he had written a 2,212-line poem about a family tour of the Lake District. Whatever the reasons, the young Ruskin was reserved, unsure of the opposite sex, a poor horseman and with hesitant social skills. Poignantly he wrote of himself: "If I had been a woman, I never should have loved the kind of person that I am."

Effie, on the other hand, was lively, flirtatious, clever but under-educated. When her mother heard intimations that Ruskin had begun to see her in a non-sisterly light, Effie responded: "that John and I should love each other – wasn't it good, I could not help laughing". When he did declare himself, his letters were indeed laughable – the prose stylist turned gusher: "You saucy – wicked – witching – malicious – merciless mischief-loving – torturing – martyrising … mountain nymph that you are." Nothing of matching intensity from her has survived.

Ruskin's first proposal was not accepted. Effie had an acknowledged "understanding" with a soldier about to go to India and an interest in at least six other young men. Mrs Gaskell, who had attended the same school – though earlier – recounted gossip she heard of Effie collecting admirers as a hobby. What changed her mind, Brownell says, was her father's financial situation. Mr Gray was an inveterate speculator and his investment in railway shares threatened to bankrupt him. Either Effie herself, or more likely her father, saw marriage into the wealthy Ruskin family as the only way to maintain the Grays' creditworthiness. So the Grays brought forward the wedding date to forestall the bailiffs; Effie married with no dowry, but instead had £10,000 settled on her by Mr Ruskin; and the ceremony took place in Scotland with none of John's family present. The Grays had been saved, but Ruskin had been duped.

It was the realisation of this duplicity that was, Brownell argues, the reason for the non-consummation of the marriage. Before the wedding Ruskin had written to his bride-to-be with coy but panting excitement: "That little undress bit! Ah – my sweet Lady – What naughty thoughts had I …" but he also had viewed her with realism ("she is unfitted to be my wife unless she also loved me exceedingly"). Despite the fact that they shared a bed, the knowledge that he had unwittingly entered a marriage with love on one side only meant that his naughty thoughts never became deeds: he was too scrupulous to have sex without reciprocity. They agreed instead to wait six years, when Effie would be 25, to give themselves time to fall properly in love before broaching the subject again.

Love was to prove a vain hope; the most they ever managed was fondness, and that began to erode soon enough. There was an added overlay of friction caused by Effie's resentment of John's parents, who paid for the couple's comfortable lifestyle and kept a close watch on them in return. Effie was thought to need supervision: during two long stays in Venice in 1849 and 1851, while Ruskin was researching The Stones of Venice, he left her pretty much to her own devices in a city crawling with Austrian army officers after their recent successful siege.

Effie had no trouble attracting admirers. She wrote to her brother: "Venice is so tempting just now at night that it is hardly possible not to be imprudent." Her imprudence led to her encouraging – intentionally or not – a number of soldiers. The results escalated from arguments between them over her dance card (she was a committed polka dancer) to a duel in which one admirer was killed. At least two slighted others came openly to express their hatred for her, and things were exacerbated when some of her jewellery was stolen and suspicion fell on another soldier-admirer. According to gossip, perhaps the diamonds weren't in fact stolen but given.

Effie now had a reputation that followed her to London to the extent that the unmartial Ruskin himself was twice challenged to a duel by friends of the jewel-thief officer. It was at this point, Brownell says, that Ruskin rather than Effie actively started to look for a way out. His cat's-paw presented itself in the shape of Millais. Ruskin had defended the painter against critical attacks, and soon Effie was modelling for his appositely titled picture The Order of Release. She was willing – as she wrote to her mother: "Millais is so extremely handsome, besides his talents, that you may fancy how he is run after."

In the summer of 1853 Ruskin invited Millais to join them on a Scottish holiday to paint his portrait. He rented a cottage and left his wife and the painter alone together as much as possible, all the while keeping an "evidential diary". Ruskin's aim, says Brownell, was not divorce (it was so difficult, demeaning and expensive that there were on average only four divorces a year in England at the time) but annulment, which allowed for the dissolution of a marriage on the grounds of, among other things, bigamy, kidnap, incest or non-consummation due to incurable impotence or mental/physical inaptitude.

Ruskin was willing to take the stigma of non-consummation on himself because he wouldn't be medically examined and nor were annulments usually reported in the press. If Effie's father had helped dupe Ruskin into the marriage he was in turn duped into ending it. Ruskin, says Brownell, used the threat of divorce and the ensuing scandal to pressurise Mr Gray into persuading Effie to instigate annulment proceedings instead. The ruse worked. Two doctors attested to Effie's virginity, Ruskin himself was out of the country at the time, and in 1854 the marriage was officially ended.

In fact Effie emerged from the whole business rather better than Ruskin. Her friends – and his enemies – used the non-consummation clause as a means to malign him, while he remained stoically tight-lipped. She also later ended any hopes he had of finding happiness with another young girl, Rose La Touche, by warning her parents about him. Her own marriage to Millais, though, was a success, and consummated with such relish by him that they had eight children and she was forced to write to him imploringly: "Basta!"


Ruskin himself did find love of sorts, however, with his books. Without the distraction of a wife he went on to become England's greatest critic and social thinker of the 19th century. Neither Ruskin nor Effie, however, fully managed to live down those "certain circumstances", however. Until now.




Oh look out, here come the PRB crew, striding down the street, line abreast, like some weird hybrid of a Danny Boyle movie and a costume classic. It's "Paintspotting", or rather
Desperate Romantics, with Dante Gabriel Rossetti as the Renton character, all roaring assertive appetite, and Millais and Holman Hunt as his sidekicks. They're on their way to give the Royal Academy gang a good kicking and it is already clear that the opening disclaimer on Peter Bowker's drama – laying claim to the same "imaginative licence" and "inventive spirit" that characterised the artists he's writing about – was a necessary warning. "Entourage with easels" was reportedly how the executive producer referred to the BBC's series, so what you get on the soundtrack is driving, rock-inflected music and what you get on screen is cheerfully and cockily vulgar.

For some reason, Bowker has invented a fourth gang member to help us out with the story – Fred Walters, a puppyishly eager fan of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. One of his tasks is to sort out their careers for them, procuring the right kind of model (Lizzie Siddal) and fixing up for Ruskin to come to their exhibitions. His other task is to stand around looking mopey and crestfallen when they all ignore him or steal his best lines. Ruskin, incidentally, is played by the excellent Tom Hollander, here struggling with a role that is three parts dictionary of quotations to one part tortured sexual repression. He managed as well as any man could in the scene where Ruskin flies in panic from the marital bed only to find a couple bathed in red light rutting on his desk, but I doubt that any actor could have prevented the tableau from provoking a giggle.

Desperate Romantics might have been better, curiously, if there had been more of such moments rather than fewer. It was never quite recklessly anachronistic enough to suggest a defence of predetermination for those moments in the script that seemed more like a spoof of an artistic biopic than a genuine attempt to rise above its limitations. "So...," says Ruskin when he bumps into the posse at one point, "... the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood... the group of radical young painters who announce themselves by thrusting notes through letter-boxes in the middle of the night." People do this sort of thing quite a lot – telling people what they know already – and Dante Gabriel Rossetti even does it to himself, introducing himself to Ruskin with a tabloid strapline: "Artist, poet, half-Italian, half-mad".

Peter Bowker's script scrabbles a bit effortfully for vigour. "I've seen stains on a chamber pot with more artistic merit," roars Rossetti, after finding that his pals have been bumped out of sight at the Royal Academy by a painting of three cherubs. But it was notable that the moments the language really came alive were when Ruskin had supplied the words. At one point, Fred stops him in his tracks by quoting his advice to young painters: "They should go to nature in all singleness of heart and walk with her laboriously and trustingly having no other thought but how to penetrate her meaning, rejecting nothing, selecting nothing, scorning nothing". It's an intriguingly sexual choice of word – penetrate – given that he could never manage it with his wife, and it gave the line a little frisson that lifted it above the boilerplate jauntiness that surrounded it. Incidentally, since I suspect that Bowker is not going to get an easy ride with this drama, it's only fair to remember that he also wrote the wonderful Blackpool and the recent Iraq drama Occupation. Count this one as on off-day.


Fools for love
A new study retells the tangled stories of the pre-Raphaelites with verve, says Kathryn Hughes
Kathryn Hughes

With their bad-boy behaviour and instantly identifiable art, the pre-Raphaelites have become a permanent fixture in middle-brow culture. Images from their stylised paintings of mythical and biblical subjects circulate endlessly on book jackets and biscuit tins and probably still get tacked up on the walls of high-minded teenagers. The kind of women the PRB liked to paint - all bruised mouth and waterfall hair - have become a visual shorthand for the movement as a whole. And the stories of their triangular entanglements are so familiar as to be almost the stuff of fable: Ruskin, Millais and Effie; Burne-Jones, Georgie and Mary Zambaco; Rossetti and just about anyone he clapped eyes on. As for their wallpaper, well, it's an unusual Englishwoman who hasn't soothed herself to sleep imagining what her sitting room would look like layered with something from the William Morris back catalogue.
So it is disconcerting to learn on the first page of Franny Moyle's study that she sees her goal as bringing "the pre-Raphaelites to life for a new public". Where, you wonder, did the old public go? And how is she going to locate the pocketful of people who are not already on nodding terms with images drawn from the walls of Andrew Lloyd-Webber's study, which is where all pre-Raphaelite art goes in the end? The answer turns out to be, "through the telly". For Moyle's book is a BBC2 tie-in, designed to accompany what promises to be a sumptuous romp through the "private lives" (not too much boring old art then) of the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the swan-necked shopgirls whom they elevated into icons.

And on these terms, it succeeds. The narrative weaves together at least a dozen individual stories without showing the joins. Particularly impressive is the way Moyle returns to a key moment - Lizzie Sidall's suicide, for instance - at various points to consider it from different angles. In less sure hands this would feel repetitive, but Moyle has the perception to see that Sidall's unhappy end impacted on several other stories: that of the relationship between her husband Rossetti and his rock-like brother William, the friendship between Swinburne (who'd had dinner with the couple on that fateful night) and Rossetti, not to mention the growing love affair between Rossetti and his public (just one reason why the inquest produced a tactful verdict of death by misadventure). All of which makes it a shame that Moyle has been let down so badly by her proofreaders. The book bristles with typographic mix-ups. At one point we are even told that Rossetti used to get himself to sleep with "choral" (for "chloral"), which at least sounds more soothing than the laudanum that sent poor Lizzie to her grave.

Particularly deft is the way Moyle integrates the "private life" of Ruskin into her story. Since Ruskin was a critic rather than a practitioner, and his professional activities extended far beyond his early championing of the group, his story tends to get hived off from that of the roaring boys who painted their way to prominence. If Ruskin appears at all in such accounts, it is usually as the impotent mama's boy whose marriage to Effie Gray was scandalously annulled in 1854, clearing the way for Millais to provide her with a happy ending: marriage to an important public man and a brood of pretty children.

But Moyle does not drop Ruskin's story there, instead taking it on to its bitter third act. In 1858, the 40-year-old Ruskin once again became obsessed with a young girl, this time an 11-year-old called Rose La Touche. The next 17 years were spent in a war of attrition in which the two unlikely love birds flirted, fell out, planned for marriage, stalked each other through the post and in person, bored their friends and family, and wore each other down until each was only a fraction of their former selves. Rose eventually died at the age of 27 in Ruskin's arms, having spent years starving herself into an approximation of the pre-pubescent with whom he had first fallen in love.

It was a sad ending, but no sadder than what happened to Rossetti and his one-time protégé William Morris. Having tortured each other with their mutual love for Janie Burden, an Oxford slum girl who had exactly the kinky hair and bee-stung lips that qualified her as a "stunner", the two men drifted apart. The mutual lease on Kelmscott was given up (Morris craftily got sole possession back almost immediately) and Rossetti racketed around his house in Cheyne Walk, trying to dodge Fanny Cornforth, a former "stunner" who was running to fat and making menacing noises about being paid off for past services. In the end clever Fanny cleared out as much art as she could carry from Cheyne Walk, and set up "The Rossetti Gallery" in Old Bond St to convert her nest egg into cash. Rossetti, meanwhile, died of kidney failure, quite possibly without his testicles, which had been plaguing him for years.

Quite properly Moyle acknowledges that her work rests on the scholarship of Jan Marsh (the Rossettis), Fiona MacCarthy (Morris) and Tim Hilton (Ruskin). For Desperate Romantics will not tell you anything about the pre-Raphaelites that you have not heard before. It will, though, remind you of how all those wild young men and marginal girls fitted together in a nexus of mutual need and exploitation which produced some of the most striking art of the 19th century. It's got television written all over it, and in a good way, too.


Biedermeier Style.

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Biedermeier was an influential style of furniture design from Germany during the years 1815–1848, based on utilitarian principles. The period extended into Scandinavia, as disruptions due to numerous states that made up the German nation were not unified by rule from Berlin until 1871. These post-Biedermeier struggles, influenced by historicism, created their own styles. Throughout the period, emphasis was kept upon clean lines and minimal ornamentation. As the period progressed, however, the style moved from the early rebellion against Romantic-era fussiness to increasingly ornate commissions by a rising middle class, eager to show their newfound wealth. The idea of clean lines and utilitarian postures would resurface in the 20th century, continuing into the present day. Middle- to late-Biedermeier furniture design represents a heralding towards historicism and revival eras long sought for. Social forces originating in France would change the artisan-patron system that achieved this period of design, first in the Germanic states and, then, into Scandinavia. The middle class growth originated in the English industrial revolution and many Biedermeier designs owe their simplicity to Georgian lines of the 19th century, as the proliferation of design publications reached the loose Germanic states and the Austro-Hungarian empire.
The Biedermeier style was a simplified interpretation of the influential French Empire Style of Napoleon I, which introduced the romance of ancient Roman Empire styles, adapting these to modern early 19th-century households. Biedermeier furniture used locally available materials such as cherry, ash and oak woods rather than the expensive timbers such as fully imported mahogany. Whilst this timber was available near trading ports such as Antwerp, Hamburg and Stockholm, it was taxed heavily whenever it passed through another principality. This made mahogany very expensive to use and much local cherry and pearwood was stained to imitate the more expensive timbers. Stylistically, the furniture was simple and elegant. Its construction utilised the ideal of truth through material, something that later influenced the Bauhaus and Art Deco periods.
Many unique designs were created in Vienna, primarily because a young apprentice was examined on his use of material, construction, originality of design, and quality of cabinet work, before being admitted to the league of approved master cabinetmakers. Furniture from the earlier period (1815–1830) was the most severe and neoclassical in inspiration. It also supplied the most fantastic forms which the second half of the period (1830–1848) lacked, being influenced by the many style publications from England. Biedermeier furniture was the first style in the world that emanated from the growing middle class. It preceded Victoriana and influenced mainly Germanic-speaking countries. In Sweden, Marshal Bernadotte, whom Napoleon appointed as ambassador to Sweden to sideline his ambitions, abandoned his support for Napoleon in a shrewd political move. Later, after being adopted by the last Vasa king of Sweden (who was childless), he became Sweden's new king Karl Johan. The Swedish Karl Johan style, similar to Biedermeier, retained its elegant and blatantly Napoleonic style throughout the 19th century.
Biedermeier furniture and lifestyle was a focus on exhibitions at the Vienna applied arts museum in 1896. The many visitors to this exhibition were so influenced by this fantasy style and its elegance that a new resurgence or revival period became popular amongst European cabinetmakers. This revival period lasted up until the Art Deco style was taken up. Biedermeier also influenced the various Bauhaus styles through their truth in material philosophy.
The original Biedermeier period changed with the political unrests of 1845–1848 (its end date). With the revolutions in European historicism, furniture of the later years of the period took on a distinct Wilhelminian or Victorian style.
The term Biedermeier is also used to refer to a style of clock made in Vienna in the early nineteenth century. The clean and simple lines included a light and airy aesthetic, especially in Viennese regulators of the Lanterndluhr and Dachluhr styles.

 Biedermeier Style: Biedermeier Furniture


It was through a political caricature appearing in a German newspaper in the late 1840s who typified a well to do middle class man without culture, the term Biedermeier originated. Two German writers, Ludwig Eichrodt and Adolf Kussmaul named it after the typically bourgeois style of the period - Gottfried Biedermeier - with Gott meaning God; fried meaning peace; Bieder meaning commonplace and meier meaning steward. It wasn't called Biedermeier until 1886, when Georg Hirth wrote a book about 19th-century interior design, and used the word Biedermeier to describe domestic German furniture of the 1820s and 1830s. Like most styles, it did not have a name while it was being made, but was only given one after it had been and gone. The term Biedermeier is often wrongly assumed to be the name of a cabinetmaker or designer of the period. During the late 1840s in Austria and Germany, the preceding era (1815-1848) was subject to a barrage of satire, which finally led to the very furniture being mocked.
Biedermeier refers to work of literature, music, the visual arts and furniture in the period between the years 1815 (Vienna Congress), the end of the Napoleonic Wars, and 1848, the year of the European revolutions and contrasts with the Romantic era which followed it. It was the age of the Austrian Chancellor Metternich Prince Metternich, whose diplomacy and influence dominated much of the post-Napoleonic period. It was a period of conservative politics in reaction to the horrors and chaos of the French Revolution and Napoleons wide-reaching conquests. Liberalism and popular movements were suppressed. It was the heyday of the secret police. But it was also a time of great creativity. Great names like Beethoven, Schubert, Johann Strauss the Elder and Joseph Lanner dominated the Viennese music scene. Despite censorship, theatre and literature flourished. [1] It saw growing industrialization and the resulting migration from rural to largely urban life. How furniture design can reflect great historical events is provided by the emergence of the Biedermeier style after Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo in 1815. The mood of the people of Europe changed - and the style of the furniture altered dramatically to match this mood. As Napoleon had conquered most Europe, the pompous, magnificent Empire style with its grand, monumental mahogany furniture had become extremely fashionable, and palaces and houses were accordingly redecorated throughout the continent. But after Napoleon's final defeat, Europe settled down to a long period of peace. The middle classes, who were prospering, wanted a simpler style, which could be functional as well as beautiful. This style, later known as Biedermeier, is essentially Empire furniture shorn of its ormolu mounts, excessive gilding and aggressive self-importance. Its original geometric shape often leads it to being described as the forerunner of modern furniture.
The Biedermeier furniture style is inspired by the French Empire style with modification by incorporating local German traditions particularly old peasant furniture. It is simple and elegant, consisting of clean smooth lines and honest, functional form. The pieces are generally designed on a small scale with graceful and elegant forms, devoid of unnecessary embellishment. Biedermeier furniture craftsman eschewed most forms of ornament, preferring simplicity. When there is ornamentation such as carving there is little detail in the work, although by around 1830 more detailed carving became prevalent. The main decorative motifs employed by the Biedermeier era craftsmen included simple forms of swans, sphinx, dolphins, lion paws, acanthus, lyres, and garlands. Early pieces were traditionally crafted from dark mahogany woods with a tendency towards Empire styling. In later years, Biedermeier furniture was generally fashioned from lighter woods such as birch, grained ash, pear and cherry, and exhibited a clearly more whimsical styling. In the middle class homes the furniture was designed according to the uses of day to day activities like writing, sewing and music, --each characterized by a different furniture, and quite deliberately separated from the others. This furniture was placed in the same living room in different corners or even the same furniture had a multi use, this concept created the Wohninsel, or the 'living island'.
Prior to 1830, mahogany appeared in Biedermeier furniture and gradually replaced walnut. The adoption of this imported wood, which was often given a light finish, caused some craftsmen to apply matching stains and finishes to pieces made in walnut, pear wood, and Hungarian 'watered' ash. The Viennese craftsmen no longer relied on the French, German and Italian designers for inspiration.
Native products based upon Directoire and Empire designs were highly original, showing a good understanding of form, balance and the use of ornament in gilded bronze. Local timber was used for economy, especially walnut veneer over a soft wood frame. Inlay served as the main decorative element, featuring the patterned graining of walnut and often reduced to a light-colored border. Sometimes, craftsmen used black poplar or bird's eye maple and colored woods such as cherry and pear became popular. Cabinetmakers decorated their furniture with black or gold paint, and often employed less expensive stamped brass wreaths and festoons rather than bronze for decorative effect and gilded wooden stars instead of the elaborate metal ornaments of the Empire style. Sometimes, they chose cheaper, new materials such as pressed paper. The Biedermeier era produced a wealth of different types of seating, with a myriad of variations on the basic scheme of four legs, a seat, and a back. From 1815-1835, Biedermeier craftsmen discovered that a chair could be given literally hundreds of different shapes. Upholsterers padded their creations with horse-hair and covered them with brightly colored velvet and calico. Pleated fabrics covered furniture, walls, ceilings, and alcoves. By the 1840s the Biedermeier style became romanticizedstraight lines became curved and serpentine; simple surfaces became more and more embellished beyond the natural materials; humanistic form became more fantastic; and textures became experimental.
The most prominent furniture designer of the Biedermeier period was Josef Dannhauser (d1830) who produced important pieces of the same style. He had a factory in Vienna (from 1804) with nearly 350 workers producing furniture, sculpture and interior decoration. He made some remarkable Empire furniture for the Austrian Imperial family. For the middle classes he produced many pieces in the Biedermeier style; there are about 2,500 drawings in the Österreichisches Museum für Angewandte Kunst (the Museum of Applied Arts), as well as numerous printed catalogues with his furniture designs. Biedermeier furniture is not an individual movement, but rather as a series of ideas stretching from Vienna to Stockholm, encompassing most of the German speaking lands, Scandinavia, Russia and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. There was at tradition in the early nineteenth century that the craftsmen travelled around Europe seeking work, which greatly facilitated the spread of ideas.
These ideas combined with regional variation produced some interesting examples of furniture in the same style. South Germany and Austria produced pieces quite unlike those made in Berlin after the designs of Karl Friedrich von Schinkel (1781-1841), the great Prussian architect and designer. North Germany and Denmark were different again. Hamburg in North Germany, Copenhagen in Denmark and Gothenburg on Sweden's west coast all had close trading links with Britain, so the furniture in these regions often shows the strong influence of the English Regency style. In Sweden this furniture is usually known by the name Carl Johan after the monarch of the time, Carl XIV Johan (1818-1844). The term Biedermeier is less frequently used in Sweden. One noteworthy Swedish feature is the popularity of the native Scandinavian blond woods, especially birch. After the World War II, there was an upsurge in the popularity of the Biedermeier furniture in Britain and America. In continental Europe, however, they have exerted a virtually continuous influence upon architects and designers since their rediscovery at the end of the nineteenth century. During this period, the furniture came back into fashion throughout Germany, Austria and Scandinavia and considerable quantities of Biedermeier Revival furniture was made. -
In the early years of twentieth's century it began to influence Josef Hoffmann, the Bauhaus school, Art Deco, Le Corbusier and others. In 1979 the Victoria and Albert Museum staged an important exhibition called Vienna in the Age of Schubert, which introduced the British public to the specific style. Biedermeier today in the US and Britain is an urban style for modern people. New York designers and decorators led the trend before the Europeans rediscovered the style: New York and Chicago are the main centers for the style today. In Britain the Biedermeier furniture is majorly found in London. Biedermeier's subtle appeal lies in its simplicity, which is so easily combined with both Art Deco and contemporary furniture, creating a relaxed mood and informal atmosphere, unlike the many antique styles, which demand a more formal setting. Today, the style is increasingly popular. The world's renowned architects such as Robert Venturi, Charles Jenks, Michael Graves and Milo Baughman have rediscovered its beauty. As a result, these architects are using Biedermeier design as the inspiration for their own lines of contemporary furniture. "Biedermeier furniture is gaining a greater appreciation among today's interiors, as these pieces are especially well suited for our modern homes. With petite proportions, Biedermeier work well in small spaces and fulfill our desire for furniture that is both functional and beautiful." -






Jane Morris (née Jane Burden) The Pre - Raphaelite Muse "par excellence" ...

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Jane Morris (née Jane Burden, 19 October 1839 – 26 January 1914) was an English artists' model who embodied the Pre-Raphaelite ideal of beauty. She was a model and muse to the artists William Morris, whom she married, and Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
She married William Morris at St Michael at the Northgate in Oxford on 26 April 1859. Her father was described as a groom, in stables at 65 Holywell Street. After the marriage, the Morrises lived at the Red House in Bexleyheath, Kent. While living there, they had two daughters, Jane Alice "Jenny", born January 1861, and Mary "May" (March 1862–1938), who later edited her father's works. They moved to Queens Square in London and later bought Kelmscott House in Hammersmith as their main residence.
In 1871 Morris and Rossetti took out a joint tenancy on Kelmscott Manor on the Gloucestershire-Oxfordshire-Wiltshire borders. William Morris went to Iceland leaving his wife and Rossetti to furnish the house and spend the summer there. Jane Morris had became closely attached to Rossetti and became a favourite muse of his. Their relationship is reputed to have started in 1865 and lasted, on differing levels, until his death in 1882. The two shared a deep emotional relationship, and she inspired Rossetti to write poetry and create some of his best paintings. Her discovery of his dependence on the drug, chloral taken for insomnia, eventually led her to distance herself from him, although they stayed in touch until he died in 1882.
In 1884, Morris met the poet and political activist Wilfrid Scawen Blunt at a house party given by her close friend Rosalind Howard (later Countess of Carlisle). There appears to have been an immediate attraction between them. By 1887 at the latest, they had become lovers. Their sexual relationship continued until 1894, and they remained close friends until his death.
Jane Morris was an ardent supporter of Irish Home Rule. A few months before her death, she bought Kelmscott Manor to secure it for her daughters' future, although she did not return to the house after having purchased it.

William Morris died on 3 October 1896 at Kelmscott House, Hammersmith, London. Jane Morris died on 26 January 1914 while staying at 5 Brock Street in Bath.


Unknown portrait by Dante Gabriel Rossetti emerges
The portrait, unknown to scholars for over a hundred years, depicts Dante Gabriel Rossetti's muse Jane Morris.

A portrait redolent of one of the most famous romances of the Victorian era has surfaced for sale from a private collection in Scotland where it has been, unrecorded and unknown to scholars, for over a hundred years.
Painted in 1869 by the pre-Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti, it represents his muse, Jane Morris, who was married to Rossetti’s business partner, the artist and designer William Morris.
Artist and sitter first met and were attracted to each other in 1857, but as Rossetti was already engaged to Elizabeth Siddall, she married Morris instead. However, after Siddall tragically took her life in 1862, and the Morris marriage appeared to flounder, the relationship was rekindled.
The year 1869 is generally thought to be when Rossetti reconciled his grief for Siddall with his love for Jane Morris. Though gossip levels ran high, lack of documentary evidence has left historians guessing at the degree of intimacy achieved between them.
Each destroyed the correspondence with the other during those crucial years. The title of the painting, ‘The Salutation of Beatrice’, associates Jane with Dante’s Beatrice, the incarnation of beatific love and the object of Dante’s courtly love. A sonnet by Dante pinned to the wall extols the virtues of courtly love: ‘My lady looks so gentle and so pure…’
The highest price for Rossetti is the £2.6 million paid by Australian collector, John Schaeffer, in 2000 for a pastel drawing of Jane Morris entitled ‘Pandora’, also dated 1869. He subsequently re-sold it in 2004 for £1.7 million. The rediscovery, which is a rare oil painting, is estimated to fetch between £1 million and £1.5 million at Christie’s next month.
Coincidentaly, three previously unknown drawings by Rossetti including one of Jane Morris, have been discovered in Hampshire.
Another subject is thought to be Marie Spartali Stillman, who was the artist's model for A Vision of Fiammetta, one of his greatest paintings.
The drawings in pen and ink were presented by Rossetti's brother William in 1905 to Effie Ritchie, the daughter of Marie Spartali and have come down by descent from the family.
They have stayed with the family ever since, but have now been put up for sale at Duke's auctioneers in Dorchester on Thursday when they are expected to fetch £20,000.
The earliest drawing is titled 18th Century Ladies Meeting and shows the women holding fans and grasping each other's hand.
The next from 1855 is called Lady Having Her Hair Combed Out and the subject here is believed to be Marie Spartali Stillman.
The third from 1870 is called Venus With Two Doves for which Jane Morris is the subject. On an accompanying note William Rossetti wrote that his brother had "thought about painting this."
Andrew Marlborough from the saleroom said: “What is interesting is that the dates range from 1849 to 1870 and show the progression from traditional styles to a more Pre-Raphaelite technique.
"The subjects are also very important because Jane Morris and Marie Spartali Stillman are both key figures in the Pre-Raphaelite movement."


Jane Morris by Evelyn De Morgan in 1904

Wives and Stunners: The Pre-Raphaelites and Their Muses by Henrietta Garnett – review
Ophelia in the bath? Kathryn Hughes has seen it all before
Kathryn Hughes

You might think that there is nothing new to say about the pre-Raphaelites and their women. And on the evidence of this book you'd be absolutely right. Perhaps, though, this is to miss the point. The pre-Raphaelite brotherhood and their consorts – those milliners and shopgirls who turned themselves into Arthurian heroines with a shake of their crinkly hair and a sweep of some old brocade curtains – have become a kind of foundational myth of the 19th century, one that appears to bear endless retelling.
But how many times, really, do we need to hear how Lizzie Siddal nearly caught her death while posing in a tin bath as Ophelia? Or how high-minded Holman Hunt spent money he didn't have on finessing barmaid Annie Miller into a lady? Or how William Morris married ostler's daughter Jane Burden, only to lose her to his mentor Rossetti, who in turn was fretting over the fact that he'd buried his best poems in Lizzie Siddal's coffin and just might have to dig her up? These stories might have the lulling circular rhythm of well-loved fairy tales, but their magic depends on their being told with rare feeling. Trot them out once too often and they start to seem shabby and thin.

And "shabby and thin", really, is what we are dealing with here. Henrietta Garnett rehearses these lovely ballads without adding anything new. Although nominally concerned with the pre-Raphaelites' consorts rather than the roaring boys themselves, she has no choice but to use the men as both the spine and the beating heart of her narrative. And so we find ourselves back inside that little house in Gower Street in September 1848 when a clutch of Royal Academy students barely out of their teens swear to shake up the sclerotic art scene by returning it to the bracing pieties of the quattrocento.

Only once the young men are established on their journeys – Millais to Ewell to look for a pool in which to drown Ophelia, Hunt to the Holy Land to learn how to paint goats, and Rossetti to general perdition – do the stunners start to settle in to the story. Found in shops, pubs or simply the street, these odd-looking girls with their columnar necks and bruised mouths find themselves wrenched out of their drudging daily lives and projected into a world of stately archetypes. Under the archaizing gaze of their fogey-ish lovers, these modern city girls become goddesses, queens, madonnas and penitent whores.

And that, really, is pretty much how they remain in Garnett's strangely inert account. For although recent scholarship has done much to emphasise Lizzie Siddal as a talented artist in her own right (you can see her work at the Tate's new blockbuster exhibition), you certainly wouldn't guess it from Garnett, who dismisses Siddal's paintings in a couple of sentences as "derivative" while spending pages on her lustrous hair and laudanum habit.

Likewise Jane Morris gets virtually no credit for leading the revival in needlework skills that became such an integral component of the arts and crafts movement of the 1870s and beyond. Instead, sultry Jane is confined to a narrative that dwells in immense detail on her anguished triangle with Morris and Rossetti. While we hear all about her posing as Astarte, Mariana and Proserpine, her exquisite embroidery is shuffled off to a couple of scenes in which she stitches quietly in the background. In one she's even lying on a sofa.

Less easy to blank out are Effie Gray, who married first John Ruskin and then John Everett Millais, and Georgie MacDonald, who became Mrs Burne-Jones. While both had the required pre-Raphaelite look – fragile pallor, thick brown hair – neither became regular models for their husbands or their friends. Mostly this was a class thing: women could not become "public" faces without courting the suspicion that the rest of them was up for sale too. But it might also be that Effie and Georgie's upbringing as the daughters of professional men gave them a sense of identity that could not be overridden simply by being told to hold very still and imagine themselves as Guinevere. They were too singular, too much themselves, to be of use as muses.

Both women set out from the provincial middle class and ended married to baronets. The difference was that Effie endured an early chilly marriage to an impotent Ruskin before finding the kind of luxurious love that suited her so well with Millais. Georgie, by contrast, was engaged in a love match at the age of 15 to Edward Burne-Jones and enjoyed years of happiness before the marriage almost broke down under the strain of Ned's affair with Maria Zambaco, the Anglo-Greek heiress who became the go-to model whenever a particularly tempting temptress was required.

None of this is remotely new. Indeed, Wives and Stunners reads as if it were loosely stitched-together from fine existing biographies of individual pre-Raphaelites by the likes of Fiona MacCarthy, Jan Marsh and Angela Thirlwell. If you really want to get a proper sense of what we know now about how these people lived and worked, you would do much better to buy the catalogue for the Tate show, Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Avant-Garde. In it there are essays by leading scholars such as Elizabeth Prettejohn that deftly link deep knowledge about individual works of art with the social, human context in which they were made. In the process, women who languish in Henrietta Garnett's book as "wives" or "stunners" spring to life as proper historical actors, participants in a rich and surprising story rather than empty vessels waiting to be filled with ancient gossip.

"If you really want to get a proper sense of what we know now about how these people lived and worked, you would do much better to buy the catalogue for the Tate show, Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Avant-Garde."


Blazing a Trail for Hypnotic Hyper-Realism
‘Pre-Raphaelites’ at National Gallery of Art
By ROBERTA SMITH

WASHINGTON — If “Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Art and Design” at the National Gallery of Art were a theme-park ride, you would be strenuously exhorted to buckle up and hold on tight. Devoted to England’s ever-popular mid-19th-century art movement, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, and its followers, this exhibition is full of jolts and thrills that feel intense but never go very deep.
You won’t see much in the way of great paintings, but you will probably have a great — which is to say, entertaining and edifying — time. Perhaps inadvertently this show usefully parses the difference between quality and influence, reveals much about visual culture today and even provides a yardstick by which to gauge your own sophistication.

If you are genuinely interested in art and emerge from this show thinking that you have seen scores of outstanding paintings, you should spend more time studying other examples. For comparison the galleries adjacent to this exhibition contain two outstanding works by the Pre-Raphaelites’ French contemporaries, Eduard Manet’s “Dead Toreador” (probably 1864) and Paul Cézanne’s portrait of his father reading a newspaper (1866). Consider the simplicity, directness and mysteries of these paintings against the moralizing and endless intricacies of the Pre-Raphaelites. It is a contrast between the complex and the merely complicated.

Pre-Raphaelite art is a volatile, highly complicated mixture of questionable intentions, literary erudition, ironclad nostalgia, meticulous realism, lavish costumes and a prescient technicolor palette. The brotherhood was formed in 1848 by William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais and Dante Gabriel Rossetti, three disgruntled students at the Royal Academy of Art. Barely 20, they were repelled by the decadence of art and society, much of which they ascribed to the Industrial Revolution.

They wanted to turn back the clock to purer, more thoroughly Christian times, before High Renaissance artists like Raphael started confusing things by adding classicizing Greco-Roman elements to art. They were greatly inspired by the Gothic Revival, spawned largely by the writing and architecture of A. W. N. Pugin, who was by then working himself to death designing and building the neo-Gothic Houses of Parliament. (He died in 1852 at the age of 40.)

The three founding artists formed a nucleus with Ford Madox Brown, a slightly older proto-Pre-Raphaelite painter, and later, Edward Burne-Jones. They produced some of art’s most overwrought paintings in terms of emotion, narration and craft. Conjuring a world where women, whether chaste or fallen, dead or alive, are impossibly beautiful, these works laboriously spell out tales from the Bible, Shakespeare, English poetry, mythology, world history and Arthurian legend, striving nearly always to impose a supremely male-dominated sense of morality. They pile symbol upon symbol, detail upon detail and bright color upon color until the eyes beg for mercy. Does Rossetti’s rendition of the wedding of St. George and Princess Sabra really have to include the dragon from which he rescued her, dead in a coffin with a spear through its head?

At once hysterical and inert, these paintings are fascinating as artifacts, period pieces reflective of their time. If you want a clear idea about what was rotten as opposed to enlightened about Victorian England, look no further.

This is the largest Pre-Raphaelite exhibition in several decades, and its eight densely filled galleries are close to exhausting. Although Millais, Holman Hunt, Rossetti, Brown and Burne-Jones made about 50 of the paintings here, the show includes works by nearly two dozen other painters and a few photographers, including Julia Margaret Cameron.

One gallery is devoted primarily to the designs of William Morris, another late joiner, who went on to found the Arts and Crafts movement. It contains medieval furniture painted with medieval scenes by Burne-Jones and two immense tapestries depicting the quest for the Holy Grail designed by Burne-Jones and woven in Morris’s workshops. Along with one devoted to landscapes and close-up images of nature, this gallery is the least oppressive in the show.

Elsewhere many of the landmarks of the movement are on hand. Some are quite famous, like Millais’s depiction of Shakespeare’s drowned Ophelia, a pale dark-haired lovely floating in a stream beside a grassy bank whose plants are exhaustively accounted for. Equally well known are the portraits of sultry, big-boned russet-haired beauties, usually based on Jane Burden, Morris’s wife, and possibly Rossetti’s lover. There’s also the show’s over-the-top finale, Holman Hunt’s “Lady of Shalott” (1888 to 1905) with its ponderous gold frame, swirling hair and embroidery thread and hot pinks and blues — a late work that would probably be a national treasure were it owned by a British museum instead of an American one.

There are also works less familiar to the non-British, like Millais’s “Christ in the House of His Parents,” a light-bathed depiction of Mary tending to Jesus after he cuts himself while helping Joseph in his carpentry shop, the bloodied scratch on his palm foreshadowing the stigmata.

When first exhibited this painting stirred outrage for depicting Jesus as a gawky child in humble working-class circumstances. This helped put the Pre-Raphaelites on the map, as did their shockingly bright color, inspired by medieval stained glass.

When it made its debut at Tate Britain in London, this show was bluntly titled “Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Avant-Garde.” Perhaps the title was dialed back for non-British audiences, but the mission remains, in the words of the catalog, to establish the Pre-Raphaelites as “an avant-garde movement” whose efforts in numerous mediums “constitute a major contribution to the history of modern art.”

That the Pre-Raphaelites rebelled against their own time and introduced a hyper-realistic style does not necessarily make them avant-garde. They didn’t radically rethink painting as Manet, Cézanne or van Gogh did; inspired by photography, they just made it more precise, often extraordinarily so. And they had only a minor interest in being “painters of modern life,” to use Baudelaire’s phrase. Rather than embracing the people, fashions and activities of their time, as their French contemporaries did, they escaped into fantasy.

The Pre-Raphaelites were most modern in their treatment of landscape, which they rendered en plein air in advance of the Impressionsts (but not before Corot or Constable). Sometimes they even populated these works with people in contemporary dress, like the family gathering seashells in William Dyce’s 1858 “Pegwell Bay, Kent — A Recollection of October 5th 1858” or the boy and girl lounging on a hillside in Brown’s panoramic “English Autumn Afternoon, Hampstead — Scenery in 1853,”whose view of London in the distance even intimates the modern city.

But unlike the Impressionists or the Cubists the Pre-Raphaelites did not stop art in its tracks, even if they were admired by Picasso during his Blue Period, Salvador Dalí and Wassily Kandinsky. Nor does it explain much to note that the art historian Robert Rosenblum capriciously likened the busy composition and shallow space of Holman Hunt’s mawkish “Awakening Conscience” (1853) — in which a kept woman sees the light of salvation and rises from the lap of her lover — to the allover skeins of Jackson Pollock’s abstractions. The same goes for speculation that the last big Pre-Raphaelite show at the Tate in 1984 may have influenced the emergence of the Young British Artists in the late 1980s.

But all this is small beer. The Pre-Raphaelites’ influence is far more widespread than that of most art movements. You can see it in the aesthetic movement Symbolism, Art Nouveau and modern design (thanks to Morris); in children’s books and Photo Realism; and in all kinds of contemporary art. Examples include Tom Uttech’s dreamlike views of wilderness (on view through Saturday in a terrific show at the Alexandre Gallery on 57th Street in Manhattan), Ellen Altfest’s detailed yet painterly realism, Ron Mueck‘s disturbingly lifelike sculptures, Mark Greenwold‘s intricately twisted narratives and the equally finicky if more surreal images of Anj Smith.

Tracing things in another direction the Pre-Raphaelites seem to have made some of the first so-bad-it’s-maybe-good modern art. Fighting Victorian decadence with more Victorian decadence, they may also have contributed to the onset of kitsch. Cézanne and Manet are great artists, necessary to many people’s lives, but when you start to look around, the Pre-Raphaelites are everywhere. That’s why this show is so hypnotic. The badness at its core is completely familiar; it permeates our lives. Looking at these paintings you can see it all coming: Maxfield Parrish’s jocular King Cole mural at the St. Regis Hotel in Manhattan; the visual platitudes of Norman Rockwell and Walt Disney; the hallucinatory brightness of psychedelic posters, the sugary scenes of Thomas Kinkade and the heavy-handed neo-medievalism of countless movies and television shows, most recently “Game of Thrones.”

The Pre-Raphaelites built one of the cornerstones of popular culture. Like kitsch itself their art is radioactive; for better and for worse its influence never goes away, it only spreads.


“Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Art and Design, 1848 to 1900” is on view through May 19 at the National Gallery of Art, on the National Mall between Third and Seventh Streets NW, Washington, (202) 737-4215; nga.gov.
This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:

Correction: March 30, 2013

An art review on Friday about “Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Art and Design, 1848 to 1900,”at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, misspelled the surname of an artist whose work was cited as an example of the kitsch to which the Pre-Raphaelites may have contributed. He was Thomas Kinkade, not Kincaid.




Ghost of Diana returns in biopic starring Naomi Watts.Diana Official Trailer #1 (2013) - Naomi Watts Movie HD

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Ghost of Diana returns in biopic starring Naomi Watts
So far all we have seen is a one-minute trailer of film detailing Princess Diana's final years, but the awestruck tone is obvious
Peter Bradshaw
theguardian.com, Thursday 13 June 2013 15.53 BST / http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2013/jun/13/diana-biopic-naomi-watts

She is back. The ghost of Diana Spencer is back. A one-minute trailerhas been released online, promoting a biopic directed by Olivier Hirschbiegel, about the last years of Princess Diana's life before the fatal 1997 car crash in Paris. It avowedly concentrates on her landmine removal charity work, her painful affair with surgeon Dr Hasnat Khan, and of course her persecution by the paparazzi. Naomi Watts stars as Diana, with her blonde hair fiercely styled and what looks like a nasal prosthesis in place.

It is impossible to tell what a film is really going to be like from a trailer, but here the awestruck tone is obvious. This account of Diana's final lonely years is unlikely to be subversive or controversial – although it is noteworthy that Hirschbiegel's most famous film so far has been Downfall, his study of Hitler in the bunker.

But what is eerie is how the film is beginning to surface just as media obsession with Kate Middleton – her wedding, her pregnancy – is beginning to grow as well. The woman who would have been Diana's daughter-in-law is undoubtedly experiencing many of the pressures Diana was facing, but is probably better equipped to deal with them, with a more relaxed and media-savvy sense, and what appears to be a less frantically uptight and solemn attitude than that surrounding Charles and Diana in private.

Perhaps it is interesting that the subject of Diana's death has not been filmed before now. Is it because she has been untouchable? Not quite. For a year or so after her death she was untouchable, and then fads changed and Diana became less interesting. The older royals - the Queen and the Duke Of Edinburgh – so derided in the annus horribilis years of the 1990s, became popular again, reaching an apogee in the euphoria of last year's Olympics and jubilee. Diana is almost forgotten.

Serena Scott Thomas, sister of Kristin, played Diana in a 1993 TV movie based on the Andrew Morton book. But perhaps the nearest we have come to a proper Diana film is The Queen (2006), written by Peter Morgan and directed by Stephen Frears, which depicted Diana's death only in terms of how it affected the monarch, brilliantly and sympathetically played by Helen Mirren.

A whole younger generation may well yawn at the idea of a Diana movie: they never experienced the shock of that news. And it is strange remembering how sensational her death was – before 9/11 the biggest thing imaginable – a news story which was the Big Bang for today's celeb industry. It was a death that existed before Twitter and Facebook, before social media made everything common knowledge instantaneously, when it was still possible to tell people, face-to-face, about important news. (I remember telling a French tourist, standing outside Kensington Palace, what had happened – and seeing his stunned, almost tearful expression.)

Everyone talks about the feverish, hysterical atmosphere of that week between Diana's death and the funeral. What no-one admits is how exciting it was – a strange, meaningless, directionless excitement, an all-you-can-eat buffet of emotional excess. Will Hirschbiegel capture any of that? Will he want to? We shall see.

The Fairytale Castles of King LudwigII with Dan Cruickshank

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Documentary exploring the aesthetic styles associated with Ludwig II of Bavaria, the legendary king who was believed to be handsome and loved by his people. Dan Cruickshank investigates the mock-medievalism of Neuschwanstein castle and the complex design of Herrenshiemsee, to assess how they are key to finding out more about the enigmatic ruler.
BBC4

Ludwig was notably eccentric in ways that made serving as Bavaria's head of state problematic. He disliked large public functions and avoided formal social events whenever possible, preferring a life of seclusion that he pursued with various creative projects. He last inspected a military parade on 22 August 1875 and last gave a Court banquet on 10 February 1876. His mother had foreseen difficulties for Ludwig when she recorded her concern for her extremely introverted and creative son who spent much time day-dreaming. These idiosyncrasies, combined with the fact that Ludwig avoided Munich and participating in the government there at all costs, caused considerable tension with the king's government ministers, but did not cost him popularity among the citizens of Bavaria. The king enjoyed traveling in the Bavarian countryside and chatting with farmers and labourers he met along the way. He also delighted in rewarding those who were hospitable to him during his travels with lavish gifts. He is still remembered in Bavaria as Unser Kini, which means "our cherished king" in the Bavarian dialect.
Ludwig also used his personal fortune (supplemented annually from 1873 by 270,000 marks from the Welfenfonds[20]) to fund the construction of a series of elaborate castles. In 1867 he visited Eugène Viollet-le-Duc's work at Pierrefonds, and the Palace of Versailles in France, as well as the Wartburg near Eisenach in Thuringia, which largely influenced the style of their construction. In his letters, Ludwig marvelled at how the French had magnificently built up and glorified their culture (e.g., architecture, art, and music) and how miserably lacking Bavaria was in comparison. It became his dream to accomplish the same for Bavaria. These projects provided employment for many hundreds of local labourers and artisans and brought a considerable flow of money to the relatively poor regions where his castles were built. Figures for the total costs between 1869 and 1886 for the building and equipping of each castle were published in 1968: Schloß Neuschwanstein 6,180,047 marks; Schloß Linderhof 8,460,937 marks (a large portion being expended on the Venus Grotto); Schloß Herrenchiemsee (from 1873) 16,579,674 marks In order to give an equivalent for the era, the British Pound sterling, being the monetary hegemon of the time, had a fixed exchange rate (based on the gold standard) at £1 = 20.43 Goldmarks.
In 1868, Ludwig commissioned the first drawings for two of his buildings. The first was Schloss Neuschwanstein, or "New Swan on the Rock castle", a dramatic Romanesque fortress with soaring fairy-tale towers situated on an Alpine crag above Ludwig's childhood home, Castle Hohenschwangau (approximately, "High Swan Region"). Hohenschwangau was a medieval knights' castle which his parents had purchased. Ludwig reputedly had spied the location and conceived of building a castle there while still a boy. The second was Herrenchiemsee, a replica of the palace at Versailles, which was sited on the "Herren" Island in the middle of Lake Chiemsee, and was built as a monument to Ludwig's admiration for Louis XIV of France, the magnificent "Sun King." Only the central portion of the palace was built; all construction halted on Ludwig's death. Herrenchiemsee comprises 8,366 square feet, a "copy in miniature" compared with Versailles' 551,112 ft².
The following year, Ludwig finished the construction of the royal apartment in the Residenz Palace in Munich, to which he had added an opulent conservatory or winter garden on the palace roof. It was started in 1867 as quite a small structure, but after extensions in 1868 and 1871, the dimensions reached 69.5mx17.2mx9.5m high. It featured an ornamental lake complete with skiff, a painted panorama of the Himalayas as a backdrop, an Indian fisher-hut of bamboo, a Moorish kiosk, and an exotic tent. The roof was a technically advanced metal and glass construction. The winter garden was closed in June 1886, partly dismantled the following year and demolished in 1897.

In 1869, Ludwig oversaw the laying of the cornerstone for Schloss Neuschwanstein on a breathtaking mountaintop site. The walls of Neuschwanstein are decorated with frescoes depicting scenes from the legends used in Wagner's operas, including Tannhäuser, Tristan und Isolde, Lohengrin, Parsifal, and the somewhat less than mystic Meistersinger.
After plans for a monumental festival theatre for Wagner's opera in Munich were thwarted by Court opposition, he supported the construction in 1872-76 of the Festspielhaus in the town of Bayreuth (Bayreuth Opera Festival Theatre), and attended the dress rehearsal and third public performance of the complete Ring Cycle in 1876.
In 1878, construction was completed on Ludwig's Schloss Linderhof, an ornate palace in neo-French Rococo style, with handsome formal gardens. The grounds contained a Venus grotto lit by electricity, where Ludwig was rowed in a boat shaped like a shell. After seeing the Bayreuth performances, Ludwig had built in the forest near Linderhof Hunding's Hut (Hundinghütte) (based on the stage set of the first act of Wagner's Die Walküre) complete with an artificial tree and a sword embedded in it. In Die Walküre, Siegfried's father Siegmund, pulls the sword from the tree. Hunding's Hut was destroyed in 1945 but a replica was constructed at Linderhof in 1990. In1877 a small hermitage (Einsiedlei des Gurnemanz) as in the third act of Wagner's Parsifal was erected near Hunding's Hut, with a meadow of spring flowers, where the king would retire to read. (A replica made in 2000 can now be seen in the park at Linderhof.) Nearby a Moroccan House, purchased at the Paris World Fair in 1878, was erected alongside the mountain road. Sold in 1891 and taken to Oberammergau, it was purchased by the government in 1980 and re-erected in the park at Linderhof after extensive restoration. Inside the palace, iconography reflected Ludwig's fascination with the absolutist government of Ancien Régime France. Ludwig saw himself as the "Moon King", a romantic shadow of the earlier "Sun King", Louis XIV of France. From Linderhof, Ludwig enjoyed moonlit sleigh rides in an elaborate eighteenth-century sleigh, complete with footmen in eighteenth century livery. Also in 1878, construction began on his Versailles-derived Herrenchiemsee.

In the 1880s, Ludwig'’s plans proceeded undeterred. He planned the construction of a new castle on Falkenstein ("Falcon Rock") near Pfronten in the Allgäu (a place he knew well: a diary entry for 16 October 1867 reads "Falkenstein wild, romantic" The first design was a sketch by Christian Jank in 1883 "very much like the Townhall of Liege" (Kreisel 1954, p. 82). Subsequent designs showed a modest villa with a square tower (Dollmann 1884) and a small Gothic castle (Schultze 1884, Hofmann 1886). a Byzantine palace in the Graswangtal and a Chinese summer palace by the Plansee in Tyrol. By 1885, a road and water supply had been provided at Falkenstein but the old ruins remained untouched; the other projects never got beyond initial plans.


Remembering the costume designs of Ann Roth / Gary Jones for The Talented Mr. Ripley.

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The Talented Gary Jones Saucon Valley Designer May Sew Up Oscar For 'Mr. Ripley' Costumes
"Jones, along with his partner of 22 years, Ann Roth, met the `Mr. Ripley` challenge well enough to be nominated for this year's Academy Award for costume design."

In `The Talented Mr. Ripley,` which is set in the swanky precincts of Europe in the 1950s, the challenge for costume designer Gary Jones was to maintain what he calls `the old-fashioned aura.`

`There's a strong connection between the costumes in the film and the fashion in clothes today, and we had to be very careful to avoid self-consciousness,` says the Saucon Valley resident. `The job is to create for the characters a look for the movie that puts it in time, place and atmosphere without calling attention to itself.`

Jones, along with his partner of 22 years, Ann Roth, met the `Mr. Ripley` challenge well enough to be nominated for this year's Academy Award for costume design.

`Winning that nomination is a dream come true,` says Jones, 52, who will be attending the Academy Awards presentations in the Los Angeles Shrine auditorium tonight. `As a youngster, I used to watch the Academy Awards and felt -- wow! I sort of feel like that now. I'm ecstatic --a lovely end to the story after a year's work."

Costumes for the main characters, Ripley (Matt Damon) and Dickie (Jude Law), were marked by simplicity, says Jones. `It's really difficult sometimes for us to realize how innocent times were then -- the clothes weren't showy. There was no sexual innuendo -- all that came later, in the '60s," says Jones.

`Ripley's clothes are a mixture of prep school and prep school wannabe. As he evolves into someone more European, he begins wearing a classic, more tailored look.

`On the other hand, with Dickie, we don't get to see his real wardrobe. He's avoiding his past and he emulates a New York jazz look even in Europe. We dressed him in blazers, just right for the times. But we wanted to create a feeling that Dickie was someone who would look good in whatever he put on."

Research is an integral part of costuming a period piece like `Mr. Ripley.` `For 'Mr. Ripley' we had two trunkloads of work to research -- magazine clippings, photographs, swatches, pieces of fabric, and antique clothing which we used as prototypes for various sections of the movie -- helpful hints for what we might want a character to look like," says Jones. `You must make these ideas, shapes, colors come to life on the actor.

`The fitting room is the wonderful place where it all happens. It's not just a matter of trying on a few things and running out. It's important to work the character with the actor in front of a mirror.`

Each character gets a rack of clothes which are adjusted according to needs, followed by fittings of what works. `It's necessary to run through the entire movie and plot how everything works so that there's a dramatic, even flow of costumes and the film,` Jones says. `By the time you go to shoot a scene, 95 percent of the work is done.`

Actually, says Jones, the work begins with a meeting with the director who lays out the way he sees his characters in the movie. Jones points out that director Anthony Minghella also wrote the screenplay for `Mr. Ripley,` `so naturally he'd hold certain things important."

`Ripley` is the second time Jones has worked with Minghella. His first time was on the 1996 Academy award-winning `The English Patient."
It was with the film version of the musical `Hair" in 1979 that Jones' career as a costume designer began to soar. `It was my first experience with film," says Jones, as well as his first collaboration with Roth.

He continued working as her assistant on `Sweet Dreams" (1985), `Working Girl" (1988), `Postcards from the Edge" (1990), `The Bonfire of the Vanities" (1990), `Dave" (1993), `Wolf" (1994) and several other films.

Jones' journey to New York and Hollywood began in a little farming town near Toledo. He started his designing career creating costumes for student productions at Ohio University, and this became the impetus for his life's work.

`Actually, I started out as an actor and dancer, but when I switched to the design department,` Jones recalls. `That was home to me."

He studied art and costume history and costume design for two years, then decided to go to New York for a summer job working as an apprentice to a costume designer for a ballet company. `Unfortunately he had a bad knee injury and was unable to work, so that was the end of my apprenticeship there."

But Jones never left New York. He eventually met Anita Loos, author of `Gentlemen Prefer Blondes," which starred Marilyn Monroe and Rosalind Russell in the film version, who introduced Jones to the head of the costume shop for Joseph Papp's New York Shakespeare Festival.

`I was hired as an apprentice for $25 a week -- with promise of some overtime. It was a wonderful job, a great learning experience. I consider it my master's degree. It was a thrilling time to be there -- between the late '60s and early '70s. I loved the work, and still do."



 The Talented Ann Roth
Feb. 1, 2000John Calhoun | livedesignonline / http://livedesignonline.com/mag/talented-ann-roth

The Talented Mr. Ripley is set in a specific place, at a very specific moment. Think Fellini and Via Veneto, on the late 50s cusp of Kennedy's Camelot, and you're on the right track. It's la dolce vita experienced through American eyes: a life and time costume designer Ann Roth remembers well.

"The 50s were, for the most part, very dull visually," she says. "In the 40s, we had the restrictions of the war and limited fabric. After the war, Dior came with the New Look and that was very interesting, with the use of more fabric, the bigness of the men's clothes, the double-breasted things. When we went into the 50s, there was this aspiration to look like a solid citizen. I guess if you watched TV, which I did not, Lucy and Ozzie and Harriet were on your mind. Then, the jet-set thing started to happen--Italians, the Riviera, Brigitte Bardot, and the Mambo Kings. In New York, I remember going to El Morocco and the Peppermint Lounge, underneath [noted costume builder] Karinska's. There was a certain air about town which had to do with Marlon Brando and Anna Magnani, and dancing all night. And I was right there."

At the time, Roth was a burgeoning designer, a Carnegie Mellon graduate who had apprenticed with Irene Sharaff on several Hollywood films and Broadway shows. "In the daytime, I wore short white gloves and heels to work," she recalls. "I drove an MG without a top, and I wore a hat. There was a propriety in the way you wished to look; you did not wish to look wanton. At night, you would get dressed up, and be less perfect, less ladylike, more fun. It was good to be fun.

"Now all that was very provincial, that was America," Roth continues. "If you were one of the glamour people, you were allowed to run away from school, and you ended up in Paris or on the Riviera. And that's what The Talented Mr. Ripley is about."

Adapted by director Anthony Minghella from Patricia Highsmith's 1955 suspense novel, Ripley is the story of one of those "glamour people," Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law), whose identity is taken over by a wannabe, Tom Ripley (Matt Damon). The title character is a working-class climber sent by Dickie's wealthy shipbuilder father to coax his playboy son home from Italy. Instead, Ripley falls in love with his quarry, and even more with the golden-haired youth's privileged bohemian lifestyle; eventually, he disposes of Dickie and attempts to take over his enviable existence. Complicating matters as the impostor moves around Italy, from Naples to Rome to Venice, are Dickie's girlfriend, Marge Sherwood (Gwyneth Paltrow), as well as another young American woman, Meredith Logue (Cate Blanchett).

"My job was to show this very well-off boy, Dickie, in Europe, on a very strict allowance, but with a sensational lifestyle," says Roth, who won an Oscar for her work on Minghella's last film, The English Patient. "I had him in a jacket and some shorts, or a jacket and some linen trousers, and that jacket had to reflect a very rich background. And if he had one or two made in Rome, it had to look that way." Dickie's wealth is casually expressed, and, since he's avoiding his family, perhaps tattered a bit around the edges; his Gucci loafers may be worn through, and his tailor-made outfits may be ratty. But he still looks classy and stylish. Ripley is another matter. "I had to do this kid who comes from America straighter than anything," says Roth. "Both to show his insecurity about dressing with any kind of flamboyance, and also that he had no bucks. He comes from Princeton, and he's very American East Coast, but from Sears."

The design gets a good deal more complicated when Ripley becomes Dickie. "He goes for it big time," says Roth, which means that Damon is costumed in elegant outfits which are posher than anything we see on Law's real Dickie. But beyond that, "there are times when he is, in the same hour, seen by two different groups, one of whom thinks he's Dickie and one of whom thinks he's Ripley. Those clothes I had to hold back on."

Roth's longtime assistant Gary Jones, who gets co-designer credit on The Talented Mr. Ripley, goes into greater detail about Damon's complex transformation in the film. "It never was literally meant as an imitation of the other character," he says. "He borrows things like cufflinks and rings, and there are things that he does with his voice and hair that are all suggestive. We tried very hard to make it come organically, if you will. And then, of course, there's a lot of back and forth, so there are transitional pieces. The Ripley corduroy jacket, which he never loses totally, is such a piece. We are never far away from the dual personality." Jones refers to one scene at the top of the Spanish Steps, where Ripley watches Meredith, Marge, and the character Peter Smith-Kingsley (played by Jack Davenport) meet in the square below: "He's holding onto his glasses, and he has the Ripley jacket. Any one of the characters could blow his cover. It's great theatre at that moment."

Jones first worked with Roth on Milos Forman's movie version of Hair, in 1978. "As trite as it seems, we just clicked," says Jones, who has designed such films as The Other Sister, Vanya on 42nd Street, and The Trip to Bountiful on his own. "She is an extraordinary talent, and the fact that we clicked had to do with our realization that we were both looking for the same thing, as much as any two artists could." Both are dedicated to the idea of building the character through his or her costumes; neither are very interested in simply making the stars look glamorous by dressing them in the trendiest labels. "This is not going to be a fashion show," warns Roth of Ripley.

Take Gwyneth Paltrow's Marge Sherwood, for instance. "She's a girl who comes from a good family, and goes to Europe to write," says Roth. "She hangs out in her pajamas and her skirts, and she has a bikini on underneath her skirt and blouse when she goes to town. She doesn't buy her own clothes, they are her parents' purchases she had from school. I also wanted to reflect that in the jewelry, which might have been her Aunt Mary's, and God knows where Aunt Mary got it." Roth says the character is one she recognized instantly (not to mention the fact that she knew Highsmith): "My friend Patsy Hemingway had her uncle's vicuna coat, and she always wore loafers of a high quality. But if somebody said, where'd you get those loafers, she wouldn't have had a clue. That was not interesting to her. It's not like the designer's names now, the Tommy whomevers--in no way did people think like that. We did love clothes, mind you."

And Paltrow certainly does have her share of lovely outfits in The Talented Mr. Ripley. There's a calf-length blue cloth coat with rolled collar lined in beige she wears in Venice, and a wonderfully period-perfect leopard-skin print coat she sports in the Piazza San Marco. The former was designed specially for the film, and made at Terelli's in Rome, but the latter was a vintage piece, as are many of the film's costumes. "Ripley's clothes as Dickie Greenleaf are all custom-made," says Jones of the elegant suits made in New York by John Tudor, "and the clothes for Ripley himself are mostly vintage, but all remade," says Jones. "There's not a formula for that; it has to do with what looks best. Then there are requirements for stunt people and so on, and sometimes you need three or four shirts because they're going to get ruined when a bomb goes off. Invariably, the shirt that you love, there's only one of."

Roth is known both for her own collection of period costumes and for her network of vintage connections. In particular, she has a collector friend in Philadelphia who "buys stuff he knows I will like." The designer sees vintage clothing as a way of authenticating the character. "Let me tell you something: I am the first girl in this business to use real period clothes," she says, setting herself apart not for the first time from the Hollywood norm. "I've done this for a long time, because I come from this coast and they come from that coast. When they did The Sting, I was doing The Day of the Locust. While I had some real stuff I had brought from here, or worked out of museums, having clothes copied, they would just go into the stockroom and pull things out."

"Our strength has always been clothing that looks real," adds Jones. "Prior to Hair, Ann had certainly used vintage clothing, but we started doing it even more from that moment on, and mixing it with the custom-made clothes for the principals, or in scenes that had to be custom-made because of color restrictions or whatever. The hope is that you can't tell which is which. It's about the character rather than the label. Not to say that you don't want to have attitude, because characters need that. It's about the way the costume is worn, the silhouette or the color, almost as much as what the costume is."

There's another important element to the Ripley design that undercuts its fashion-show possibilities--it's the quality Roth calls propriety, and Jones labels innocence. This is part of what fixes The Talented Mr. Ripley as a period piece, predating a modern era whose beginnings Roth locates sometime around the Kennedy assassination [for more of her thoughts, as well as that of other designers, on contemporary costume design, see the March issue of ED]. However rebellious, the women wear girdles and bras, and bodies are for the most part chastely covered. "It was not a time when the explicit language and behavior of today was accepted," says Jones. "Although Italy is this great sexy country for Ripley, what he falls in love with--Dickie and Marge living in these villas and cavorting around--is an exotic lifestyle. It was out of the norm. We were extremely conscious of maintaining the innocence of the time, both in the men and the women."

After a fashion, they do attempt to assimilate into European ways. "There's a very famous photograph of an American girl walking through Rome, wearing a peasant skirt," says Roth, who adds that that photo provided part of her inspiration for Cate Blanchett's character, who initially dresses like a "Marymount College girl," with gloves and a belted coat, and eventually evolves into a more worldly look, wearing vintage clothes all along the way. As for Paltrow, Jones says, "In the beginning she wears things that are carefree and bohemian, and as the movie becomes more serious, her style becomes streamlined and a little bit more severe." But for the most part, "The shapes of the skirts Gwyneth wears are long and full; once we established that that's what we wanted, we looked in every corner for the period clothes, and recreated some things from prototypes."

Though Roth remembers the period well, research is always an important part of the process for her. "There are very few people who have done as much in the 30s as I have," she says, "but when I did English Patient, I wouldn't have dreamed of doing it without starting research again." For Ripley, the designer compiled files of "small Italian villages, Romans, San Remo vacationers, bathing people, servicemen, nuns, and religious parades. I had enough research to send two huge trucks of it to Italy." Roth hired her daughter, Hannah Green, to help with the research, and went to work with her New York assistant, Michele Matlin. In Italy, she took advantage of "a superb Italian crew" to help make the costumes. And, of course, there was Jones.

So how do the duties break down between the two co-designers, one of whom clearly has seniority? "People often ask that, and often we say we don't know," says Jones. "But the truth is, we do address everything together at one point or another." An example is the time frame of the script, which was originally laid earlier in the 50s. "We wanted to make it later, when they had come out of the war more. We also wanted to take it more into the jazz and Beat era." Both designers tended to see the images in black-and-white terms. "That has partly to do with the innocence and simplicity," says Jones. "But also, a lot of our research, from Life magazine and Italian photography, was black and white. There is color in the design, but it's a very subdued palette--though not subdued chic. It's a mixture of pale colors. The photographs were as helpful to the actors as to us. It gives them a feeling of what these people were about."

Beyond this, he says of his collaboration with Roth, "Sometimes it seems we're divided along the lines of men and women. Ann was very active with Gwyneth and Cate, and I was very active with Matt and Jude and Jack Davenport. But with a project this large, logistics play a big part. We had many locations in nine cities, and we would take turns going ahead or staying behind." As for sketches, he says, "Mostly Ann does the drawings; she's much better at it than I."

Roth says her greatest pleasure comes in the fitting room. "I do every fitting, and I choose every fabric. I'm not saying I'm a control freak, but I'm a control freak. I like to create the character, or if it's a lot of background people, I like to create the look of it--the spectacle, the atmosphere." Jones feels the same: "It doesn't matter how great it is, until you get it on and you stand there and you create the character." Yet Roth says Jones comes in particularly handy on the set, using a San Remo Jazz Festival scene in Ripley to illustrate her point. "We'd have, say, 50 women and 50 men to get dressed, and get through hair and makeup, and then the principals. I'd say to Gary, 'Would you mind looking at the band, who are presumably Americans, and make sure their neckties are American?' Or, 'There's a man with funny hair; grab him and take him back to the hairdresser.' Gary does that like a great gentleman, whereas I am more volatile."

Roth comes by her admittedly formidable personality honestly; she is the product of a time and business that yielded some hardy female survivors. Her first professional theatrical experience was as a scenery painter for the Pittsburgh Opera, and she fully intended to continue in set and production design. Then she met the legendary costume designer Irene Sharaff at Bucks County Playhouse. "She said she thought I would be happier in costume," Roth recalls. "I think that's because she was--she was a successful scenery designer Off Broadway, but she was discouraged from doing scenery on Broadway. Now, Irene was a very tough babe; I don't know how she was intimidated--maybe the union didn't like women--but she was. Then she went to Hollywood to work for Goldwyn, and there, I am very sure there were no lady production designers."

Sharaff offered Roth an extraordinary opportunity for someone so young and inexperienced. "She asked me to come with her to California to do the film of Brigadoon. She put me in charge of dyeing all the tartans." Sharaff put a limitation on Roth's apprenticeship: they would do five movies and five Broadway shows together, and then the apron strings would be cut. And that's what happened. Among the movies were A Star Is Born (for which Sharaff designed the "Born in a Trunk" sequence) and The King and I. Roth also assisted Miles White on the massive Around the World in 80 Days production, after which she went out on her own,and basically abandoned Hollywood.

"I wanted to come to Broadway; Hollywood was not someplace I wanted to be," she says. "I had a very good training experience out there under Irene and a man called Al Nicholl, who ran Western Costume. But it's a world I'm not super comfortable in. It really is like working for the Prudential Insurance Company. When Edith Head or Helen Rose were going to do a Debbie Reynolds movie or a June Allyson movie or even a Grace Kelly movie, they would sit with a sketch artist, draw the leading lady's clothes, and then the wardrobe ladies would organize the rest of the show." Roth, who recently received the Edith Head Lifetime Achievement Award from the International Fashion Institute, hastens to add, "I'm not taking anything away from Edith. She was there to invent the glamour of Hollywood. I love that, but I'm not interested in doing it."

Sharaff was an exception--"When Irene was doing The King and I, everything down to the rings was designed. She had to get special permission to do it, and that was very offensive to some people." But the structure of the unions in Hollywood, split between a costume designers' association and costuming and wardrobe guild, made it difficult to carve out the kind of position and career Roth wanted. So she returned to New York, where she received her first solo designer credit on the play Maybe Tuesday, in 1958. At some point, she started meeting the talents--directors, mostly--who have been so central to her career. Foremost, perhaps, there were Mike Nichols and Neil Simon, whom Roth first worked with on the 1964 Broadway production of The Odd Couple. Her association with Simon extended to his plays The Star-Spangled Girl and They're Playing Our Song, as well as such films as Murder by Death, The Goodbye Girl, California Suite, and last year's remake of The Out-of-Towners. With Nichols, meanwhile, she has enjoyed perhaps her most satisfying collaboration, designing every one of his films since Silkwood (including the upcoming What Planet Are You From?), and many of his Broadway forays, including The Real Thing and Hurlyburly. Other stage credits include Purlie, Play It Again, Sam, and The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.

Roth's first movie costume design job was on The World of Henry Orient, in 1964. The director was George Roy Hill, whom she reunited with on The World According to Garp. Roth's film vitae is packed with credits, but some highlights are The Owl and the Pussycat, Klute, Coming Home, Dressed to Kill, Places in the Heart (which garnered her her first Oscar nomination), Sweet Dreams, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and Sabrina. Other favorite filmmakers are John Schlesinger (Midnight Cowboy and The Day of the Locust) and Sidney Lumet (The Morning After and Q&A), and Robert Mulligan (Up the Down Staircase).

The designer says her success with a director or lack thereof is a matter of sensibility. "One time, when I was working with Robert Mulligan for the first time," she recalls, "it was a big dinner table scene, with family conflicts and whatnot. I said, 'What do you want here?' And he said, 'You do it, and I'll find it.' He had chosen me because my sense of things--my sense of humor really--was something that he got. Mike Nichols and I are the same person: if we walk into a very stylish room, and there's a pompous person with egg on his tie, we both see that. Schlesinger's the same way." As for Minghella, she says, "There's a youngness about Anthony's work patterns. He likes what I like, which is the fitting room. I almost never let a director come to the fitting room, but I invited him. Like Mike, he has divine taste."

Shared taste is also what has allowed Roth and Jones to work together so long and fruitfully, though the senior designer, recalling her abbreviated working period with Sharaff, likes to encourage him to maintain his separate career. But clearly, the two of them have a good thing going, particularly when it comes to a complex job like Ripley. "I would say our partnership is unique," says Jones. "Nothing was ever written down orparticularly defined; we've just gone forth, one project at a time."Despite he r antipathy to Hollywood ways and her capacity to rock the boat by being "somebody who does the elevator operator," Roth has managed to create one of the most prolific and vital film careers of any costume designer. "If you keep yourself safely in that cocoon of working with people like Mike or Anthony, you're fine," she explains. "I don't care which medium I'm working in; I have only a strong feeling for the director. People say, 'Did you have fun making Ripley?' Jesus, you don't have fun, fun isn't part of it. But working with the director on the script you want to realize is a way to spend your life."





Rosalia Mera, World's Richest Self-Made Woman, Dies At 69.

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‘If we bargain in the topic of health, of infancy, of education, we are doing ourselves no favours’.Rosalia Mera, ZARA cofounder.

Rosalia Mera, World's Richest Self-Made Woman, Dies At 69

Rosalia Mera, cofounder of Spanish brand Zara and the wealthiest self-made woman on the planet, has died. She was 69.

Mera was vacationing on the island of Menorca with her daughter, Sandra, according to the Spanish news site ABC.es, when she suffered a brain hemorrhage on Wednesday. She died 24 hours later, Spanish media is reporting. A statement on the website of Inditex  parent company to Zara, acknowledges Mera’s death.

Mera dropped out of school at age 11 to work as a seamstress. With husband Amancio Ortega, she started making dressing gowns and lingerie in their living room. Together, the couple built their business into a 15.9 billion euro ($21 billion) global fashion empire, best known for its Zara brand. Ortega is now the fourth-richest person on the globe, with a net worth of $51.3 billion as of Thursday’s market close.

Mera was a billionaire, too, among the elite set of self-made women who could claim she’d earned her way onto the Forbes billionaires list. Although she and Ortega divorced long ago, Mera retained a 5.1% stake in the $21 billion (2012 sales) Inditex, the basis for her $6.1 billion net worth as of our latest Forbes count.

Mera diversified after the retailer’s 2001 IPO, which netted her $600 million at the time. She placed her money in causes dear to her heart: a marine fish farming group, a company that looks for cancer treatments in products from the ocean, and a maker of a fingerprinting system for newborns. She was also a major investor in London’s exclusive Bulgari Hotel, and runs a contest for young jazz musicians in Spain. Her Paideia Foundation works to integrate people with physical and mental disabilities, like her son Marcos, into larger society.


Mera is survived by her daughter, Sandra, and son, Marcos. Ortega’s youngest daughter, Marta, has a different mother.

Life of Vivien Leigh revealed in stunning photos, diary extracts and love letters between the Oscar-winning star and Laurence Olivier. Vivien Leigh correspondence archived at V&A

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 Life of Vivien Leigh revealed in stunning photos, diary extracts and love letters between the Oscar-winning star and Laurence Olivier
V&A Museum acquire archive of British actress from her grandchildren
Contains never-before-seen pictures, annotated scripts and diary extracts
Actress kept 7,500 personal letters from eminent friends and colleagues
Letters include those from Olivier, Winston Churchill and the Queen
By LUCY WATERLOW

She was the double Oscar-winning actress who captivated audiences with her roles in Gone With the Wind and A Streetcar Named Desire.
And fans of British actress Vivien Leigh were just as intrigued by her private life as her performances thanks to her tumultuous marriage to actor Laurence Olivier.
Now a century on from her birth, people can gain a rare insight into the life and loves of the legendary star thanks to a new display at London's V&A museum.
The V&A have acquired the archive of the British film and theatre actress from her grandchildren.
It covers all aspects of her career and personal life including her diaries, begun as a 16-year-old in 1929 and maintained until she died in 1967, aged 53, from tuberculosis
The archive explores the grand love affair between Leigh and and second husband Olivier, and contains more than 200 letters, telegrams, photographs, newspaper clippings and postcards between 1938 and 1967.
Leigh and Oliver were the golden couple of the Forties and Fifties during their 20 year marriage
During April-June 1939, whilst Olivier was playing in No Time for Comedy on Broadway in New York and Leigh was shooting Gone with the Wind in L.A, a total of 40 letters were exchanged between the couple.
As well as expressing their affection for one another, their letters contained their theatrical observations and plans on the foundation of the National Theatre.
Leigh also corresponded with some of the most eminent names in 20th-century history including Winston Churchill, Graham Greene and Noël Coward.
She meticulously kept more than 7,500 personal letters from friends and colleagues addressed to both her and Laurence Olivier. The archive uncovers correspondence with T. S. Eliot, Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe, Queen Elizabeth and the Queen Mother - who offers her thanks to the couple for remembering her.
Professional correspondence includes many letters from playwright Tennessee Williams. One addressed to Leigh in September 1950 enthuses about her role of Blanche DuBois (for which she won an Oscar).
He wrote: 'It is needless to repeat here my truly huge happiness over the picture and particularly your part in it. It is the Blanche I had always dreamed of and I am grateful to you for bringing it so beautifully to life on the screen.'
It's praise the actress must have been delighted to receive as another letter reveals how she wrote to film director Elia Kazan during preparation for the role worrying about getting it 'right'.
She wrote: 'You do know that when I said over the phone I'm worried about the way I'll look, 'I didn't mean good I meant right'.'
Before divorcing Olivier from in 1960, the couple entertained a wide circle of guests at Notley Abbey, the home in Buckinghamshire they created in 1943.
An impressive list of signatures ranging from Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, Sir Alec Guinness to Bette Davis, Orson Welles, Judy Garland and Rex Harrison is recorded in their visitors' book which is part of the archive.
A changing selection of material from the archive will be on display in the V&A's Theatre and Performance Galleries this autumn.
As well as personal diaries and photographs, it will include Leigh's annotated film and theatre scripts, press clippings and her numerous awards.
There are also photographs including albums of large format stills from Gone with the Wind and Romeo and Juliet that have never before been publicly displayed, and an extensive collection of stereoscopic transparencies taken by Leigh herself whilst on tour in the USA, Australia, New Zealand and the UK.
Martin Roth, director of the V&A said: 'Vivien Leigh is undoubtedly one of the UK's greatest luminaries of stage and screen and along with Laurence Olivier, remains a true star of her time.
'We are thrilled to acquire her archive intact in this centenary year of her birth and to be able to make it available to the public for the first time. It not only represents Vivien Leigh's life and career, but is also a fascinating insight into the theatrical and social world that surrounded her.'




 Vivien Leigh correspondence archived at V&A
Victoria and Albert Museum acquires diaries, scripts and photographs of British Oscar-winning actor

Maev Kennedy

Although the world may remember her as the ravishing beauty who was once married to Laurence Olivier, Orson Welles knew the real worth of Vivien Leigh. When in 1951 she won the Oscar for her performance as Blanche DuBois in the film of Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire, the legendary actor and director immediately sent a telegram from Monte Carlo: "Of course they gave it to you they had to love and kisses from Orson".

His telegram is preserved as part of an archive acquired by the V&A museum covering her life and work, from her teen years to her death from tuberculosis in 1967 aged just 53. It includes diaries, scrap books, heavily annotated scripts, photographs including hundreds of rare early colour photographs she took herself while on tour, and thousands of letters to an extraordinarily wide circle of friends and acquaintances including the Queen Mother, Graham Greene, and Winston Churchill (a besotted admirer of her 1941 performance in his favourite film, the Admiral Nelson biopic That Hamilton Woman).

"We want to rescue Vivien Leigh from the shadow of Laurence Olivier," Keith Lodwick, theatre and performance curator at the V&A said. "She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women of the 20th century, and in some ways that was her handicap. I think this archive will rewrite the biographies. It gives remarkable insights into her character, her intelligence, the breadth of the her interests, and just how hard she worked, just how carefully she prepared for her stage and film roles."

The shadow of Olivier, arguably the greatest actor of his generation, inevitably falls heavily over the archive. They were married from 1940 to 1960, and when separated by work exchanged torrents of letters. In one she writes: "My dear sweetheart, my love is with you every second – and I know tonight will be a great triumph for you my darling boy. Your proud and adoring Vivien." He sent a cartoon of them in the sea watched by a fish "registering amazement at what it sees", and adding "O how I want to go to Brighton with you!!"

Leigh, whose physical and mental health were often fragile, won her second Oscar for her epic performance in 1939 as Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind – a role she won over almost all the leading actresses of the day who were avid for the part.

"In that film she is in almost every scene except the battle, and she was working literally from morning till night. In 1939 she had just got together with Laurence Olivier and she was desperate to get back to him. They regularly worked from seven in the morning until eight at night, but she often asked for one more take just to get a scene finished."

A note to her director in Streetcar shows how carefully she thought about all aspects of her performance, Lodwick said. She was obviously concerned that she might have sounded vain asking about wigs, and wrote a quick pencilled note to clarify: "When I said worried about the way I look I meant RIGHT not good – wigs because then the hair could be thin and poor."

The archive was acquired from her grandchildren, and though the price is undisclosed, the museum is confident it is much less than it would have fetched on the open market. Martin Roth, director of the V&A, said: "We are thrilled to acquire her archive intact in this centenary year of her birth and to be able to make it available to the public for the first time."

The archive also includes the visitors' book from Notley Abbey, the grand home she shared with Olivier.

"Everyone, just everyone, was there " Lodwick said. "Cary Grant, Orson Welles, Lauren Bacall, Humphrey Bogart, Edith Evans, Douglas Fairbanks, Gary Cooper ... as a curator, it makes one just sigh to have been a fly on the wall."


Hermitage Museum’s Mouse Catchers Are Immortalized in Portraits.

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August 16, 2013
Every Cat Has Its Day: Hermitage Museum’s Mouse Catchers Are Immortalized in Portraits

MOSCOW — While it might seem risky to keep dozens of cats near some of the world’s most precious pieces of art, cats are regarded as treasured guardians of the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia, patrolling the basement for mice and rats and treated like furry royalty by doting staff members.
The museum even holds an annual Day of the Hermitage Cat to honor its army of felines, members of which have now been immortalized in the rich dress of imperial court servants in portraits commissioned for publication by the Hermitage Magazine, which is published by the museum’s Hermitage XXI Century Foundation. The foundation is working to update the museum.

Zorina Myskova, the magazine’s editor, said in an e-mail that the solemn cats depicted in the portraits were chosen by the museum’s special cat “curator,” Maria Haltunen. Ms. Haltunen is the co-author, with Mary Ann Allin, of a children’s book called “Hermitage Cats Save the Day,” which has been turned into a musical for children with a jazz score by Chris Brubeck.

“This is their first such depiction in this manner, in the tradition of Dutch costumed portrait,” said Ms. Myskova, who added that their dress was carefully selected by a curator in the museum’s Russian costume department, which has vast stores of czarist-era livery costumes and accessories that were considered ideologically suspect until the 1990s.

According to the museum, Peter the Great was the first to give residence to a cat in the Winter Palace, after he built St. Petersburg in the early 18th century, and like so many things that he brought to Russia, the cat was Dutch.  His daughter, Empress Elizaveta Petrovna, looked eastward to Kazan, where cats are famous for their hunting prowess and are a symbol of the city. She ordered that “the best and biggest cats suitable for catching mice” be conscripted in the city and appointed them to guard the picture galleries of the Hermitage.

The Hermitage cats are unique in the museum world, Ms. Myskova said, because they continue to do their job.

“Unlike the British Museum, the Hermitage was able to save its cats, which continue to fulfill the function of servants, like those of the livery in which we have dressed them,” she said.

Hermitage Magazine commissioned the portraits from Eldar Zakirov, a 30-year-old graphic artist based in Tashkent, the capital of the Central Asian republic of Uzbekistan. Mr. Zakirov created six images, including the “Hermitage Court Waiter,” who goes by the name Kuzma in daily life at the museum, and the “Hermitage Court Outrunner,” a k a Rikki the Elder.

Mr. Zakirov said by e-mail that he was inspired by the paintings of such classic Russian portrait artists of the 18th and 19th centuries as Orest Kiprensky and Ilya Repin, and varied his technique from “the smooth glazed manner of court portraitists” in some works to “the more free and expressive approach of later masters” in others. He said he also tried to be true to each cat, striving in the portraits “to convey not only a resemblance in portraiture to each specific cat, but also its individual quirks: spots on its mug, the form of its ears, the length of its fur.”

The artist has already had a strong response on his page on the deviantart.com Web site, where he also displays his images of Father Frost, fantasy scenes, and shapely women, and the cats are fast turning into an Internet cat meme. He said he had already received a number of orders from cat owners who would love to see their beloved pets in czarist costume.


Ms. Myskova would not specify if and when there will be mugs or T-shirts of the liveried cats, but said that “our idea will definitely be continued.”

Richard Avendon and Funny Face.

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With Richard Avedon at the CFDA Awards in 1989


 Probably the most famous single image from the film is the intentionally overexposed close-up of Hepburn's face in which only her facial features—her eyes, eyebrows, nose and mouth—are visible. This image is seen briefly in black-and-white at the very beginning of the opening title sequence, during the "Funny Face" musical number which takes place in a darkroom, and when Dick (Astaire) presents it to Maggie (Thompson)

Astaire's character was loosely based on the career of Richard Avedon, who provided a number of the photographs seen in the film, including the stills for the opening credits, which were also used in the halls of Quality magazine.

ALL ABOUT AUDREY
Pamela Fiori reflects on Hepburn as Richard Avedon's muse.
By Pamela Fiori in Harper’s Bazaar

In glorious motion, Audrey Hepburn races past Winged Victory and down the Louvre's magnificent Daru staircase in a strapless Givenchy gown, her silk wrap billowing behind her. Like a rare and delicate bird about to take flight, with her white-gloved arms stretched overhead, she shouts, "Take the picture! Take the picture!" Freeze frame, et voilà! This iconic fashion-muse-meets-movie moment is captured in Funny Face, the 1957 musical based loosely on photographer Richard Avedon's early career. For 20 years, Avedon was the principal fashion photographer for Harper's Bazaar under its wildly eccentric fashion editor, Diana Vreeland. In the film, the magazine is Quality, a thinly veiled Bazaar; the photographer's name is Dick Avery; and the young model who inspires him is played by Hepburn, who was Avedon's real-life muse. Art imitates life. Funny Face was released when Avedon, arguably the greatest fashion photographer of his generation, was approaching the pinnacle of his career. Professionally, he cultivated several women, including Suzy Parker, her sister Dorian Leigh, and Dovima, but it was Hepburn who most inspired him. Waif-thin, she stood five feet seven inches tall and was blessed with high cheekbones and doelike eyes. Add to this a lilting voice with an aristocratic accent, a radiant smile, and a sense of style second to none, and she was impossible to resist. It has been 20 years now since the actress's death, in January 1993, at her home in Switzerland, but the handful of covers and stories she worked on with Vreeland and Avedon remain among the most charming in the magazine's history. Hepburn's association with the photographer was similar to the one she shared with Hubert de Givenchy, according to Robert Wolders, Hepburn's companion in the last years of her life. "Audrey trusted Dick completely," he says. "And once she trusted someone, she'd do anything. She often said that working with him was like having a conversation with a good friend." For Avedon's first Hepburn cover for Bazaar, in April 1956 (a year before Funny Face was released), she is peeking from beneath a floral-print scarf and a straw hat, as fresh as a flower. A few months later, they teamed up again for the cover, this time with Hepburn in dramatic red lips and zebra stripes. Inside, the actress (who was then starring in War and Peace alongside her husband, Mel Ferrer) was a vision in feathers, so many of them that all you could see were her wide eyes and beaming smile.

Other collaborations followed, but the ultimate Avedon—Hepburn partnership for Bazaar appeared in the September 1959 issue. The 20-page portfolio that Avedon "directed" was more like a scripted film than a fashion story. Shot primarily in Paris, it starred Hepburn, Ferrer, Buster Keaton, Zsa Zsa Gabor, and a white cat named Simone. The opener was all type; the title, "Paris Pursuit." Outfits came from 13 French houses, including Chanel, Christian Dior, Pierre Cardin, Jean Patou, Madame Grès, and Nina Ricci. (Oddly, nothing was from Givenchy.) Starting at the Gare du Nord, the plot moved to the Ritz, the streets of Paris, Maxim's restaurant, and the Eiffel Tower before ending high in the Italian Alps.

The last Harper's Bazaar story with Hepburn came 22 years later, in September 1981, photographed not by Avedon but by Jacques Malignon. Elizabeth Taylor graced the cover, and Hepburn was one of 11 women over 40 (and "Sensational!" a headline proclaimed). She wore Givenchy and, while more mature, was no less beautiful or glowing.

Hepburn's son Sean Hepburn Ferrer says that growing up in the Swiss village of Tolochenaz in the '60s, he had no idea of his mother's fame. She stopped making films for a period, and except for catching the occasional glimpse of her in a movie on their small black-and-white two-channel television, Sean says, he never saw his mother as the actress Audrey Hepburn. "It wasn't until I was 14," he says, "that I finally saw her films. We found an old 16-millimeter projector in the attic, put up a bedsheet—I ironed it myself—and watched reels that were given to her by Paramount. In those days, stars weren't given fancy DVD players and DVDs after a film wrapped; they got a 16-millimeter copy. But it was fantastic to see those movies with the wonderful sound of the old projector in the background. That was when I first saw Funny Face. I remember being mesmerized by Love in the Afternoon, with Gary Cooper. As a big Ernst Lubitsch fan, I felt that particular movie [directed by Billy Wilder] was the most 'Lubitschian' to me in its urbanity. I also was deeply touched by The Nun's Story because it was the first time I saw my mother in something other than a romantic comedy."

Hepburn's younger son, Luca Dotti, was born in 1970 during the actress's marriage to the Italian psychiatrist Andrea Dotti. Like Sean, Luca never regarded her as a movie star: "Until her last day and for all her life at home with us, she was never 'Audrey Hepburn,' just 'Mama.' For most people, their mother is just their mother, and questions never arise. For us, it was just like that. Only later did we find out about all the love and admiration her life and career had been able to inspire."

When the Dottis lived in Rome, the family kept pretty much to themselves. If Hepburn took the boys for a stroll, they were often hounded by paparazzi. Sometimes it was too much. "In a way she was relieved that Hollywood was part of her past," says Luca, whose book about his mother, Audrey in Rome, will be published in the spring. (It contains almost 200 photographs, many never previously published, of the actress both on and off film sets in the city.) "Being a full-time mother was the career I knew her for. Having a family was the center of her real 'success' after the frenzy of her career."

Hepburn may have looked as if she never ate a morsel, but the reality was quite the opposite. "Food was always important, as it was the reason to sit together and listen to our stories," Luca recalls. "She just loved that--to listen, as if her own life wasn't such a big deal. Cooking and sharing recipes with friends were part of the victory of being able to lead a private life."

And though the actress was born in Brussels and raised in the Netherlands, her appetite was distinctly Italian. "Mum had three favorite dishes: pasta, pasta, and pasta," he says. "She couldn't have enough of a simple spaghetti al pomodoro, so much so that friends were always amazed at just how much she could eat. At restaurants she often begged for her favorite dish, as if she were asking a great favor. And she sometimes traveled with what she called her 'lifesaving kit': a few boxes of spaghetti, olive oil, and Parmesan. We used to grow our own tomatoes in Switzerland, and before the season was over, she deep-froze them whole. Our cook still recalls how much the combination of tomato and basil reminded her of the smell of summer and made her, and all of us, very happy."

In the late 1970s, Italy was terrorized by the Brigate Rosse (Red Brigades), a radical group notorious for assassinations and kidnappings of prominent people and their children. After the group's failed attempt to seize Sean and Luca, Hepburn dispatched Sean to the safety of a Swiss boarding school while she and Luca remained in Rome with Dotti. During this time the couple's marriage became increasingly strained, and in 1980 they formally separated.

Early that year, Hepburn made a trip to Beverly Hills to see her closest friend, Connie Wald, the widow of the movie producer Jerry Wald. It was there that she became acquainted with Robert Wolders, a Dutch-born actor. His wife, the actress Merle Oberon, had died a couple of months before, and he was in no mood to see anyone, much less meet someone new. "I was in an unhappy period and was content to do nothing more than walk on the beach," he says. Connie called and asked him to come over for dinner, saying it would be "just family.""I assumed that meant Connie and her two sons," Wolders recalls. "I didn't realize she'd invited William Wyler and Billy Wilder [both of whom directed Hepburn in movies] and, to my surprise, Audrey.

"We'd met a few times before on social occasions but never to talk," he says. "Knowing I came from Holland, she spoke to me in Dutch—the most palatable Dutch I'd ever heard. We made a connection that night, but I thought it was just that. And I certainly didn't realize she was in an unhappy marriage."

That spring, Wolders was headed to New York for an auction of Oberon's jewelry at Christie's. Wald told him that Hepburn, who was shooting the Peter Bogdanovich film They All Laughed, would be there too, staying at the Pierre, and urged him to call. "I didn't," he admits, "because I thought it would be intrusive." However, the day before he was to return to California, Wald telephoned and insisted that he contact Hepburn. "When I did, she answered the phone and said, 'Hello, Robbie.' That touched me very deeply because the only people who called me Robbie were my family. I asked her if she'd like to have a drink, although I had promised friends I'd meet them at a party. She suggested the café at the Pierre. Three hours later, we were still there. Obviously I missed the party.

"She asked if I'd mind if she had a small bite to eat, whereupon she ordered a huge plate of pasta," Wolders continues. "Maybe I kissed her on the cheek at the end of the evening, I don't even remember." He called her three days later, and for the next four months they spoke almost daily. The pair then began traveling back and forth between Europe and the States to see each other. "Finally, in 1985, I moved to Switzerland to be with her."

Although Hepburn and Dotti divorced in 1982, she and Wolders never married; they didn't feel as if they had to. With Wolders she spent some of the most contented days of her life, peacefully tending to her garden in Switzerland. She might have stayed there had she not found yet another calling. In 1988, she applied to become an International Goodwill Ambassador for UNICEF. As she explained in her application, she had never forgotten the deprivations of wartime that she and her family had suffered in Holland after the German invasion and she remembered clearly the relief provided by the Red Cross and UNRRA (the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration, a forerunner of UNICEF). It was a position that suited her maternal instincts perfectly. "This is for me an immense privilege and an answer to my longing to help children in whatever small way I can," she wrote.

Over the next four years, Hepburn, accompanied by Wolders, traveled to remote corners of Asia, Central and South America, and Africa, meeting victims of famine, disease, and war. For these trips she wore a uniform of jeans and Lacoste shirts, no makeup and her hair pulled back. "Her career can be split into two chapters," her friend Leslie Caron wrote in 1993. "In the first part she received all the glory she could hope for, and in the second part she gave back, in spades, what she had received."

Before her death from colon cancer in 1993, Hepburn had taken on very few films and shied away from Hollywood events. But in January 1989, she appeared in New York to present her dear friend Richard Avedon with a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Council of Fashion Designers of America. "For Richard," she told the audience, "I've happily swung through swings, stood in clouds of steam, been drenched with rain, and descended endless flights of stairs without looking and without breaking my neck.... Only with Richard have I been able to shed my innate self-consciousness in front of the camera. Is it his sweetness? Is it his sense of fun? The assurance that you know you're going to end up looking the way you wished you looked?"


Avedon later paid the compliment in return. "I am, and forever will be, devastated by the gift of Audrey Hepburn before my camera.... I cannot lift her to greater heights. She is already there. I can only record, I cannot interpret her. There is no going further than who she was....She has achieved in herself her ultimate portrait."


FUNNY FACE
A Pygmalion story set in the rarefied world of high fashion, Funny Face (1957) is an irresistible combination of music, style, and star talents: top production staff from MGM's fabled Freed unit; legendary dancer Fred Astaire; enchanting gamine Audrey Hepburn; and photographer Richard Avedon. Astaire plays fashion photographer Dick Avery, who turns a scruffy Greenwich Village intellectual (played by Hepburn) into a supermodel, takes her to romantic Paris, and falls in love with her.

The source for the story was an unproduced musical play called Wedding Day by Leonard Gershe, loosely based on incidents in his friend Avedon's life. Freed unit producer Roger Edens bought it for MGM with Astaire and Hepburn in mind. But at that time, Hepburn was Paramount's most valuable star, and Paramount was not about to loan her to MGM. Astaire, who was by then freelancing, also owed Paramount a film. With uncommon generosity, producer Arthur Freed not only allowed Edens to take Funny Face to Paramount, but also to take some key Freed unit talent with him: Director Stanley Donen, musical director Adolph Deutsch, arranger Conrad Salinger, choreographer Eugene Loring, and cinematographer Ray June. Edens bought the rights to the Gershwin score for the 1927 stage musical, Funny Face, from Warner Bros., although the plot of that show had nothing to do with Gershe's story. (Astaire and his sister Adele had starred in Funny Face on Broadway.) Edens added another Gershwin song, "Clap Yo' Hands," plus three new ones that he co-wrote with Gershe.

Hepburn, who had idolized Astaire since she was a child, was thrilled to be working with him, but very nervous. Although she'd had dance training, she was by no means on Astaire's level, nor was she a trained singer. But at their first meeting, he soon put her at ease. "Fred literally swept me off my feet," she later recalled. Putting an arm around her waist, he twirled her around, and his ease dissolved her nervousness. The perfectionist Astaire practiced with Hepburn for many hours, but made it so enjoyable that Hepburn didn't mind.

Kay Thompson, a nightclub performer, composer and arranger, was a Freed unit vocal coach for Judy Garland and others, as well as a close pal of Edens. Both he and Gershe knew Thompson was the only person who could play the flamboyant magazine editor, which she did, brilliantly. Funny Face was one of only a handful of films in which Thompson appeared, and the only one in which she played a significant role. The character is said to have been based on both Vogue editor Diana Vreeland and Harper's Bazaar editor Carmel Snow.

Richard Avedon, whose innovative photographs of haute couture had inspired Gershe's story, was hired as "special visual consultant" for Funny Face. He worked with director Stanley Donen to create one of the film's centerpieces, a five-minute montage of Hepburn posing all over Paris for a fashion layout, as well as the witty fashion sequence in the "Think Pink" number, which featured two of his favorite models, blonde Sunny Hartnett, and redhead Suzy Parker. (The latter would soon begin her own career as an actress.) Avedon also designed the opening titles, based on some of his most famous photographs, and the darkroom sequence.

Another Avedon favorite, Dovima, appeared in Funny Face as the whiny-voiced model Marion, who poses and preens in Hepburn's bookstore. The character was given one of Dovima's own traits: a fondness for comic books. In spite of her exotic looks and name, Dovima was actually born in Queens. Her name was a combination of her given names, Dorothy, Virginia, and Margaret.

Donen's visual inventiveness was a good match for Avedon's. As he had done with New York in On the Town (1949), Donen took one Funny Face number, "Bonjour Paree", into the streets of Paris in an exhilarating travelogue that splits the wide screen into three parts and culminates at the Eiffel Tower. But filming in Paris wasn't all glamour. The crew had to contend with unpredictable weather during much of the outdoor shooting. In some of those scenes, the drizzly weather gave the film a very effective Impressionist effect. But by the time they shot the bridal gown number "He Loves and She Loves" at the country chapel in Chantilly, it had been raining for so long that the ground on which Astaire and Hepburn had to dance was a swamp. Dancing was difficult. Hepburn's expensive white satin shoes kept sinking in the mud, and getting ruined. The delays were making everyone tense, until Hepburn joked, "Here I've been waiting twenty years to dance with Fred Astaire, and what do I get? Mud!"

Hepburn had met French designer Hubert de Givenchy when he designed her Parisian wardrobe for Sabrina (1954). Unfortunately, Edith Head received sole screen credit, and when that film won an Academy Award for costume design, the Oscar® went to Head alone. For Funny Face, Givenchy did all of Hepburn's Paris costumes, and she made sure he received equal billing (and an Oscar® nomination) with Head. The film also earned nominations for original screenplay, cinematography, and art direction, but did not win in any category.

With a few exceptions, the reviews for Funny Face were very good, and the film did well in the big cities. However, it may have been too sophisticated for mass audiences, and did not make back its four million dollar cost. Today, in an era of celebrity-fashion worship, Funny Face looks better than ever, and remains one of the treasures of the American film musical.

Director: Stanley Donen
Producer: Roger Edens
Screenplay: Leonard Gershe, based on his unproduced musical libretto, Wedding Day
Cinematography: Ray June
Editor: Frank Bracht
Costume Design: Edith Head, Hubert de Givenchy
Art Direction: George W. Davis, Hal Pereira; Set Designers, Sam Comer, Ray Moyer
Music: George and Ira Gershwin, Roger Edens, Leonard Gershe
Principal Cast: Audrey Hepburn (Jo Stockton), Fred Astaire (Dick Avery), Kay Thompson (Maggie Prescott), Michel Auclair (Prof. Emile Flostre), Robert Flemyng (Paul Duval), Dovima (Marion), Virginia Gibson (Babs).
C-104m. Letterboxed. Closed captioning.


October 1, 2004

Richard Avedon, the Eye of Fashion, Dies at 81


 Richard Avedon, whose fashion and portrait photographs helped define America's image of style, beauty and culture for the last half-century, died yesterday in a hospital in San Antonio. He was 81 and lived in Manhattan.

The cause was complications of a cerebral hemorrhage suffered last Saturday, said his son, John. Mr. Avedon was in Texas on assignment for The New Yorker magazine, which hired him in 1992 as its first staff photographer. He had been working on a portfolio called "Democracy,'' an election-year project that included coverage of the presidential nominating conventions.

Mr. Avedon's photographs captured the freedom, excitement and energy of fashion as it entered an era of transformation and popularization. No matter what the prevailing style, his camera eye always found a way to dramatize its spirit as the fashion world's creative attention swayed variously from the "New Look" of liberated Paris to pragmatic American sportswear designed in New York, and from the anti-establishment fashion of London's Carnaby Street to sophisticated, tailored dresses and suits from Milan.

Picking up the trail of such photographic forerunners as Martin Munkacsi, Mr. Avedon revolutionized the 20th-century art of fashion photography, imbuing it with touches of both gritty realism and outrageous fantasy and instilling it with a relentlessly experimental drive. So great a hold did Mr. Avedon's fashion photography come to have on the public imagination that when he was in his 30's he was the inspiration for Dick Avery, the fashion photographer played by Fred Astaire in the 1957 film "Funny Face." In 1978 he appeared on the cover of Newsweek while a retrospective exhibition of his work was on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Despite the widespread recognition of his work, Mr. Avedon remained relatively insulated from the world, spending much of his working life in the white confines of his studio, where he could maintain control of his lighting and, in most cases, of his models and portrait subjects as well. Although he traveled widely on assignment, he was a born and bred New Yorker and made Manhattan his home for his entire life.

While best known for his published pictures in Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, Mr. Avedon had what amounted to a second, simultaneous career in the art world. His photographs were shown at the Smithsonian Institution in 1962 and in the spring of 1994 in a retrospective exhibition organized by the Whitney Museum of American Art. He also maintained a lucrative sideline creating advertising photographs for clients like Revlon and Christian Dior.

Thin and wiry, with a shock of unkempt hair, Richard Avedon had a terrierlike intensity that could exhaust those who worked with him. Although for most of his life he maintained an overstuffed schedule in his East Side photography studio, he found time to read, attend the theater and visit museum shows, staying conversant with cultural and artistic life. In addition, he supported civil rights and other social causes financially and with his photography; in the 1960's, he trained young black photographers to record marches and sit-ins in the South.

A Broadening Opportunity

When Mr. Avedon joined the staff of The New Yorker, which had previously used only small photographs, and those sparingly, U.S.A. Today suggested that calling Mr. Avedon a staff photographer was like calling Michelangelo the local house painter. But the staff photographer himself saw the new position as an opportunity to progress beyond fashion.

"I've photographed just about everyone in the world," Mr. Avedon said. "But what I hope to do is photograph people of accomplishment, not celebrity, and help define the difference once again."

Tina Brown, the editor who hired Mr. Avedon, promised at the time that he could "do anything he wants." The master more than proved that the confidence was merited.

His New Yorker pictures, ranging from the first publication, in 1994, of previously unpublished photos of Marilyn Monroe to a resonant rendering of Christopher Reeve in his wheelchair this year, were topics of wide discussion. Perhaps even more so was his disregard for orthodox sensibilities, as reflected by the uproar surrounding some of his nude photographs, including the actresses Tilda Swinton in 1993 and Charlize Theron this year.

Some of his less controversial but nonetheless deeply insightful New Yorker portraits include those of Saul Bellow, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Toni Morrison, Derek Walcott, John Kerry and Stephen Sondheim. His fashion photos at The New Yorker showed, if possible, even more edge, especially his pictorial essay in the November 1995 fashion issue. It featured a human skeleton carrying on with elegant models.

His own archives also yielded visual treasures for the magazine, including portraits of Audrey Hepburn, W. H. Auden and Rudolf Nureyev's foot.

Unlike his upbeat and glamorous fashion photography, Mr. Avedon's portraiture chronicled a growing sense of disillusionment about the possibilities of American life and culture, especially after his optimistic years in the 50's and early 60's. From the start, his portraits seemed intent on peeling away the bright sheen of celebrity to reveal the ordinary, often insecure human being underneath, but in the 1970's they became focused on the trials of aging and death.

In 1969 he photographed the antiwar movement, including the Chicago Seven during their raucous conspiracy trial. In 1976, America's bicentennial year, working with the writer Renata Adler, he photographed 73 men and women in power for Rolling Stone magazine. Between 1978 and 1984 he produced a major body of portraits of people he believed were representative of the current spirit of the American West; his unhappy cast of ex-convicts, drifters, drinkers and others with hard-luck stories led some observers to complain that he had become cynical and misanthropic.

A Record in Print

Mr. Avedon's mostly black-and-white photography was featured in a number of books and exhibition catalogues during his lifetime, including "Observations" (1959), with a text by Truman Capote; "Nothing Personal" (1964), with text by James Baldwin; and "Portraits" (1976), with an essay by the art critic Harold Rosenberg. His portraits from the West were published in the 1985 book "In the American West," in conjunction with a traveling exhibition organized by the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth.

A notorious stickler for precision in his photographic technique, Mr. Avedon long sought to control the organization and layout of his books and exhibitions, believing that the meaning of his images was in large part determined by their contexts, whether on the wall or in reproduction.

This was certainly apparent on the magazine page, where his pictures were characteristically distinctive and elegant. Although as a staff photographer at Harper's Bazaar (1946-1965) and later at Vogue (1966-1970) he was somewhat at the mercy of the magazine's fashion editors and art director, his photographs in reproduction virtually jump off the page with a signature brand of visual impact. He sought the same kind of stimulation in his exhibitions, creating prints that depicted their subjects larger than life-size, towering over the viewer.

Richard Avedon was born in New York City on May 15, 1923. His father, Jacob Israel, a second-generation Russian-Jewish immigrant, was the proprietor of Avedon's Fifth Avenue, a Manhattan clothing store. His mother, Anna Avedon, came from a family that owned a dress manufacturing business. As a boy, Mr. Avedon avidly read fashion magazines and decorated the walls of his room with tear sheets of the fashion photographs he admired.

"One evening my father and I were walking down Fifth Avenue looking at the store windows," he once told Newsweek. "In front of the Plaza Hotel, I saw a bald man with a camera posing a very beautiful woman against a tree. He lifted his head, adjusted her dress a little bit and took some photographs. Later, I saw the picture in Harper's Bazaar. I didn't understand why he'd taken her against that tree until I got to Paris a few years later: the tree in front of the Plaza had that same peeling bark you see all over the Champs-Elysees.''

Mr. Avedon attended DeWitt Clinton High School, where he and James Baldwin were co-editors of The Magpie, the school's literary magazine. After a year at Columbia University he joined the Merchant Marine, which assigned him to the photo section, where he learned photography, taking thousands of identification portraits of sailors.

On leaving the Merchant Marine in 1944 he sought out Alexey Brodovitch, an influential designer and the art director of Harper's Bazaar, and enrolled in his class at the New School for Social Research. In what was officially called the Design Laboratory, Mr. Brodovitch offered criticism and encouragement to photographers, graphic designers and illustrators, and on occasion provided them with paying assignments for the magazine.

Mr. Brodovitch and the 21-year-old Avedon formed an immediate and close bond; in 1945 Mr. Avedon's photographs began appearing in Junior Bazaar and, a year later, in Bazaar itself. After being placed on the magazine's payroll, he opened his own studio, which Mr. Brodovitch used as the off-campus home of his laboratory classes into the 1950's. Mr. Brodovitch gave Mr. Avedon many plum assignments, including the privilege of covering the Paris spring and fall collections, much to the annoyance of the veteran staff photographers.

Shooting Fashion Off the Runway

While Carmel Snow, the legendary editor of Harper's Bazaar, covered the runway shows in Paris, Mr. Avedon had the more daunting task of arranging to photograph the new designer dresses as luxurious but wearable objects of desire. In 1954 he took his models to stereotypical French cafes, nighclubs and casinos, surrounding them with dinner-suited escorts. The following year he made fashion history by setting the couture-gowned models in the midst of a circus. The most memorable of those images, "Dovima With Elephants," shows the most famous model of her day in an ankle-length Dior gown, standing in straw and holding the trunk of an elephant with one hand while gesturing toward another.

Mr. Avedon was encouraged by Mr. Brodovitch to break the boundaries of conventional fashion photography, mixing reality and fantasy with surrealist effect, and he soon learned to visualize his pictures in strictly graphic terms. At first he specialized in on-location scenes that included swirls and blurs of motion, in the manner of Munkacsi 10 years earlier. His later adoption of a seamless white studio background for most of his fashion and portrait photography was at least partly inspired by Mr. Brodovitch's characteristic use of "white space," a means of making the subject seem suspended and weightless on the page.

Although Mr. Avedon made several attempts at photographing in the traditional documentary mode, including a number of street scenes taken on trips to Italy in 1946 and 1947 and a grainy series of images of patients at a Louisiana mental hospital in 1963, his significant contribution to photography's documentary mode rests with his studio portrait style. In the studio he could isolate his subjects not only graphically but also psychologically, producing a convincing illusion of a direct confrontation between the person in the picture and the viewer.

Mr. Avedon's deceptively simple portrait style was capable of a wide emotional range. He used it to glamorize some of the most beautiful women of the 20th century, including the models Dorian Leigh, her sister, Suzy Parker, and Jean Shrimpton; the actress Anna Magnani; and a young Jacqueline Kennedy on the eve of her husband's inauguration as president..

But his portraits of such cultural figures as Ezra Pound, Charles Chaplin, Marilyn Monroe and Allen Ginsberg could be both sympathetic and moving. Clearly siding with the romantic posture of the alienated artist, Mr. Avedon could penetrate the carefully constructed image of someone like Monroe and present her as an apparently anguished individual caught up in a role that, like a dress a size too large, never quite fit.

In the mid-60's, after Carmel Snow and Alexey Brodovitch had stopped working and at the height of a fashion revolution that featured the miniskirt and a new generation of youthful designers, Mr. Avedon left Harper's Bazaar for its competitor, Vogue. There he worked with Alexander Liberman, another remarkable Russian émigré art director. Although he was on Vogue's staff only until the end of the 60's, he continued his association with the magazine, and with Mr. Liberman, for more than 20 years.

In 1962 Eugene Ostroff, a curator at the Smithsonian Institution, offered Mr. Avedon his first museum exhibition. He seized the offer as a chance to experiment with presenting his pictures outside the pages of a book or magazine, insisting on an installation in which his prints overlapped and filled every inch of space on the walls.

By the 1970's Mr. Avedon was becoming increasingly conscious of the recognition of photography in the art world, and of his own place in the artistic traditions of the medium. He served as the editor of the book "Diary of a Century: Photographs by Jacques-Henri Lartigue" (1970), helping to bring greater acclaim to a photographer who has since been recognized as one of the most original camera artists of the last century. In 1974 his searing portrait series of his terminally ill father was exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and in 1975 a large exhibition of his portraits was presented at the Marlborough Gallery. The two shows catapulted his work into the center of the growing discussion about photography's power as a contemporary art form.

Larger-Than-Life Prints

Two years later a retrospective exhibition of his fashion and portrait photography, "Richard Avedon: Photographs 1947-1977," was organized at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and subsequently traveled to museums in Dallas, Atlanta and Tokyo. In 1980 another retrospective was organized by the University Art Museum in Berkeley. Both exhibitions featured larger-than-life, finely detailed black-and-white prints with the black edges of the negatives included as part of the picture.

Mr. Avedon was capable of being profound and succinct in both pictures and words. His definition of a portrait is a model of concision: "A photographic portrait is a picture of someone who knows he's being photographed, and what he does with this knowledge is as much a part of the photograph as what he's wearing or how he looks."

In 1982 Mr. Avedon produced a playfully inventive series of advertisements for Christian Dior, based on the idea of film stills. Featuring a stock cast of models and actors, the color photographs purported to show scenes from the life of a fictional "Dior family," whose members managed to wear elegant fashions even when wrestling on a couch.

While continuing to maintain a hectic pace of picture-taking at an age when many would have sought retirement, Mr. Avedon also spent his last years reflecting on his considerable archive of photographs and attempting to organize the pictures in a way that would summarize his own life. His long-awaited "Autobiography," published in 1993, turned out to be not the expected verbal explanation of his career, but a visual narrative that mixed old and new pictures, fashion and portraiture, family snapshots and reportage. It included pictures of his father, mother and stepmother; his sister, Louise; his first wife, Dorcas Norwell, a former model from whom he was divorced; his second wife, Evelyn, from whom he was also divorced; their son, John, and his children.

In addition to his son, he is survived by four grandchildren.

Mr. Avedon's photographs are in the collections of the Museum of Modern Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Minneapolis Art Museum, the National Museum of American History, the Smithsonian Institution, the Amon Carter Museum of Art and many other museums in the United States and abroad.

"A portrait is not a likeness," Richard Avedon said at the time of "In the American West. "The moment an emotion or fact is transformed into a photograph it is no longer a fact but an opinion. There is no such thing as inaccuracy in a photograph. All photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth."

How did Liberace die? BBC

Liberace Music Video & Entrance 1981


Liberace Lifestyle

How ro recreate "Imperial" Bling Ring and "Palatial" Kitsch ? Behind the Art Direction/ Set decors of The Candelabra.

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The world-renowned pianist and entertainer extraordinaire Liberace once remarked, “Too much of a good thing is wonderful.” While he may have borrowed the line from Mae West, the Glitter Man’s personal creed served as the design theme for the sets of the upcoming HBO biopic Behind the Candelabra. Directed by Academy Award winner Steven Soderbergh and starring Oscar-winning actors Michael Douglas and Matt Damon as the flamboyant showman and his companion and chauffeur Scott Thorson, respectively, the film explores the pair’s tempestuous and secretive five-year affair. Production designer Howard Cummings—this marks his fifth collaboration with Soderbergh—and set decorator Barbara Munch Cameron (Glee) had only six weeks to design and decorate 30 glitz-and-glam-rich sets that included Liberace’s self-described “palatial kitsch” mansion in Las Vegas, a penthouse pied-à-terre in Los Angeles, and a Spanish-style 1920s retreat in Palm Springs known both as the Cloisters and Casa de Liberace. Behind the Candelabra airs May 26 on HBO.

Photographs by Architectural Digest 











BEHIND THE CANDELABRA in SetDecor online
set decorator
Barbara Munch Cameron SDSA

production designer
Howard Cummings

HBO Films
“Too much of a good thing is wonderful!”
—Liberace
The raves keep coming for the rhinestone-encrusted Liberace biopic BEHIND THE CANDELABRA and the sets that brought his world to the screen! The Steven Soderbergh film opened Cannes Film Festival to a wildly enthusiastic response and continued on to its home run on HBO.

Soderbergh once again entrusted Production Designer Howard Cummings and Set Decorator Barbara Munch Cameron SDSA [HAYWIRE, MAGIC MIKE] with creating the visual foundation for his film. This time, there was the added twist of depicting a legendary personage…it would be the re-creation of the last 10 years of the flamboyant entertainer’s life, 1977-87, focusing on Liberace’s [Michael Douglas]  lavish lifestyle as well as his stage performances and his closeted relationship with the much younger Scott Thorson [Matt Damon].

Liberace’s exuberance extended offstage as well as on. He was fond of quoting Mae West, “Too much of a good thing is wonderful.” Cummings notes, “She said it. Liberace lived it.” Excess was his signature, along with crystals and rhinestones. “We had fun with the excess,” Munch Cameron says with a twinkle. “Liberace collected any number of things. I tried to find things in pairs because he never seemed to buy just one of anything. If there were 2, he would buy them. If there were 6, he would buy them. If he liked something, he’d buy all of that were available.”


 Chandeliers and candelabras…


“100 large candelabras and chandeliers were required to achieve the amount of dazzle we needed,” she adds. For Liberace’s stage sets, she had two 50-foot trailers filled entirely with chandeliers sent to Las Vegas. “There are 8 chandeliers hanging over the stages, I think there were a dozen up in the air in Las Vegas…they were all the big ones at Omega Cinema Props. We had every single one of their large chandeliers. The key thing with Liberace is the matching, and Omega had multiples of the chandeliers. So we took those 8, and 4 of another, plus 2 really huge ones, and then 4 pairs of a different style chandelier…also, pairs and pairs of wall sconces and their 4 large standing candelabrums on gold pedestals, expensive, but phenomenal. House of Props had beautiful candelabras and candelabrums that lit up…the two hero candelabras on Liberace’s pianos were antiques from there. We got pieces from all over Hollywood, but Omega and House of Props were our main resources because of the multiples and the quality. And they both had items that Liberace had actually owned!”

“Buyer Libby Morris and I went to the same people that Liberace dealt with…as much as possible. For instance, Lester Carpet had made the original zebra-striped carpet for his penthouse in Beverly Hills. They pulled out the floor plan of the apartment and were able to give us the exact same carpet.”

Liberace had shopped at design boutique Phyllis Morris in West Hollywood, where among other objets d’art, he had purchased a large poodle lamp. With that info, Munch Cameron said she then bought every poodle statue she could find, “The bigger the better!” From Phyllis Morris, she rented a reproduction of an ornate 19th-century French piano with filigreed ormolu that she used in the re-creation of his opulent Las Vegas home.


 Pianos…


“Liberace had an exclusive deal with Baldwin regarding pianos,” reveals Munch Cameron. “He never had to buy one! We discovered that Baldwin Piano is now owned by Gibson Guitar. The mirrored glass grand piano that Liberace had in his penthouse currently resides in the Gibson showroom at their corporate offices in Beverly Hills. They loaned us the piano, which we had to have hoisted by crane up to the penthouse, and which we were later able to send to Las Vegas to pair with a matching one (of course!) that he had used in a dueling piano scene on stage.”

“The Liberace Foundation has ownership of the companion piano and several of his others, all of which they generously loaned us for the stage scenes.”

Pianos also appear in the two Palm Springs houses. Although we only see a glimpse, the living rooms in both houses were fully dressed and included pianos, a white one in his mother’s house and burnished wood in his last home, The Cloisters.


 Art…


The sets are filled with statuary, interiors and exteriors. Sculptures appear in every room and around every pool. A full-scale Hermes stands outside the bedroom window at his Las Vegas mansion. [It was also used, gilded, in MAGIC MIKE.] “That’s from Greenset,” Munch Cameron says. “We took all they had and gathered all we could from other places, and then had everything painted fresh.” She laughs, “We swooped up every single naked David statue in Hollywood, from mini to giant.”

Copies of Liberace’s portraits, with Michael Douglas as Liberace and Debbie Reynolds as his mother, were commissioned, painted by Alex Tavoularis. The Liberace Foundation holds the originals.


 Las Vegas house…


Liberace described his style as “palatial kitsch”. In the film he says, “I just love it!” His Las Vegas home, 15,000 square feet, 20 rooms, was “…his interpretation of Versailles,” says Cummings. It also reflected his enchantment with King Ludwig II, the mad king of Bavaria’s, sense of décor.

The ceiling of the master suite was painted as homage to the Sistine Chapel, the bathroom an homage to himself…a painting of his head floats among keyboards and cherubim on the bathroom ceiling. Marble Grecian columns flank the stepped marble tub. There was much press during Cannes re: the tub, not always accurate. Munch Cameron clarifies, “Libby found the guy whose father made that tub for Liberace…the son still has the company. He said, ‘I have the recipe and the drawings, so I’ll just make the whole thing, with the columns and everything’…and he did!”

Liberace’s crest adorns the canopy of the Venetian four-poster bed, which is centered between two huge Baroque mirrors and two Italianate dressers serving as bedside tables. Munch Cameron recalls, “We bought the bed from Charles & Charles, but then we had the posts built up to that huge height and everything made oversized, including the custom-made bedding and all the drapery.” She adds, “Drapery foreman Bob Renna was amazing, he had to deal with a sea of draperies…it would be difficult to estimate the yards and yards of fabric we used on this production!”

The sitting area of the suite contains matching sets of crystal chandeliers, fireplace chairs and silk-upholstered daybeds. The chaises were made by Omega, as was the ottoman in the bathroom and its matching pouf in the adjoining walk-in closet. The room-sized closet has its own custom draperies [that match the pouf as well] and pairs of crystal sconces. Hanging in special niches are many of Liberace’s rhinestone and crystal-covered original costumes, on loan from the foundation.

These areas of the home were built onstage, but for much of the rest of the house, including exteriors, Zsa Zsa Gabor’s Beverly Hills home was used as a stand-in, her husband Prince Frederic serving as host.

“We had the pool emptied so piano keys could be painted around the edge and the logo on the bottom,” reveals Munch Cameron. “Howard had a wall built, and we added greenery to hide the views of Capitol Records and Hollywood below…after all, this was supposed to be his home in Las Vegas! The living room became gold and silver wallpaper, and we filled the house with new draperies.” After filming, Prince Frederic did not require anything to be restored. “He said he loved it all, and we loved him for that,” she smiles.

“I just had to have Liberace’s eyelash sofas for the living room, which Omega made for us. He loved draperies and upholstery, along with mirrors and crystal, but his taste was ridiculous…he would take a $40,000 chandelier and spray-paint it gold! We think he had somebody do the penthouse, it actually had some taste…”


 Beverly Hills pied-à-terre…


“In the early ‘80s, Liberace bought a 6-story brick building on Beverly Boulevard and moved into the penthouse. He still owned it when he died,” she points out. Cummings adds, “The penthouse had a black lacquer Chinese look, very 1980s. That was his city look.”

This was the only actual Liberace property the production was able to film in, and it came with an added bonus. The owner was a fan and had photographed every room in detail when he purchased it, so the BTC design and décor team were able to do an almost exact re-creation. Not easily, though! There was only a two-person elevator. Everything had to be lifted by crane to the 6th-floor deck, on which a kidney-shaped pool takes up much of the “floor-space”!

Munch Cameron remembers, “Looking at all the original pictures, I kept thinking, ‘Why is this furniture so little?’ He had tons of little pieces. It’s because he would buy something that could fit in the elevator! Otherwise he would have to hire a crane to get it up on the deck, which is what we did. In fact, we had a crane for two days. Can you imagine, the neighbors…walking their dog or trying to get to their garage, and the alleyway is blocked off because we’re craning up this jewel-encrusted grand piano! But there was no other way to get stuff up there, the camera included. They tried to put it in the elevator and the elevator wouldn’t even go up, consequently they had to repair the elevator a few times. But we actually had very, very little L&D, and nothing big was damaged.”


 Scott’s house…


“Liberace owned many other homes,” says Cummings. “He didn’t invest in stocks, but he bought houses, often for other people. He fixed up ramshackle places, and he shopped and shopped, filling them up with stuff.” He bought a house in Las Vegas for Scott Thorson, as an insurance should anything happen to the significantly older Liberace, who even pursued the idea of adopting the younger man. This house had a more masculine style, with nods to Thorson’s experience as an animal handler and intent to become a veterinarian.  In the film’s re-creation, a none-too-subtle water buffalo’s head punctuates a rugged stone fireplace wall, contemporary furnishings are mixed with the usual kitsch.


 Liberace’s mother’s house in Palm Springs…


The house Liberace bought for his mother was aptly referred to as “The White House”, more for the color choices than the political prowess, although his mother was a profound influence throughout his life. The location used for her home was a Hearst family property, complete with a pool reminiscent of the one at Hearst Castle.

“We had every bit of period patio furniture we could find anywhere, for all of the film’s exterior sets. Then it was a matter of having the appropriate cushions made for each one,” Munch Cameron notes. “This set was Hollywood Regency style.”


The Cloisters, Liberace’s final home in Palm Springs…


A Spanish-style 1920’s house, complete with a Catholic chapel, became Liberace’s retreat and hospice. He died there of AIDs-related complications, after a lengthy, but secret, battle with the illness. The scene focuses on his oversized bed, with its custom linens made to match the heavy draperies. Munch Cameron relates, “We did a lot of work for this set, but you don’t get to see much of it in the movie, so I’m happy to publish these photos.”


 Liberace’s stages & additional sets…


“The stages were a big deal,” she acknowledges, “…the chandeliers, pianos, candelabras, obviously…but also, the stage curtains! We had Dazian make a $17,000 Austrian curtain, which weighed 400 pounds and served as the backdrop for his piano. Thankfully, we were able to sell it back to Dazian when we wrapped! In the theater house, we took all of the stadium seating out and had the shop at Sony build 16 booths to match the 8 that we got from Omega.”

Additional sets included the theater backstage and dressing room, the drug dealer’s ultra ‘70s pad, Liberace’s agent/manager Seymour Heller’s [Dan Ackroyd] office, plastic surgeon Dr. Jack Startz’s [Rob Lowe] office suite, hospital rooms, Thorson’s ranch foster home, Thorson’s post-L apartment, a men’s sex club, adult bookstore, jewelry store, lawyers’ conference room and the memorial service chapel.

“We all worked really hard on this,” says Munch Cameron. “I had a great crew…crews, actually! I had 4 leadmen, each with their own crew: one in Las Vegas, one in Palm Springs and two in Los Angeles, but one of those was mainly a strike person and oversaw all the strikes of the whole show.”

Munch Cameron estimates that, even with a budget of $900K, “We rented probably 70% because there was so much stuff! And we got deals because we were doing so many multiples. We bought a few chandeliers that were a different style to put in the penthouse…and we bought some candelabras, just because they were there and were perfect. Of course, we had to buy the bathroom accessories, all the bedroom linens, and things like that…and they were all expensive, but you can’t cheat on those details.”


Soderbergh embraced the sets. As usual, he showed absolute confidence in the team. Munch Cameron smiles, “Working with Howard on the Soderbergh films and on projects like RENT is always a fabulous experience, but this was a set decorator’s dream.”


Peek ‘Behind the Candelabra’ at the costumes and sets of the new Liberace movie
By GREGORY E. MILLER

It’s fitting that for a crazy whirlwind of a film about Liberace, Zsa Zsa Gabor’s Bel-Air home would be one of the set locations. Production designer Howard Cummings fell in love with her house, given its similar decorative aesthetic to Liberace’s, and used it as a basis for re-creating his Las Vegas home.

The only problem? The pool had a stunning view of the ocean, which you can’t see in Nevada.

“I had to erect this wall and put up all the greenery in order to obscure the incredible view the house actually had,” says Cummings. “That’s when we started to find every Greek-themed garden statue in the greater LA area. I did collections of [Michelangelo’s] Davids. Because that’s something he’d do. One is not enough. More is better.”
This philosophy sums up the challenge the producers faced in designing the sets and costumes for Steven Soderbergh’s shimmering new Liberace movie, “Behind the Candelabra,” which premieres Sunday at 9 p.m. on HBO. Twenty-five years after the world-famous pianist’s death, the biopic follows the star (played by Michael Douglas in a wig and rhinestones) and his relationship with boy-toy Scott Thorson (Matt Damon).

Costume designer Ellen Mirojnick made 60 looks for the actors in just eight weeks.

“I didn’t copy anything. I used [his outfits] as a springboard,” she says.
Mirojnick breathes new life into several of Liberace’s most famous looks, such as the elaborately embroidered and appliqued clam-shell-collared King Neptune outfit he first wore at the 1984 World’s Fair in New Orleans.

Luckily, Mirojnick has been fitting Douglas for films since 1987’s “Fatal Attraction” — it helped her meet the tight deadline to pull together a platter of sequins, embroidery and fur to fit Douglas precisely.

“When you see these transformations happen [to the actors] with the help of a costume,” says Mirojnick, “it’s magic.”

The costumes also get a thumbs-up from the people who might know Liberace’s clothes better than anyone else: costumers Connie Furr Soloman and Jan Jewett, who wrote “Liberace Extravaganza,” the essential Liberace costume bible.

“She had a really tough job, and she did a great job with it,” says Furr Soloman.

It was production designer Cummings’ job to create the Liberace glamour beyond his outfits — 36 sets worth in five weeks.

“Fortunately, Liberace was such a big self-promoter, he liked to talk in front of the camera and show off his houses,” says Cummings. “So going into it, I had a really good picture.”

In many cases, Cummings was able to track down Liberace’s actual furnishings — some purchased by LA prop houses from his estate sale. The Liberace Foundation also loaned the filmmakers his pianos, cars and, of course, candelabras.

With more than 100 candelabras and chandeliers in the film, Cummings laughs, “We got angry letters saying, ‘You’ve tied up every chandelier in LA!’ ‘Lincoln’ was in production there, and they were doing the White House in the 1800s and they needed chandeliers — and [we] had snagged them all.”

As Liberace always said, borrowing a line from Mae West, “Too much of a good thing . . . is wonderful!”

For Those who like "Americana" ...

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RALPH LAUREN'S CHIC HOMES AND OFFICE
As he celebrates the 30th anniversary of his groundbreaking home collection, the legendary designer discusses the inspiration for his stylish empire

Text by Brad Goldfarb | Photography by Björn Wallander | Produced by Howard Christian/ http://www.architecturaldigest.com/celebrity-homes/2013/ralph-lauren-bedford-new-york-home-rrl-ranch-colorado-article

He may helm one of the best-known and most successful luxury brands on the planet, but Ralph Lauren designs for himself. Always has. It’s what got him started in the late 1960s, when he couldn’t find the wider neckties he wanted to wear. No one was making them, so he did. Ties and shirts eventually led to seasonal head-to-toe collections, outfitting both men and women for everything from a formal evening out in the city to a yachting excursion off the New England coast to a weekend on a Western ranch. “When I started out, people would see things I was wearing and say, ‘Can you make that for me?’” Lauren recalls. “I guess that was when I knew I had something different.”

But Lauren didn’t stop at clothes. Back in 1983, in the days before major fashion houses had furnishings lines, the designer launched the Ralph Lauren Home Collection, expanding his vision of a thoroughly stylish life. “I came at everything with a sense of how I would want to live,” Lauren says. “My wife, Ricky, and I were shopping for things for our apartment, and all the sheets were very feminine and covered in roses. I wondered, Why can’t I get something masculine? So I took the Oxford cloth we were using to make shirts, turned it into bedding, and sewed buttons down the side of the pillowcases.”
This year marks the 30th anniversary of Lauren’s pioneering home collection, a line whose impact and influence have been monumental. Customers can now buy Ralph Lauren bedding, furniture, lighting, rugs, china and glassware, wall coverings, and paint in a wide variety of looks with evocative names such as Thoroughbred, Modern Penthouse, Jamaica, and, new this fall, Apartment No. One. The latter was inspired by the Duke of Windsor and named for the residence at London’s Kensington Palace where Prince William and Kate Middleton will make their home. The range of offerings reflects Lauren’s unwillingness to be pinned down by a single style. “I’m never just one person,” he notes. Nonetheless, everything carries the unmistakable imprint of the designer and his brand.

In the world of Ralph Lauren, the private and business spheres are so tightly aligned as to be virtually indistinguishable. He’s living out the fantasy he’s marketing, with all the trappings: a minimalist Manhattan apartment, a rustic-modern Long Island beach house, a ranch in Colorado, a tropical retreat in Jamaica, and a stone manse in Bedford, New York. Each home is its own distinct vision of the good life, and each tells a different but complementary story—stories that directly shape his collections. “I think it’s the eye, the taste, and the spirit of the dream,” he says when asked what links it all together.

All Photographs in Architectural Digest.
Photo: Victor Skrebneski











Austenland ...

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Austenland is a 2013 American romantic comedy film, directed by Jerusha Hess. Based on the same-titled 2007 novel by Shannon Hale and produced by author Stephenie Meyer, it stars Keri Russell as a single thirtysomething obsessed with Jane Austen's 1813 novel Pride and Prejudice, who travels to a British resort called Austenland, in which the Austen era is re-created. JJ Feild, Jane Seymour, Bret McKenzie and Jennifer Coolidge co-star.
Austenland was filmed in the summer of 2011 at West Wycombe Park in Buckinghamshire.

The film was premiered at the 2013 Sundance Film Festival on January 18, 2013, and its distribution rights were bought by Sony Pictures Worldwide Acquisitions soon thereafter for US$4 million.


Austenland is a novel by Shannon Hale, published on May 9, 2007 by Bloomsbury. A film based on the novel was released in 2013.
Austenland tells the story of 30-something Jane Hayes, an average New York woman who secretly has an unhealthy obsession with Mr. Darcy from the BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. But after Jane accidentally reveals her secret to a great aunt, who shortly after dies, Jane gets the opportunity of a life time. In her great aunt's will, Jane's great aunt leaves Jane a trip to a Jane Austen-themed getaway destination where Jane hopes to meet her own real life Mr. Darcy.
While at "Austenland," Jane is plagued with self- doubt about pretending to be a woman from the Jane Austen era. However, along the journey Jane makes new friends and finds a new romantic interest.
The novel was adapted into a film scripted by Hale and Jerusha Hess. The cast includes Keri Russell, JJ Feild, Jennifer Coolidge, Bret McKenzie, Georgia King and Jane Seymour. Stephenie Meyer produced the film.






Hollywood banks on Jane Austen film to discover what women really want
The rom com Austenland is made by women for women – and the industry hopes it will herald a wave of box-office hits

Rory Carroll in Los Angeles

"One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other," sighed Jane Austen's heroine Emma. It is a lament that has resonated ever since. Entire industries – psychology, counselling, dating sites – have tried to bridge the gap. But what appeals to the opposite sex, it seems, remains a mystery.
This has long frustrated Hollywood. Directors have been hired and fired, scripts tweaked, audiences tested and endings reshot in search of a movie formula that appeals to men and women. Now comes a movie that says it is strictly a film by women, about women, for women. Men can take a hike.

"I have never in my experience come across a premiere that was women-only," said Tatiana Siegel, a film reporter with The Hollywood Reporter. "They're basically saying we don't really care if men don't see this movie. They're not even bothering to throw a bone to them."

The film, appropriately enough, is Austenland, a romantic comedy set in a fictional English theme park which recreates the writer's Regency world, replete with bonnets, carriage rides, whist and needlepoint. Based on the 2007 novel by Shannon Hale, the film stars Keri Russell as Jane Hayes, a thirty-something American singleton who blows her savings to cross the Atlantic and stay at a plush country estate where she can channel her inner Austen and, perhaps, find a Darcyesque Mr Right.

The director, Jerusha Hess, made her name co-directing Napoleon Dynamite, and the producer, Stephenie Meyer, made her name and immense fortune writing the Twilight saga books. Sony Pictures Classics (SPC), the art-house division of Sony Pictures Entertainment, snapped up Austenland for a reported $4m at the Sundance festival. It premiered in Los Angeles and New York last week and is due to start a limited release in the US on .

Reviews by the website Rotten Tomatoes and the Guardian each gave it three stars out of five. "A chick flick extravaganza," declared the showbusiness news site Deadline.com. Chick flicks, however, seldom if ever go out of their way to alienate men. They throw in a subplot, or a man's man actor such as Gerard Butler, so boyfriends and husbands will accompany their partners to the film.

Not Austenland. Advance screenings and premieres were for women only. "It's not like we're going to have guards at the door throwing men out," SPC's co-president, Tom Bernard, told The Hollywood Reporter. "But I think everyone will get the message based on the invitations." The move was prompted by the response at Sundance, he said. Women loved it, male critics were vicious: "We just said, 'Fine, it's not for you. Don't see it. Can't come'."

The gender apartheid is based on the calculation – the hope – that the film will thrive at the box office without men. A new genre of women's films is creeping into the zeitgeist, said Bernard, and Hollywood can smell the money. Austenland is following in the footsteps of Bridesmaids, The Help, The Blind Side and The Heat, which earned big profits showcasing strong female characters, and taking things a step further by explicitly targeting just one gender. "This is a movie written by a woman, directed by a woman, based on a book by a woman, produced by a woman and starring a woman," said Siegel. "It's a real female-driven product. They really knew who their audience was. They were prepared to put all their eggs into that basket."

With a modest outlay of $4m, the makers do not need millions of bums on seats to make a profit, she said. "It's not The Avengers," she added. "If [enough] women show up they'll be in great shape. If this is a small breakout hit, it will grease the wheels for other campaigns to cater to exclusive audiences." In which case, Hollywood may no longer fret about half the world not understanding the pleasures of the other.

Not all welcome the prospect, however. Martha Lauzen, executive director of the Centre for the Study of Women in Television and Film, challenged the notion that men do not want to see films about women: "It makes no sense."

Marketing a film as women-only was a self-fulfilling prophecy which bolstered the idea of women comprising a niche market even though they accounted last year for 50% of US filmgoers and 52% of revenue, said Lauzen: "It reflects a world view that is very myopic."

Hit or not, Austenland does not signify female progress in Hollywood. "When we see a high-profile success like Bridesmaids or [Oscar-winning director] Kathryn Bigelow, our impulse is to say, gee, everything must be OK. But it's not."

Hype about the "Bridesmaids effect" or the "Bigelow effect" auguring breakthroughs for women in Hollywood proved hollow. According to Celluloid Ceiling, a long-running study of female employment trends in the industry, only 11% of the characters in last year's top 100 grossing films were female. A decade ago the figure was 16%.

Only 9% of directors of last year's top 250 grossing films were women, the same proportion as in 1998. The figure for other positions behind the camera, such as executives, writers and editors, rose to 18%.

Lauzen, a film professor at San Diego state university, called the numbers shockingly low: "The film industry is quite resistant to change. It's easy to be misled by a few high-profile cases and to assume that women have achieved some level of equality. That's why it's so important to count the number of female characters and women working behind the camera."

The showbusiness magazine Variety did not boost Austenland's feminist credentials by noting it was due to open in a mid-August slot that is typically reserved for chick flicks such as The Devil Wears Prada, Julie & Julia and Eat Pray Love: "Call it the kitchen and bitchin' weekend."


Meyer, who took a break from writing to produce Austenland, acknowledged that Hollywood was proving slothful in making female-driven films, despite the success of Bridesmaids and the Twilight saga. "Change takes time," she told Yahoo! "Though it's slow, it's exciting to be able to watch that change happening, and especially to be a part of it."

wycombe park estate









Sleeping with the enemy by Hal Vaughan

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"Fiercely anti-Semitic long before it became a question of pleasing the Germans, she became rich by catering to the very rich, and shared their dislike of Jews, trade unions, socialism, Freemasons, and communism."
Sleeping with the Enemy: Coco Chanel’s Secret War
By Hal Vaughn

Declassified, archival documents unearthed by Hal Vaughan reveal that the French Préfecture de Police had a document on Chanel in which she was described as "Couturier and perfumer. Pseudonym: Westminster. Agent reference: F 7124. Signalled as suspect in the file" (Pseudonyme: Westminster. Indicatif d'agent: F 7124. Signalée comme suspecte au fichier). For Vaughan, this was a piece of revelatory information linking Chanel to German intelligence operations. Anti-Nazi activist Serge Klarsfeld thus declared that "It is not because Chanel had a spy number that she was necessarily personally implicated. Some informers had numbers without being aware of it." ("Ce n'est pas parce Coco Chanel avait un numéro d'espion qu'elle était nécessairement impliquée personnellement. Certains indicateurs avaient des numéros sans le savoir").
Vaughan establishes that Chanel committed herself to the German cause as early as 1941 and worked for General Walter Schellenberg, chief of SS intelligence.[75] At the end of the war, Schellenberg was tried by the Nuremberg Military Tribunal, and sentenced to six years imprisonment for war crimes. He was released in 1951 owing to incurable liver disease and took refuge in Italy. Chanel paid for Schellenberg's medical care and living expenses, financially supported his wife and family and paid for Schellenberg's funeral upon his death in 1952.
 Operation Modellhut
In 1943, Chanel traveled to Berlin with Dinklage to meet with SS Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler to formulate strategy. In late 1943 or early 1944, Chanel and her SS master, Schellenberg, devised a plan to press England to end hostilities with Germany. When interrogated by British intelligence at war's end, Schellenberg maintained that Chanel was "a person who knew Churchill sufficiently to undertake political negotiations with him". For this mission, named Operation Modellhut ("Model Hat"), they recruited Vera Lombardi. Count Joseph von Ledebur-Wicheln, a Nazi agent who defected to the British Secret Service in 1944, recalled a meeting he had with Dinklage in early 1943. Dinklage proposed an inducement that would tantalize Chanel. He informed von Ledebur that Chanel's participation in the operation would be ensured if Lombardi was included: "The Abwehr had first to bring to France a young Italian woman [Lombardi] Coco Chanel was attached to because of her lesbian vices…" Unaware of the machinations of Schellenberg and her old friend Chanel, Lombardi played the part of their unwitting dupe, led to believe that the forthcoming journey to Spain would be a business trip exploring the possibilities of establishing the Chanel couture in Madrid. Lombardi's role was to act as intermediary, delivering a letter penned by Chanel to Winston Churchill, and forwarded to him via the British embassy in Madrid.Schellenberg's SS liaison officer, Captain Walter Kutchmann, acted as bagman, "told to deliver a large sum of money to Chanel in Madrid". Ultimately, the mission proved a failure. British intelligence files reveal that all collapsed, as Lombardi, on arrival, proceeded to denounce Chanel and others as Nazi spies.
 Protection from prosecution
In September 1944, Chanel was called in to be interrogated by the Free French Purge Committee, the épuration. The committee, which had no documented evidence of her collaboration activity, was obliged to release her. According to Chanel's grand-niece, Gabrielle Palasse Labrunie, when Chanel returned home she said, "Churchill had me freed"
A previously unpublished interview exists dating from September, 1944 when Malcolm Muggeridge, then an intelligence agent with the British MI6, interviewed Chanel after her appearance before the Free French investigators. Muggeridge pointedly questions Chanel about her allegiances, and wartime activities. As to her feelings of being the subject of a recent investigation of collaborators, Chanel had this to say of her interrogators: "It is odd how my feelings have evolved. At first, their conduct incensed me. Now, I feel almost sorry for those ruffians. One should refrain from contempt for the baser specimens of humanity…"
The extent of Winston Churchill's intervention can only be speculated upon. However, Chanel's escape from prosecution certainly speaks of layers of conspiracy,[dubious – discuss] protection at the highest levels. It was feared that if Chanel were ever made to testify at trial, the pro-Nazi sympathies and activities of top-level British officials, members of the society elite and those of the royal family itself would be exposed. It is believed that Churchill instructed Duff Cooper, British ambassador to the French provisional government, to "protect Chanel".
Finally induced to appear in Paris before investigators in 1949, Chanel left her retreat in Switzerland to confront testimony given against her at the war crime trial of Baron Louis de Vaufreland, a French traitor and highly placed German intelligence agent. Chanel denied all accusations brought against her. She offered the presiding judge, Leclercq, a character reference: "I could arrange for a declaration to come from Mr. Duff Cooper."
Chanel's friend and biographer Marcel Haedrich provided a telling estimation of her wartime interaction with the Nazi regime: "If one took seriously the few disclosures that Mademoiselle Chanel allowed herself to make about those black years of the occupation, one's teeth would be set on edge."
 Controversy
Vaughan's disclosure of the contents of recently de-classified military intelligence documents, and the subsequent controversy generated soon after the book's publication in August, 2011, prompted The House of Chanel to issue a statement, portions of which appeared in myriad media outlets. Chanel corporate "refuted the claim" (of espionage), while admitting that company officials had read only media excerpts of the book."
"What's certain is that she had a relationship with a German aristocrat during the War. Clearly it wasn't the best period to have a love story with a German even if Baron von Dincklage was English by his mother and she (Chanel) knew him before the War," the Chanel group said in a statement.[88] "The fashion house also disputed that the designer was anti-Semitic, saying Chanel would not have had Jewish friends or ties with the Rothschild family of financiers if she were."

In an interview given to the Associated Press, author Vaughan explains the trajectory of his research. "I was looking for something else and I come across this document saying 'Chanel is a Nazi agent…Then I really started hunting through all of the archives, in the United States, in London, in Berlin and in Rome and I come across not one, but 20, 30, 40 absolutely solid archival materials on Chanel and her lover, Baron Hans Gunther von Dincklage, who was a professional Abwehr spy." Vaughan also addressed the discomfort many felt with the revelations provided in his book: "A lot of people in this world don't want the iconic figure of Gabrielle Coco Chanel, one of France's great cultural idols, destroyed. This is definitely something that a lot of people would have preferred to put aside, to forget, to just go on selling Chanel scarves and jewelry."



Synopsis
Coco Chanel, high priestess of couture, created the look of the chic modern woman: her simple and elegant designs freed women from their corsets and inspired them to crop their hair. By the 1920s, Chanel employed more than two thousand people in her workrooms, and had amassed a personal fortune. But at the start of the Second World War, Chanel closed down her couture house and went to live quietly at the Ritz, moving to Switzerland after the war. For more than half a century, Chanel’s life from 1941 to 1954 has been shrouded in rumour. Neither Chanel nor her biographers have told the full story, until now.

In this explosive narrative Hal Vaughan pieces together Chanel’s hidden years, from the Nazi occupation of Paris to the aftermath of the Liberation. He uncovers the truth of Chanel’s anti-Semitism and long-whispered collaboration with Hitler’s officials. In particular, Chanel’s long relationship with ‘Spatz’, Baron von Dincklage, previously described as a tennis-playing playboy and German diplomat, and finally exposed here as a Nazi master spy and agent who ran an intelligence ring in the Mediterranean and reported directly to Joseph Goebbels.

Sleeping with the Enemy tells in detail how Chanel became a German intelligence operative, Abwehr agent F-7124; how she was enlisted in spy missions, and why she evaded arrest in France after the war. It reveals the role played by Winston Churchill in her escape from retribution; and how, after a nine-year exile in Switzerland with Dincklage, and despite French investigations into her espionage activities, Coco was able to return to Paris and triumphantly reinvent herself – and rebuild the House of Chanel.

As Hal Vaughan shows, far from being a heroine of France, Chanel was in fact one of its most surprising traitors.
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Chanel No. F-7124
Agence France-Presse
Coco Chanel spied for the Nazis, according to a new book by U.S. author Hal Vaughan.

Henry Samuel, The Daily Telegraph · Aug. 17, 2011
Coco Chanel acted as a numbered Nazi agent during the Second World War, carrying out several spy and recruitment missions, a new biography claims.

Chanel was feted as a fashion pioneer who changed the way women dressed and thought about themselves. Her life has been the subject of countless biographies and films, which have charted her career but also her darker side as a Nazi sympathizer and collaborator.

But according to Sleeping With the Enemy: Coco Chanel's Secret War, the creator of the famed little black dress was more than this: She was a numbered Nazi agent working for the Abwehr, Germany's military intelligence agency.

After sifting through European and U.S. archives, Hal Vaughan, a U.S. journalist based in Paris, found the designer had an Abwehr label: Agent F-7124, She also had the code name Westminster, after her former lover, the anti-Semitic second duke of Westminster.

Chanel spent most of the war staying at the Hotel Ritz in Paris, sharing close quarters with spies and senior Nazis, including Hermann Goering and Joseph Goebbels.

It is well documented she took as a lover Baron Hans Gunther von Dincklage, an officer 13 years her junior. The liaison allowed her to pass freely in restricted areas.

When questioned on their relationship Chanel famously told the British photographer Cecil Beaton, "Really, sir, a woman of my age cannot be expected to look at his passport if she has a chance of a lover."

Previous works have depicted Chanel more as an amoral opportunist and shrewd businesswoman than an active collaborator, while von Dincklage has come across as a handsome, but feckless mondain, more bent on enjoying the high life than recruiting spies.

But Mr. Vaughan's book claims not only was Chanel "fiercely anti-Semitic," she also carried out missions for the Abwehr in Madrid and Berlin with von Dincklage, who is described as a dangerous "Nazi spy master."

"While French Resistance fighters were shooting Germans in the summer of 1941, Chanel was recruited as an agent by the Abwehr," the book claims.

Chanel travelled to Spain with Baron Louis de Vaufreland, a French traitor whose job was to "identify men and women who could be recruited, or coerced, into spying for Nazi Germany."

Mr. Vaughan also cites a British secret intelligence report documenting what Count Joseph von Ledebur-Wicheln, an Abwehr agent and defector, told MI6 in 1944.

In the file, he discussed how Chanel and von Dincklage visited Berlin in 1943 to offer Chanel's services as an agent to Heinrich Himmler.

The book adds weight to reports Winston Churchill intervened to spare Chanel - a friend from before the war - from arrest and trial, despite the fact she was on French Resistance "death rosters" as a collaborator. She fled to Switzerland, only to return in 1954 to resurrect her reputation and reinvent the House of Chanel.

Chanel was never charged with any wrongdoing and died aged 87 in 1971.

She is one of numerous esteemed French artists who collaborated with the Nazis, including Maurice Chevalier, Jean Cocteau, Sacha Guitry and Edith Piaf.


Was Coco Chanel a Nazi Agent?
By JUDITH WARNER

Gabrielle Chanel — better known as Coco — was a wretched human being. Anti-Semitic, homophobic, social climbing, opportunistic, ridiculously snobbish and given to sins of phrase-making like “If blonde, use blue perfume,” she was addicted to morphine and actively collaborated with the Germans during the Nazi occupation of Paris. And yet, her clean, modern, kinetic designs, which brought a high-society look to low-regarded fabrics, revolutionized women’s fashion, and to this day have kept her name synonymous with the most glorious notions of French taste and élan.
Exploring the contradictory complexities of this woman, at once so very awful and so very talented, should make for fascinating and enlightening reading. After all, Chanel’s life offers biographers a trove of juicy material. Chanel was a creative genius, her own expertly polished self-presentation perhaps the greatest triumph of her brilliantly inventive mind. She was born in 1883 in a hospice for the poor in the Loire Valley, to unwed parents of peasant stock and, upon her mother’s death, was placed at age 12 in a convent-orphanage to be raised by Roman Catholic nuns. This left her with a lifelong fear of losing everything. The point is nicely captured by Hal Vaughan in “Sleeping With the Enemy,” who quotes her as saying: “From my earliest childhood I’ve been certain that they have taken everything away from me, that I’m dead.”

She was put to work as a seamstress at age 20 and took the name Coco from a song she liked to sing in a rowdy cafe patronized by cavalry officers. One ex-­officer, the wealthy Étienne Balsan, installed her in his chateau, taught her to conduct herself with high style on horseback and, generally, gave her the skills she needed to make her way up through society. Balsan also introduced her to Arthur (Boy) Capel, a friend who soon became Chanel’s first great love, and who also, conveniently, set her up in a Paris apartment and helped her start her first business venture, designing sleekly simple women’s hats.

It wasn’t long before Chanel took Jazz Age Paris by storm, liberating women from their corsets, draping them in jersey and long strings of pearls and dousing them with the scent of modernity, Chanel No. 5. She caroused with Igor Stravinsky and Pablo Picasso, designed costumes for Serge Diaghilev's Ballets Russes and amused herself with the cash-poor White Russian aristocracy. As her personal fortunes rose, she turned her attention to making serious inroads into British high society, befriending Winston Churchill and the Prince of Wales and becoming, most notably, the mistress of the Duke of Westminster, Hugh Richard Arthur Grosvenor (known as Bendor), reputedly the wealthiest man in England.

Bendor’s — and Chanel’s — anti-­Semitism was vociferous and well documented; the pro-Nazi sensibilities of the Duke of Windsor and many in his circle have long been noted, too. All this, it appears, made the society of the British upper crust particularly appealing to Chanel. As Vaughan notes, after she was lured by a million-dollar fee to spend a few weeks in Hollywood in 1930 — Samuel Goldwyn, he writes, “did his best to keep Jews away from Chanel” — she found herself compelled to run straight back to England, so that she could wash away her brush with vulgarity in “a bath of nobility.”

It wasn’t much of a stretch, then, for Chanel, during wartime, to find herself the mistress of the German intelligence officer Baron Hans Günther von Dincklage, a charming character who had spied on the French fleet in the late 1920s, and who found himself pleasingly single in occupied Paris, having presciently divorced his half-Jewish German wife just before the passage of the Nuremberg Laws. It wasn’t any particular betrayal of her values, or morals or ideals either, for Chanel to find herself traveling to Madrid and Berlin to engage in cloak-and-dagger machinations with her country’s occupier.

The story of how Coco became Chanel has been told many times before over the past half-century, most recently (and, sad to say, much more engagingly) in last year’s “Coco Chanel: The Legend and the Life,” by the British fashion columnist Justine Picardie. The story of how Chanel metamorphosed from a mere “horizontal collaborator” — the mistress of a Nazi — into an actual German secret agent has been less well known, though earlier writers have reported that she had worked for the Germans. It’s here that Vaughan makes his freshest contribution, using a wealth of materials gleaned from wartime police files and intelligence archives, some of which were only recently declassified by French and German authorities, to flesh out precisely how and why she became an agent, and how she sought to profit from her German connections during the war.

Vaughan ably charts Chanel’s clever opportunism as she works, first, to free her nephew André Palasse from a German prisoner-of-war camp, and later seeks to use the Nazis’ Aryanization of property laws to wrest control of her perfume empire away from the Jewish Wertheimer brothers. Yet his account of her one real mission for the Germans — a 1943 covert operation code-named Modellhut (“model hat”) in which she was meant to use her contacts to get a message to Winston Churchill from the SS stating that a number of leading Nazis wanted to break with Adolf Hitler and negotiate a separate peace with England — emerges neither clearly nor logically from his highly detailed telling. Too many diplomatic documents are reproduced at too much length. Contradictions are not clearly sorted out. Vaughan seems to have felt as though his rich source materials could speak for themselves, but they don’t — and he doesn’t succeed in lending authority to the accounts of contemporary witnesses who were, undoubtedly, unreliable.

Despite her indisputable collaborationist activities, and after a brief period of uncertainty during which she was questioned by a French judge, Chanel eventually got off pretty much scot-free after the war, once again using her wiles to protect herself most expertly. She tipped off the poet and anti-Nazi partisan Pierre Reverdy, a longtime occasional lover, so that he could arrange the arrest of her wartime partner in collaboration, Baron Louis de Vaufreland Piscatory; she paid off the family of the former Nazi chief of SS intelligence Gen. Walter Schellenberg when she heard that he was preparing to publish his memoirs. (It was Schellenberg who had given her the “model hat” assignment.) Vaughan could have done better in providing the context to the seemingly incomprehensible ease of Chanel’s reintegration into French fashion and society, telling more, for example, of the widespread desire for forgetting and moving forward that held sway in Charles de Gaulle's postwar France.

These weaknesses — of authorial voice and critical judgment — run through “Sleeping With the Enemy.” Vaughan, a retired diplomat who has made his home in Paris, has allowed his writing to become a bit too imbued with the reflexive verbal tics and general vive-la-séduction silliness of his adopted country. “Sometimes the kitten, sometimes the vamp, and often the vixen, . . . she must have melted Bendor’s knees” is how he captures Chanel in her 40s; “beautiful and sexy, her silhouette stunning,” he appraises her in her 50s. (Indeed, his English often sounds like French — the most cloying sort of breathy French — in translation.) Despite all he knows about Chanel, Vaughan often appears to be as beguiled, disarmed and charmed by Coco as were the men in her life — not to mention the countless women who have sought over the decades to cloak themselves in her image. And like them, he never gets beyond the self-protecting armor of her myth.

Judith Warner, a former special correspond­ent for Newsweek in Paris, is the author, most recently, of “We’ve Got Issues: Children and Parents in the Age of Medication.”


Phillips/Topical Press Agency — Hulton Archive — Getty Images
"A bath of nobility": Coco Chanel and the Duke of Westminster at the races in 1924.


 “Sleeping With the Enemy,” by Hal Vaughan

Salome danced. Scheherazade told tales. In the face of powerful, dangerous men, they used their skills differently. But both were beautiful, cunning, unafraid to employ sex for political ends. It’s a well-worn story, an archetype for the ages. But give that mythic siren a bit of documentary detail, ally her with Nazis, make her a spy and a Jew-hater, and the plot becomes startling. It shocks us all over again.

That is the crux of “Sleeping With the Enemy,” Hal Vaughan’s compelling chronicle of Coco Chanel, whose fame as the queen of couture made her a darling of princes and prime ministers. She was born on a hot afternoon in the Pays de la Loire, and she rose from poverty with little more than a dressmaker’s needle. But in Paris, by the eve of World War II, she was dressing the beautiful, perfuming the rich, drinking champagne with poets and impresarios. Sharp-tongued and funny, she became a friend to Winston Churchill, mistress to the Duke of Westminster, intimate of Picasso. When Hitler overran Paris, she didn’t hesitate to consort with the Gestapo, too.
Vaughan, a journalist, filmmaker and diplomat who has been “involved,” as his publisher coyly puts it, “in CIA operations,” offers us a different Chanel from any you’ll find at the company store. This is by no means the account of an emerging style — spare, easy, free of corsets and remarkably modern — but a tale of how a single-minded woman faced history, made hard choices, connived, lied, collaborated and used every imaginable wile to survive and see that the people she cared about survived with her. It’s not a pretty picture.

She was born Gabrielle Chasnel in a picturesque little town in western France. Her mother was a laundrywoman; her father, a street-hawker. Her parents didn’t marry until she was 12, but very soon after, her mother was dead, her brothers at work on a farm, and she and her sisters installed in a Cistercian orphanage in rural France. It was during those years in the nunnery that young Gabrielle acquired a skill and a doctrine that would guide her for the rest of her life: She learned to sew; and she learned to hate Jews. “Chanel’s anti-Semitism was not only verbal,” her friend, an editor of the magazine Marie Claire, avowed, “but passionate, demoded, and often embarrassing. Like all the children of her age she had studied the catechism: hadn’t the Jews crucified Jesus?”

At 18, she was striking: slim, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a fresh, luminous complexion. She moved to a pension for girls in Moulins and found night work as a singer in a cabaret. By day, she worked as a seamstress. She took the name “Coco,” short for “coquette,” French for a kept woman — and, within a few years, she became exactly that: a demimondaine, living with her lover. He was Etienne Balsan, an ex-cavalry officer from a family of wealthy textile industrialists. Balsan brought her to his chateau, introduced her to his friends and taught her how to ride — a skill that would serve her royally.

Keen-eyed and discriminating, Chanel soon learned what it took to live well. She would remain grateful to Balsan for the rest of her life, but within two years, she was in love with someone else: Arthur “Boy” Capel, one of Balsan’s riding partners — a handsome English playboy with a large bank account and a web of connections. In 1908, he snatched her away, installed her in a Paris apartment and helped her launch a business making ladies’ hats. Boy Capel proved as generous with his wallet as he was fickle in love. When Chanel’s older sister committed suicide, he arranged for Chanel’s nephew, Andre Palasse (whom Chanel quickly adopted), to attend a boarding school in England. Capel would go on to finance her clothing boutiques in Paris, Deauville and Biarritz.


But Capel would take someone else as a wife. An upper-class Englishman could hardly marry a descendant of peasants — a courtesan. Nevertheless, Chanel remained his mistress until his death in a car accident 10 years later. She claimed she would never find happiness again. But at 35, she was rich, living in a glamorous apartment overlooking the Seine, poised to open the House of Chanel and acquire ever more wealth, lovers and notoriety. One world war had already come and gone, and it had not affected the gilded trajectory.


Never-ending stories: Is there anything left for biographers to reveal?
Gone are the days of respectful 'life-writings' and long gaps between comparative biographical studies. As yet another Coco Chanel exposé arrives, John Walsh asks, are there still any new facts for writers to uncover?

Wednesday, 17 August 2011 in The Independent
A hot news item from the 1940s was announced this week. On the Gawker website, in The Washington Post, in Agence France-Presse, the big revelation was splashed for all to see: Coco Chanel, the great fashion designer, clothes horse and begetter of the world's most famous perfume, spied for the Nazis during the Second World War.

Seventy years after the events, the news caused a stir. "Coco Chanel spent WWII collaborating with the Nazis, says a new book that outlines her life," reported the Daily Mail, going on to quote from the book Sleeping with the Enemy: Coco Chanel, Nazi Agent by Hal Vaughan, who claims that the grande dame of the little black dress was practically a Nazi herself: "Fiercely anti-Semitic long before it became a question of pleasing the Germans, she became rich by catering to the very rich and shared their dislike of Jews, trade unions, socialism, Freemasons and Communism."

The book also claims that "in 1940 Coco was recruited into the Abwehr and had a lover, Baron Hans Günther von Dincklage, who was honoured by Hitler and Goebbels in the war".

One's first response is to wonder whether Ms Chanel ever linked up with Hugo Boss, who designed the Nazi uniform and whose career blithely survived the war despite the taint of fascism. One's second response is to say: I thought we knew this stuff about the Nazi lover already. And a third is to wonder: how much more information about Coco bloody Chanel do I need in my life?

It seems only yesterday that Justine Picardie's Coco Chanel: The Legend and the Life was garnering enthusiastic reviews for cutting through "the accretions of lies and romance" that surround Chanel's reputation. It came out in 2009, the same year as The Gospel According to Coco Chanel: Life Lessons from the World's Most Elegant Woman by Karen Karbo and Chesley McLaren, one of a number of self-help and picture-heavy tomes that accompanied the release of Anne Fontaine's movie Coco before Chanel starring the lovely Audrey Tautou (who, of course, also starred in the last big Chanel perfume television commercial) and, coincidentally, Jan Kounen's film Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky, which opened a few months later, starring Anna Mouglalis as the scissor-wielding horizontale.

Die-hard fans might already have been familiar with Chanel and Her World: Friends, Fashion and Fame by Edmonde Charles-Roux, published four years earlier, or indeed a full biography entitled Coco Chanel by Henry Gidel published in 2000 – or indeed they could have checked out a book called Chanel: A Woman of Her Own by Axel Madsen published by Bloomsbury as far back as 1991. It deals with her famous lovers (Cocteau, Stravinsky, Dali, the Duke of Westminster) and tells all about her German boyfriend, and her crackpot attempts to convey German peace proposals to Winston Churchill, whom she had met earlier through the Duke.

In other words, we knew most of the Nazi stuff 20 years ago. If we'd forgotten, the publication of the French historian Patrick Buisson's Erotic Years 1940-1945 in 2008 would have reminded us that Chanel spent most of the war in the Paris Ritz Hotel, that her boyfriend was the amusingly named Baron Hans Günther von Dincklage, and that he was a military attaché with the German embassy and a famous spy. Half of Paris knew about her liaison at the time, and condemned her for it. She herself claimed she'd used her affair with Baron Von Dincklage in order to meet a high-up general, in order to broker a peace deal with the Allies.

Perhaps this is what Hal Vaughan, the author of the new biography, means when he accuses her of "dabbling in Nazi foreign policy". He also accuses her of being "fiercely anti-Semitic", in using anti-Jew laws to close down a company to which she'd sold perfume-making rights to Chanel No 5. But as Justine Picardie argued in her biography, this unpleasant episode reeks more of commercial ruthlessness than of race hatred. Coco was, from first to last, a hard-faced, hard-nosed businesswoman with a flair for self-promotion and self-preservation. She slept with people she fancied, whether they were Nazi spies or English aristocrats. She did whatever it took to survive. And she lied and lied about her life, from the date of her birth to her upbringing in an orphanage, to her years as a demi-mondaine, one rung up from a prostitute.

So now, we have Hal Vaughan's slightly vieux-chapeau revelations about wartime espionage (the only intriguing detail in his account is that Chanel was allegedly recruited to the Abwehr military intelligence organisation under the code name of Agent F-7124 – though she was later accused by the Nazis of being a British spy), and that will do for the moment, won't it?

Well, no, actually – amazingly, there's another work in the pipeline, Chanel: an Intimate Life by Lisa Chaney, to be published in November this year. Mercifully, it starts in 1945, when her wartime shenanigans were over, but it shockingly reveals that, at some point after the war, the designer had sex with a woman, and occasionally indulged in "opiates", as the blurb quaintly calls them. As revelations go, these inhabit the same space as the information that ursine quadrupeds relieve themselves in leafy environs. Whoever thought it was worth commissioning another Coco book on the strength of some teeny details of sex and drugs?

Which raises the crucial question: what does it take to justify a biography today? What makes a publisher think that a dead person's life is worth the general reader's attention again? What makes it worth joining a herd of other authors writing about the same life?

The unofficial rules of "life-writing" used to hold that to publish a biography of a canonical figure (ie, one safely dead and consigned to a generally agreed "place" in history) less than 30 years after the last attempt, is a waste of both time and academic energy. Once Boswell had "done" Johnson, it was tacitly agreed, there was no need of another "life of" for a generation or two. The latter half of the 20th century, however, rewrote the rules. A new frankness in discussing sexual matters, a fascination with the minutiae of famous lives. A prurient interest in what was once deemed shocking behaviour, a wholesale lack of interest in Victorian-style hagiography – these all changed the face of biography in the late 1970s and 1980s.

Suddenly, you didn't have to wait 20 or 30 years if you had some juicy new information or some shocking new theory about the lives of the famous. Five years would do – or less. Victoria Glendinning recalled how amazed she was, when embarking on a new life of Anthony Trollope, to discover that three other Trollope biographers were already hard at work. The life-writing genre was suddenly deafened by the noise of tightly shut closets being flung open. New caches of letters, diaries and previously unseen material easily justified new lives of Victorian authors, politicians and adventurers, of Edwardian suffragettes, Bloomsbury intellectuals, pre-war sportsmen, post-war entertainers.

Shocking material, hitherto unpublishable, was suddenly available to all. John Lahr's sprightly life of the Sixties playwright Joe Orton, Prick Up Your Ears, with its frank account of gay high-jinks in public lavatories, could never have seen the light of publication before 1987. When Fiona MacCarthy brought out her life of Eric Gill, the sculptor and typographer, in 1989, she revealed to the world that he'd slept with every woman in his saintly Catholic commune in Wales, including maidservants, the wives of friends, his sisters, his two daughters – even the family dog. The facts had been available for years, explicitly laid out in Gill's self-accusing journals, but earlier biographers had been too cautious (or their publishers too shocked) to use it.

Some readers objected about what they regarded as a retrospective invasion of a subject's privacy, but their objections were brushed aside. "When you get the truth told without censure, then you realise how very various human nature is," Michael Holroyd, the doyen of biographers, told The Times. "The biographer's loyalty has to be the subject, and not what peripheral people are going to think about it."

Historical or literary figures about whose lives we'd speculated became fair game for several investigations. Hints of paedophilia or repressed sexuality became a focus of new biographies. Lewis Carroll's interest in, and photographs of, half-dressed little girls (and his artless letters to their parents) prompted a small industry of books. The lives of heroic figures with inscrutable emotional lives – Sir Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scouts, Sir Richard Burton, explorer and translator of the Kama Sutra – were inspected for signs of perversity. It was fantastic. Furtive sensation-seekers, too wary to look for sexually explicit material on bookshop shelves, could get their kicks in biographies – if they didn't mind ploughing their way through 500 pages of extraneous material.

Today, prurient browsers with a fascination for reading about physical or sexual abuse can easily find them in the pages of the popular "misery memoir". The biographies in the modern best-seller lists are mostly lives of living celebrities and entertainers, with their own protocols of revelation, modesty and nuance. For an author to justify writing the life of a canonical figure, however, the rules are different. The biography doesn't have to be about sexual revelation any more. It's more likely to be about truth and identity. "A good biography," says DJ Taylor, author of lives of Thackeray and George Orwell, "should be about what Anthony Powell calls 'the personal myth' – not about what the subject did, but about the image of themselves that they projected to the world. Who they thought they were, what they think happened to them – and what the truth actually was."

That's precisely the double-perspective that has informed several recent literary biographies: John Carey's life of William Golding, which incorporates a huge, self-flagellating, million-word diary kept by the author of Lord of the Flies; Gordon Bowker's life of James Joyce, which constantly asks the question of exactly how "Irish" the author of Ulysses was, and thought himself to be. And it can be applied in spades to Coco Chanel, a woman who was forever at pains to project an image of fairy-tale sophistication.

She faked so much of her long and phenomenally successful life, it's hardly surprising biographers have queued up to try their luck at disinterring the truth – and are still doing so. In penury and plenty, in peace and war, in bedroom and showroom, there's plenty of Chanel's life to go round for the truffle-hunting truth-hound. And she knew very well what she was doing. "Reality is sad," she once said when living in Switzerland after the war, "and that handsome parasite that is the imagination will always be preferred to it. May my legend gain ground; I wish it a long and happy life."


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