May 11, 2007
Art Review | 'Poiret: King of Fashion'
What to Wear to a Revolution
Anna Marie Kellen/Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris
Paul Poiret’s 1905 Révérend Coat, embellished with Chinese roundels.
By
ROBERTA SMITH
“Poiret: King of Fashion,” the
Metropolitan Museum of Art’s sumptuous survey of the designs of the French couturier Paul Poiret (1879-1944), will transform your understanding of the origin of modern fashion. Its radiant hand-painted silk backdrops may also increase your appreciation of the art of set design; they magically create an immersive beauty out of almost nothing.
Poiret’s achievement is not as visible today as that of Coco Chanel, who built on some of his ideas and discarded others. His fashion house closed in 1929, and he spent his remaining years impoverished. But Poiret was for a while a revolutionary in revolutionary times and also a canny impresario. His radically streamlined, unstructured, often stridently colored clothes freed women from corsets while evoking exotic, non-Western cultures and a fierce disregard for social convention.
He introduced these corset-free garments in 1906, the year before
Picasso committed his decidedly uninhibited (and unstaid) “Demoiselles d’Avignon” to canvas. But with his love of the exotic, his brilliant use of color and pattern, and his penchant for simplified, almost rudimentary form, Poiret most resembles
Matisse.
Poiret functioned as a kind of one-man cultural scene. He collected art, gave lavish costume parties and made astute use of the press while laying the groundwork for fashion design as a modern art and a modern business. His clients included
Sarah Bernhardt, Nancy Cunard, Isadora Duncan, Colette and Helena Rubinstein. Man Ray photographed Peggy Guggenheim in a Poiret gown and turban. Edward Steichen’s first fashion photographs were taken of models in Poiret’s atelier.
He was the first designer to understand the value of designing for well-known actresses both onstage and off. He was also the first to create his own line of perfume, named Rosine, for his eldest daughter, and the first to open an interior design store, Atelier Martine, named for his second daughter but inspired by the Weiner Werkstätte. His innovations included the chemise, harem pants and pantaloons and the popular lampshade skirt. When he visited the United States in 1913, he found himself called the king of fashion and discovered the underside of modern fashion success: His lampshade skirt was being copied far and wide.
Organized by Harold Koda and Andrew Bolton, who are curator in charge and curator of the Met’s
Costume Institute, “Poiret: King of Fashion” conveys quite a bit of his complex genius and his contradictory relationship with modernity. It displays 50 garments on mannequins (by Beyond Design) whose ovoid faces and cryptic features evoke Brancusi and Modigliani. The silk backdrops, which are the work of Jean-Hugues de Chatillon, a French set designer who served as the exhibition’s creative consultant, accent the show’s spaciousness with indelibly Parisian vistas of leafy parks, chic theaters and luxurious drawing rooms. All told you may have the sensation of drifting through a series of extraordinarily beautiful fashion illustrations, an art that Poiret cultivated to his advantage.
Poiret’s liberation of the female body was in part inspired by the gamine build and independent spirit of his wife and muse, Denise, whom he married in 1905. In other ways it was born of necessity. Although he was initiated into the couturier business between 1898 and 1903, working as a designer for Jacques Doucet and then the House of Worth, Poiret never trained in the exacting crafts of couture tailoring or dressmaking.
His design ideas began with the flat, rectangle of the fabric itself, as did the Japanese kimonos and North African caftans he admired. They then evolved through draping, not tailoring, into garments with a minimum of seams that pretty much hung from the shoulders.
Poiret drew from a broad range of sources. Early in the show there is a trio of nightgowns, based on the Classical Greek gown known as the chiton, that are precursors to the 1950s negligee and the early 21st-century socialite party dress. To one side of these are two white high-waisted dresses that hark back to the severe yet demure gowns of post-Revolution France, displayed with an Atelier Martine chair that has bubbly hand-painted fabric.
Nearby is evidence of Poiret’s attraction to a more ornate form of non-Western dress: a gauzy harem outfit studded with enormous beads of turquoise celluloid that Denise might have worn to their most famous fete, “The Thousand and Second Night” costume party on June 24, 1911.
But turn around and you will see a stark simplicity that may take you aback: a gown that resembles nothing so much as a 1960s abstract painting. Wrapped gracefully around a mannequin, it has no sleeves or collar to speak of, just four broad, alternating bands of stylishly darkened red and blue.
Poiret’s best clothes were abstract in a very real sense, with a kind of self-evident structure that is a precursor of Minimalism, as well as of clothing designs as different as those of Rei Kawakubo, Hussein Chalayan and Andrea Zittel. His basic form was a cylinder, with or without sleeves attached. It appeared in his work as early as 1905 in his Révérend Coat embellished with Chinese roundels. The first garment in the show, it is worn over a white, lacy, high-necked, pinch-waisted Edwardian gown, like those Poiret designed at the beginning of his career. The sartorial conflict accents the shock of the newness of his sense of form, structure and color.
His best known and most audacious designs are a series of full-length columnar opera coats that begin in 1911 and culminate in the 1919 Paris Evening Coat, merely a swath of uncut fabric with a single seam. In a wonderful bit of exhibition magic this Möbius-like feat is demonstrated in a brief digital animation projected on a scrim that then turns transparent, revealing the actual coat behind it.
But even without digital aids you can see how his garments are built, step by step. A day coat began as a black satin jacket based on a Chinese robe. To this he added four strips of cream-colored wool jacquard striped horizontally with thin lines of brown for two cuffs, a simple folded-over collar and a slightly gathered skirt that reaches almost to the floor.
The contrast of fabrics joined in this single form is elegantly harsh, like a combination of Hudson Bay blanket and black tie. A similar contrast is drawn more closely in a jumperlike dress made of gold-lamé twill.
Poiret followed modernity only so far. By the mid 1920s Chanel was designing convenient, understated clothes for women enjoying an increased sense of physical and social freedom in the wake of World War I. But Poiret ignored the shorter skirts and trimmer lines and continued enveloping women in luxurious garments that began to look cumbersome.
To accent the contrast the curators end the show with an early version of Chanel’s little black dress, in layered chiffon with a subtly asymmetrical hem. Even though you can appreciate the importance of Poiret’s groundbreaking innovations, the Chanel is the garment whose elegance feels completely contemporary. Too bad they’re not selling copies in the gift shop.
“Poiret: King of Fashion” is at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Fifth Avenue at 82nd Street, (212) 535-7710, through Aug. 5.
Anna Marie Kellen/Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris
Paul Poiret’s 1905 Révérend Coat, embellished with Chinese roundels.
Man Ray Trust/Artists Rights Society (ARS)/ADAGP
A 1923 Man Ray photograph of Peggy Guggenheim wearing a dress by Poiret.
Photograph by the Metropolitan Museum of Art
A fancy dress costume (1911), with seafoam green silk gauze and cellulose beading.
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Pink cotton gauze neglige (1920).
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Gold lame dress (1923).
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Brown silk velvet, fuchsia silk crepe and gold metallic coiled thread applique (1919).
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Bois de Boulogne dinner dress (1919), made of multicolored printed silk with medieval scene motifs.
Metropolitan Museum of Art
La Parisienne (1925), made of navy wool broadcloth, red wool twill, ivory cotton voile and applied ribbon of ivory and blue silk satin with printed trompe l'oeil button motifs.
Thanks so much to all of the contributors of this thread, especially MissMagAddict and DosViolines (they're not letting me karma either of you!)
I just realized I'm going to be in NYC next weekend and we're going to the Met....SO I GET TO SEE THIS SHOW!!! Woot indeed! 
People think I'm weird enough! 
