Following the story of Sophie Calle’s Suite Vénitienne – a stalking through Venice that ends in a banal anticlimax – Aganovich’s latest collection opened with a feeling of rawness.
From the opening trio of pristine dresses, delicate stitched folds figuring the weaving that would come later, to the all-black silhouette where it blossomed into the armored underbelly of some mythical beast, this singularly striking ribcage-like detailing (if such an important part of the work can be called thus) telegraphed an animal feeling. Broad strokes of color, paint being slashed across contrasting colors gave the creeping hue a violence that translated the growing tension of Calle’s pursuit.
What is always lovely at Aganovich is that despite the accurate historial references – the pair are deeply cultivated – the softness of the materials, their willingness to play nice with an actual body outshines any strictures that may arise from their preserved inspiration. But as in the story, the anticlimax left a sense of unfinished, deeply unsatisified business. Although there is something inherently likeable to this backward-glancing exploration of dressing, and Aganovich’s truly perfect mastery of the craft, this iteration was nothing short of charming, but at times, little more too.