kleidersachen
the small step between art and fashion

via blooming fabric my website my tumblr

kleidersachen
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kirgiakos:

via.carrefouretrange:

Dainah la Métisse (Jean Grémillon, 1932)
kirgiakos:

via.carrefouretrange:

Dainah la Métisse (Jean Grémillon, 1932)
kirgiakos:

via.carrefouretrange:

Dainah la Métisse (Jean Grémillon, 1932)
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noontide:

Schiaparelli necklace 1938, found here
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itsshantitime:

shako-mako:

An Iraqi girl in an orphanage - missing her mother so she drew her and fell asleep inside her. This is America’s democracy 

This picture always gets me.
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europeanafashion:

Women wearing the costume of Skyros, Sporades, in the Panathenaic Stadium, Athens.
Photo: Nelly’s. Late 1930s
© Peloponnesian Folklore Foundation, Nafplion, Greece
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stlara:

hildie gifstad @ a détacher ss 11
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antufiev:

Evgeniy Antufiev
http://www.reginagallery.com/sites/default/files/Press%20release_7.pdf
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20aliens:

Renate Bertlmann
20aliens:

Renate Bertlmann
20aliens:

Renate Bertlmann
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Ewa Partum, Stupid Woman, 1981
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grigiabot:

Miroslav Tichy
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languageolderthanwords:

Lisette Model
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rudygodinez:

Robert Rauschenberg, Cy + Roman Steps (I-V),(1952)
 When hung side by side in a tight row, as they are meant to be seen and displayed, the images in Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) demonstrate a remarkable temporal and spatial progression. In the first photograph, all we see is a series of steps punctuated at the top center of the image by a pair of feet and legs cropped at the shin. Apparently standing on one of several landings that interrupt the vertiginous series of 124 marble steps leading up to the Basilica di Santa Maria (which is on the highest summit of the Campidoglio), Twombly seems to cast no shadow. The high contrast of the black-and-white print accentuates the intensity of the harsh late-summer Roman sun as it glances off the stark white stone, revealing details such as the cracks in the marble, the joins between slabs, and the scuff marks and erosion begotten by centuries of use. In the second photograph the viewpoint remains largely fixed, moving up slightly to reveal a glimpse of the church facade at the top and a bit of the staircase’s stone banister in the upper left corner. The figure of Twombly, however, has descended ten or so stairs to occupy more of the picture, and his legs are cropped by the edge of the image just below crotch level. His shadow rakes across two of the steps behind him, foregrounding not only the strong horizontal and vertical axes of these photographs but also Rauschenberg’s interest in the indexical trace of shadows as an analog for the process of photography itself, a phenomenon also explored in the earlier work Quiet House-Black Mountain, (1949).
 Indeed, the spatial and temporal progressions contained within Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) are consistently measured against the photographs’ horizontal and vertical grids. There is something cinematic about the images in this series, which resemble film stills in their fractured efforts to capture time cumulatively. In the third photograph Twombly has advanced another four stairs toward Rauschenberg; his body is visible below the level of his torso, as are his hands. He is presumably standing on another landing, and no shadow can be seen. The image frame has also crept up farther, cropping the bottom step while revealing a larger sliver of the unfinished brick facade of the church in the background. More of the stone banister enclosing the right side of the staircase also edges into view. In the fourth photograph Twombly is much closer to the camera’s lens, and he occupies a great deal of the image. Here we see his entire lower body (clad in blue jeans and moccasins) and his forearms, and he again casts a strong shadow over the two stairs behind him. The angle of the photograph has also moved horizontally toward the proper right of the staircase. The substantial advance in Twombly’s descent is explained by the fact that there was originally an additional photograph in this series. That image, which Rauschenberg ultimately chose to omit, would have appeared between the third and fourth photographs. In the final image Twombly’s midsection so fills the frame that the hair on his forearms is silhouetted against the blanched steps, which are now merely acting as a backdrop to the cropped close-up of his body. His wristwatch is clearly visible, reminding us of the extent to which these photographs engage the passage of time. This effort to capture time, pacing it out spatially and temporally through a medium-specific process of seriality, is also reminiscent of Rauschenberg’s This Is the First Half of a Print Designed to Exist in Passing Time (1949), which bears the distinction of being one of the few extant works from this period of the artist’s career, apart from his photographs. It is also one of his first works to employ seriality, albeit in printing. The prints—a series of woodcuts for which the wooden block was progressively striated with incised lines—are transformed from solid black to black and white across fourteen stages; like Cy + Roman Steps (I–V), these stages can only be properly read and understood in succession.
rudygodinez:

Robert Rauschenberg, Cy + Roman Steps (I-V),(1952)
 When hung side by side in a tight row, as they are meant to be seen and displayed, the images in Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) demonstrate a remarkable temporal and spatial progression. In the first photograph, all we see is a series of steps punctuated at the top center of the image by a pair of feet and legs cropped at the shin. Apparently standing on one of several landings that interrupt the vertiginous series of 124 marble steps leading up to the Basilica di Santa Maria (which is on the highest summit of the Campidoglio), Twombly seems to cast no shadow. The high contrast of the black-and-white print accentuates the intensity of the harsh late-summer Roman sun as it glances off the stark white stone, revealing details such as the cracks in the marble, the joins between slabs, and the scuff marks and erosion begotten by centuries of use. In the second photograph the viewpoint remains largely fixed, moving up slightly to reveal a glimpse of the church facade at the top and a bit of the staircase’s stone banister in the upper left corner. The figure of Twombly, however, has descended ten or so stairs to occupy more of the picture, and his legs are cropped by the edge of the image just below crotch level. His shadow rakes across two of the steps behind him, foregrounding not only the strong horizontal and vertical axes of these photographs but also Rauschenberg’s interest in the indexical trace of shadows as an analog for the process of photography itself, a phenomenon also explored in the earlier work Quiet House-Black Mountain, (1949).
 Indeed, the spatial and temporal progressions contained within Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) are consistently measured against the photographs’ horizontal and vertical grids. There is something cinematic about the images in this series, which resemble film stills in their fractured efforts to capture time cumulatively. In the third photograph Twombly has advanced another four stairs toward Rauschenberg; his body is visible below the level of his torso, as are his hands. He is presumably standing on another landing, and no shadow can be seen. The image frame has also crept up farther, cropping the bottom step while revealing a larger sliver of the unfinished brick facade of the church in the background. More of the stone banister enclosing the right side of the staircase also edges into view. In the fourth photograph Twombly is much closer to the camera’s lens, and he occupies a great deal of the image. Here we see his entire lower body (clad in blue jeans and moccasins) and his forearms, and he again casts a strong shadow over the two stairs behind him. The angle of the photograph has also moved horizontally toward the proper right of the staircase. The substantial advance in Twombly’s descent is explained by the fact that there was originally an additional photograph in this series. That image, which Rauschenberg ultimately chose to omit, would have appeared between the third and fourth photographs. In the final image Twombly’s midsection so fills the frame that the hair on his forearms is silhouetted against the blanched steps, which are now merely acting as a backdrop to the cropped close-up of his body. His wristwatch is clearly visible, reminding us of the extent to which these photographs engage the passage of time. This effort to capture time, pacing it out spatially and temporally through a medium-specific process of seriality, is also reminiscent of Rauschenberg’s This Is the First Half of a Print Designed to Exist in Passing Time (1949), which bears the distinction of being one of the few extant works from this period of the artist’s career, apart from his photographs. It is also one of his first works to employ seriality, albeit in printing. The prints—a series of woodcuts for which the wooden block was progressively striated with incised lines—are transformed from solid black to black and white across fourteen stages; like Cy + Roman Steps (I–V), these stages can only be properly read and understood in succession.
rudygodinez:

Robert Rauschenberg, Cy + Roman Steps (I-V),(1952)
 When hung side by side in a tight row, as they are meant to be seen and displayed, the images in Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) demonstrate a remarkable temporal and spatial progression. In the first photograph, all we see is a series of steps punctuated at the top center of the image by a pair of feet and legs cropped at the shin. Apparently standing on one of several landings that interrupt the vertiginous series of 124 marble steps leading up to the Basilica di Santa Maria (which is on the highest summit of the Campidoglio), Twombly seems to cast no shadow. The high contrast of the black-and-white print accentuates the intensity of the harsh late-summer Roman sun as it glances off the stark white stone, revealing details such as the cracks in the marble, the joins between slabs, and the scuff marks and erosion begotten by centuries of use. In the second photograph the viewpoint remains largely fixed, moving up slightly to reveal a glimpse of the church facade at the top and a bit of the staircase’s stone banister in the upper left corner. The figure of Twombly, however, has descended ten or so stairs to occupy more of the picture, and his legs are cropped by the edge of the image just below crotch level. His shadow rakes across two of the steps behind him, foregrounding not only the strong horizontal and vertical axes of these photographs but also Rauschenberg’s interest in the indexical trace of shadows as an analog for the process of photography itself, a phenomenon also explored in the earlier work Quiet House-Black Mountain, (1949).
 Indeed, the spatial and temporal progressions contained within Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) are consistently measured against the photographs’ horizontal and vertical grids. There is something cinematic about the images in this series, which resemble film stills in their fractured efforts to capture time cumulatively. In the third photograph Twombly has advanced another four stairs toward Rauschenberg; his body is visible below the level of his torso, as are his hands. He is presumably standing on another landing, and no shadow can be seen. The image frame has also crept up farther, cropping the bottom step while revealing a larger sliver of the unfinished brick facade of the church in the background. More of the stone banister enclosing the right side of the staircase also edges into view. In the fourth photograph Twombly is much closer to the camera’s lens, and he occupies a great deal of the image. Here we see his entire lower body (clad in blue jeans and moccasins) and his forearms, and he again casts a strong shadow over the two stairs behind him. The angle of the photograph has also moved horizontally toward the proper right of the staircase. The substantial advance in Twombly’s descent is explained by the fact that there was originally an additional photograph in this series. That image, which Rauschenberg ultimately chose to omit, would have appeared between the third and fourth photographs. In the final image Twombly’s midsection so fills the frame that the hair on his forearms is silhouetted against the blanched steps, which are now merely acting as a backdrop to the cropped close-up of his body. His wristwatch is clearly visible, reminding us of the extent to which these photographs engage the passage of time. This effort to capture time, pacing it out spatially and temporally through a medium-specific process of seriality, is also reminiscent of Rauschenberg’s This Is the First Half of a Print Designed to Exist in Passing Time (1949), which bears the distinction of being one of the few extant works from this period of the artist’s career, apart from his photographs. It is also one of his first works to employ seriality, albeit in printing. The prints—a series of woodcuts for which the wooden block was progressively striated with incised lines—are transformed from solid black to black and white across fourteen stages; like Cy + Roman Steps (I–V), these stages can only be properly read and understood in succession.
rudygodinez:

Robert Rauschenberg, Cy + Roman Steps (I-V),(1952)
 When hung side by side in a tight row, as they are meant to be seen and displayed, the images in Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) demonstrate a remarkable temporal and spatial progression. In the first photograph, all we see is a series of steps punctuated at the top center of the image by a pair of feet and legs cropped at the shin. Apparently standing on one of several landings that interrupt the vertiginous series of 124 marble steps leading up to the Basilica di Santa Maria (which is on the highest summit of the Campidoglio), Twombly seems to cast no shadow. The high contrast of the black-and-white print accentuates the intensity of the harsh late-summer Roman sun as it glances off the stark white stone, revealing details such as the cracks in the marble, the joins between slabs, and the scuff marks and erosion begotten by centuries of use. In the second photograph the viewpoint remains largely fixed, moving up slightly to reveal a glimpse of the church facade at the top and a bit of the staircase’s stone banister in the upper left corner. The figure of Twombly, however, has descended ten or so stairs to occupy more of the picture, and his legs are cropped by the edge of the image just below crotch level. His shadow rakes across two of the steps behind him, foregrounding not only the strong horizontal and vertical axes of these photographs but also Rauschenberg’s interest in the indexical trace of shadows as an analog for the process of photography itself, a phenomenon also explored in the earlier work Quiet House-Black Mountain, (1949).
 Indeed, the spatial and temporal progressions contained within Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) are consistently measured against the photographs’ horizontal and vertical grids. There is something cinematic about the images in this series, which resemble film stills in their fractured efforts to capture time cumulatively. In the third photograph Twombly has advanced another four stairs toward Rauschenberg; his body is visible below the level of his torso, as are his hands. He is presumably standing on another landing, and no shadow can be seen. The image frame has also crept up farther, cropping the bottom step while revealing a larger sliver of the unfinished brick facade of the church in the background. More of the stone banister enclosing the right side of the staircase also edges into view. In the fourth photograph Twombly is much closer to the camera’s lens, and he occupies a great deal of the image. Here we see his entire lower body (clad in blue jeans and moccasins) and his forearms, and he again casts a strong shadow over the two stairs behind him. The angle of the photograph has also moved horizontally toward the proper right of the staircase. The substantial advance in Twombly’s descent is explained by the fact that there was originally an additional photograph in this series. That image, which Rauschenberg ultimately chose to omit, would have appeared between the third and fourth photographs. In the final image Twombly’s midsection so fills the frame that the hair on his forearms is silhouetted against the blanched steps, which are now merely acting as a backdrop to the cropped close-up of his body. His wristwatch is clearly visible, reminding us of the extent to which these photographs engage the passage of time. This effort to capture time, pacing it out spatially and temporally through a medium-specific process of seriality, is also reminiscent of Rauschenberg’s This Is the First Half of a Print Designed to Exist in Passing Time (1949), which bears the distinction of being one of the few extant works from this period of the artist’s career, apart from his photographs. It is also one of his first works to employ seriality, albeit in printing. The prints—a series of woodcuts for which the wooden block was progressively striated with incised lines—are transformed from solid black to black and white across fourteen stages; like Cy + Roman Steps (I–V), these stages can only be properly read and understood in succession.
rudygodinez:

Robert Rauschenberg, Cy + Roman Steps (I-V),(1952)
 When hung side by side in a tight row, as they are meant to be seen and displayed, the images in Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) demonstrate a remarkable temporal and spatial progression. In the first photograph, all we see is a series of steps punctuated at the top center of the image by a pair of feet and legs cropped at the shin. Apparently standing on one of several landings that interrupt the vertiginous series of 124 marble steps leading up to the Basilica di Santa Maria (which is on the highest summit of the Campidoglio), Twombly seems to cast no shadow. The high contrast of the black-and-white print accentuates the intensity of the harsh late-summer Roman sun as it glances off the stark white stone, revealing details such as the cracks in the marble, the joins between slabs, and the scuff marks and erosion begotten by centuries of use. In the second photograph the viewpoint remains largely fixed, moving up slightly to reveal a glimpse of the church facade at the top and a bit of the staircase’s stone banister in the upper left corner. The figure of Twombly, however, has descended ten or so stairs to occupy more of the picture, and his legs are cropped by the edge of the image just below crotch level. His shadow rakes across two of the steps behind him, foregrounding not only the strong horizontal and vertical axes of these photographs but also Rauschenberg’s interest in the indexical trace of shadows as an analog for the process of photography itself, a phenomenon also explored in the earlier work Quiet House-Black Mountain, (1949).
 Indeed, the spatial and temporal progressions contained within Cy + Roman Steps (I–V) are consistently measured against the photographs’ horizontal and vertical grids. There is something cinematic about the images in this series, which resemble film stills in their fractured efforts to capture time cumulatively. In the third photograph Twombly has advanced another four stairs toward Rauschenberg; his body is visible below the level of his torso, as are his hands. He is presumably standing on another landing, and no shadow can be seen. The image frame has also crept up farther, cropping the bottom step while revealing a larger sliver of the unfinished brick facade of the church in the background. More of the stone banister enclosing the right side of the staircase also edges into view. In the fourth photograph Twombly is much closer to the camera’s lens, and he occupies a great deal of the image. Here we see his entire lower body (clad in blue jeans and moccasins) and his forearms, and he again casts a strong shadow over the two stairs behind him. The angle of the photograph has also moved horizontally toward the proper right of the staircase. The substantial advance in Twombly’s descent is explained by the fact that there was originally an additional photograph in this series. That image, which Rauschenberg ultimately chose to omit, would have appeared between the third and fourth photographs. In the final image Twombly’s midsection so fills the frame that the hair on his forearms is silhouetted against the blanched steps, which are now merely acting as a backdrop to the cropped close-up of his body. His wristwatch is clearly visible, reminding us of the extent to which these photographs engage the passage of time. This effort to capture time, pacing it out spatially and temporally through a medium-specific process of seriality, is also reminiscent of Rauschenberg’s This Is the First Half of a Print Designed to Exist in Passing Time (1949), which bears the distinction of being one of the few extant works from this period of the artist’s career, apart from his photographs. It is also one of his first works to employ seriality, albeit in printing. The prints—a series of woodcuts for which the wooden block was progressively striated with incised lines—are transformed from solid black to black and white across fourteen stages; like Cy + Roman Steps (I–V), these stages can only be properly read and understood in succession.