Meret Oppenheim, Parkett No. 4, 1985
In Vienna I found myself bathed in a languor of rich pastries, goblin market stands of fruits, nuts, vegetables, tiny winding streets leading to smoky
cafes where I could sink into some soft velvet chair with a bier and a book. Just in time for my first classical concert in the cultural capital, I may have faired better had a worn a ballgown. But hey, I was trying to be smart and pack light. In planning my ensemble for that evening, could have spent a lovely chunk of dispensable income on a pair of glamourous Viennese Nina Peter Hautnah gloves- the ultimate in paw accessories. Rather, I chose to indulge my inner fashion historian by visiting the Austrian Museum of Applied Arts latest costume exhibition, "Gripping Diversity!: Fans and Gloves from the MAK Collection." In the lower reaches of the museum, set in a dark cavernous space, a selection of 70 items spanning several centuries lay in climate controlled vitrines, silently performing under delicate spotlights.
cafes where I could sink into some soft velvet chair with a bier and a book. Just in time for my first classical concert in the cultural capital, I may have faired better had a worn a ballgown. But hey, I was trying to be smart and pack light. In planning my ensemble for that evening, could have spent a lovely chunk of dispensable income on a pair of glamourous Viennese Nina Peter Hautnah gloves- the ultimate in paw accessories. Rather, I chose to indulge my inner fashion historian by visiting the Austrian Museum of Applied Arts latest costume exhibition, "Gripping Diversity!: Fans and Gloves from the MAK Collection." In the lower reaches of the museum, set in a dark cavernous space, a selection of 70 items spanning several centuries lay in climate controlled vitrines, silently performing under delicate spotlights.
As I slowly made my way round, one glass case case to the next- handspun lace fans from the 19th century, knitted silk gentleman's gloves from medieval europe, fluffy ostrich feathers, carved bone, and handpainted scenes on ivory- my heart skipped a beat when I eyed this pair, Parkett No. 4 by Meret Oppenheim. For a second my gut told me they were tongue in cheek Schiaparelli, but I should have know better. Maybe it was the combination of coral red and pale green, the tiny veins just as elegant as a daub of fiery red polish on rounded fingernails. My trip was complete.
Ah Vienna, til next time. Thanks for the symphony, the palaces, ravaged melons and second hand smoke.
Ah Vienna, til next time. Thanks for the symphony, the palaces, ravaged melons and second hand smoke.
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