Dear Shaded Viewers and Diane,
It was said: “'Pataphysics envies nothing, is never distracted, never puffed up, it has neither aspirations nor seeks not its own, it is even-tempered, and thinks not evil; it mocks not iniquity: it is enraptured with scientific truth; it supports everything, believes everything, has faith in everything and upholds everything that is”. In the semi-serious, mercurial dogmata of “the science of imaginary solutions”, whose origins date back to April 1893, J.W. Anderson finds a line of thought or two to occasionally delight his indolent autumnal muse. A finesse that borders on patriciate, worn with studied effortlessness: the signature protagonist of one of London’s most awaited shows learns this coming winter the pleasures and dangers of alchemical science. Frowning models with their hair greased back wear a collection of insatiable tactility – slick, supple leathers; sheepskin and suede fastened with sculptures and gems. A cryptic accessory looks like a tiny jewel-globe, swinging round and round from their fingers. Indeed, if a dominant palette of luscious blacks and browns and the familiar fabrics of the season do their job as a glossy disguise, there’s nothing traditional, or safe, in this wardrobe. It’s on edge. The sharp corners and sudden flares in its patterns speak of interplanetary travels, the way they used to be done – while a soft, purple seabed in confetti of tires might be our very first walk on martial soil.