A Mannequin in Every Sense
By ERIC WILSON
Published: April 13, 2011
LITTLE more than a year ago, during a small posthumous presentation of the collection
Alexander McQueen had been designing in the days just before he killed himself, Polina Kasina, one of his favorite models, appeared in a form-fitting coat made of thousands of gold-painted duck feathers, worn over a full white skirt embroidered with gold threads. It was the final look of what would be Mr. McQueen’s final show.
So, by all accounts, it was an emotional moment when Ms. Kasina wore that outfit once again, in December, at a photo shoot in the London studio of Solve Sundsbo. Mr. Sundsbo, a photographer known for a style of digitally manipulated imagery that could be described as a modern mannerism, had been asked to document the designs that will be in the McQueen retrospective at the
Metropolitan Museum of Art for an accompanying catalog, “Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty” ($45).
It was a rare opportunity for the museum to photograph the clothes it will exhibit on a live model because most of the collection belongs to the McQueen archives, rather than the Met’s
Costume Institute, which prohibits a garment from ever being worn after its acquisition.
But you would hardly recognize Ms. Kasina in the images that appear in the finished book, which show the same pieces, seemingly photographed on a mannequin. At first glance, they look as if they had been composed in the traditional academic style of previous exhibition catalogs, one that suggests historically important clothing exists in an environment of perpetual sterility.
It is only when you recognize that the mannequin actually is Ms. Kasina, transformed through a combination of makeup, lighting and Photoshop, that the beauty of Mr. Sundsbo’s approach and its relevance to the work of Mr. McQueen begin to become apparent. “You are not certain whether it is real or fake,” said Andrew Bolton, the curator of the McQueen exhibition, which opens on May 4.
The rather difficult objective of the catalog was to illustrate a departed designer’s life in a way that was both editorially interesting (in the interest of the exhibition’s chief sponsor, the Alexander McQueen company) and academically sound (in the interest of the Costume Institute’s reputation). It is intended to be a reference book upon which future explorations of Mr. McQueen’s importance may be weighed, so it was important that its imagery convey the authority of the museum, not a fashion magazine.
At the same time, Mr. Bolton was intrigued by Mr. Sundsbo’s proposal to make models look like mannequins because it spoke to the blurring of boundaries — between good and evil, angels and demons, nature and technology, permanence and decay — that was a consistent theme of the McQueen collections. “The beauty of McQueen is that simultaneous feeling of awe and wonder mixed with fear and terror,” he said.
To create the images, Mr. Sundsbo photographed the collection on four models, including Ms. Kasina. Their bodies were coated with an alabaster acrylic paint, a new product from MAC cosmetics that, once dried, would not rub off on the clothes. Strings were tied around their wrists, waists and necks to suggest the joints where a mannequin’s parts would be assembled, details that were later emphasized with digital retouching during a laborious process that lasted more than two months.
In the final images, the models’ heads were replaced with featureless dummy heads or, in some cases, their heads were chopped off. The only evidence of their humanity is seen in the spaces where the paint, during the long shoots, began to chip off, a detail that Mr. Sundsbo found particularly appealing.
“The human started to break through,” Mr. Sundsbo said. “She is both artificial and flesh and blood.”