When I first stumbled across this image of Eric Gill’s sculpture from an exhibition of his work, “The Body,” I was captivated. The intentional yet smooth lines carved into the stone were complimented by the elements of cubism fused into the work. The woman’s body on display looks as if it is resting in an intermediate plane. She exists in two separate worlds but isn’t present enough in either to be seen without there being a certain faintness to her. Her right arm is contorted and her hand is clutching at her long, seemingly endless strands of hair, which frame her body, leaving it open and unconcealed. Her left hand lies open, her hair cascading over her palm. Her eyes are closed, her neck and head are bent to the right, and it looks as if she is being pressed against a surface as her facial features are flat and don’t protrude at all. The woman’s breasts are simple and round, depicted at a slant due to the odd positioning of her right shoulder and arm with a small nipple present in the middle of each. A faint line rests in the midst of her stomach trailing off in the direction of her navel.

The total composition of the piece intrigued me, especially the way in which he sculpted it so that the subject seems trapped within this chunk of rock. Because I found this sculpture fascinating, I wanted to see more of Gill’s creations and quickly searched his name on Google. To my disappointment, various articles citing the atrocious acts of Gill’s life, including child abuse and sexual assault appeared in the search results. This knowledge completely altered my perspective of the work especially because it is a display of a woman’s body––a type of body that Gill doesn’t seem to respect or deem worthy of such based the treatment he gave his daughters and other women in his life. These acts that he committed immediately made his artwork less desirable and intriguing to me. Instead, looking at this nude sculpture caused me to wonder whose body it was and if it was the body of one of his daughters.

In this specific case, I decided that it wouldn’t be a good piece to present to the YUAG because there are circumstances under which you cannot separate the art from the artist. This is one of those instances. I could not justify advocating that the art of someone with such an abusive past should be put on display so that he could receive posthumous praise . There are other sculptures to be celebrated and other artists who are not problematic to be uplifted and admired. Even if Yale is complicit in acknowledging the histories of those who have problematic pasts, especially concerning sexual assault and abuse, its art galleries shouldn’t be engaging in the same type of behavior.They are open to everyone and should be spaces where we can just simply observe artwork, but also occasionally be challenged, but the challenge shouldn’t be deciding if we should admire the artwork of someone like Gill or condemn; we should simply not engage. Eric Gill is not less of an artist because of his past, but because his past influences the way people may view his work in such a direct way, I didn’t think that I could argue for it to be acquired by the YUAG.

(Graham Sutherland, Weeping Magdalen)

Initially, I really wanted to pitch Weeping Magdalen to the YCBA. I liked it for a number of reasons. The most obvious were the color choices. The greens, yellows, browns  and the purple are very unique in figurative painting. Coupled with the thrown back head of the painting’s subject, and the sharp corners in her clothing the painting evokes the feeling that something is wrong, that this woman is ill and in immense pain. Of course, after looking at the title the source of the woman’s pain is clear. Given the YCBA’s focus on British art and culture, I thought that this modern take of Mary Magdalen fit in nicely because of the integral role religion has played in the formation of modern England.

I ultimately decided not to include this portrait in part because of nicely it fit in with the collection, at least in subject matter. The YCBA is a wonderful museum; however, I feel that at least with their contemporary and modern collection they could push themselves further. Most of their figurative paintings on the 2nd floor depict either calm scenes of British life or overt references to Britain’s greatest stain, colonialism. Even though this painting doesn’t fit into those categories, it does fit in with themes on the 4th floor. I think that the YCBA needs to tell new stories from a difference set of perspectives (non-white,male etc) and that this should be their focus at least for a little while.

“This season there’s little willingness on the part of casual observers or passionate fans to forgive designers who get lost in their own imagination. There’s no patience for trussed or hobbling clothes. No patience for shows that send a homogeneous parade of wasted-youth models down the runway. To hell with the muses, the “it” girls and wannabe influencers.

What have designers got for a woman who takes her style seriously but also has work to do and a life to live?”

With her provocative title, authoritative remarks, and plentiful runway photographs, Givhan highlights exactly how the over-the-top ridiculousness in traditional runway fashion shows doesn’t help women. By deriding the obnoxiously unpractical clothing that previously dominated the industry as “hobbling” and “homogeneous,” she reveals a detachment between runway fashion and women who have “a life to live” outside of fashion. While I know pretty much nothing about high fashion, I still found the article compelling because she characterized the industry in ways I could understand. I particularly liked her comparison between the industry’s “wannabe influencers” and women who actually have “work to do.” By emphasizing this disconnect, she underscores why fashion designers should address it.

Questions:

1. Should fashion be relevant to the majority of Americans?
2. Does good clothing design need to be well-liked since its purpose is to support the person wearing it?

“NEW YORK — The American fashion industry is desperate to find fresh grist for its mill.

The gatekeepers of Seventh Avenue are declaring half-baked ideas ready for consumption. They’re elevating fleeting passions to the status of lifestyle brands. They’re allowing a thrill for unorthodox or jarring aesthetics to impede thoughtful consideration about technical skill and clarity of message.

At Gypsy Sport, designer Rio Uribe covered women’s nipples with sea shells and called it sustainable fashion. Designer Telfar Clemens showed Budweiser T-shirts and jeans with giant chunks of fabric hacked away, an idea that has become something of a signature. At Vaquera, there were hoodies and prom dresses and ripped-up T-shirts. And, well, they were just that. Nothing more.”

What I love about the way Givhan opens this article is how authoritatively she writes. Her sentences are succinct, punchy and unmistakable. She is absolutely unapologetic in her critique of fashion houses that probably do not receive as much pushback as they perhaps should. I also enjoyed the article because Givhan doesn’t just use her cutting words to slam major players in the industry but instead to call for much-needed, meaningful change and action within fashion. In particular, she uses the lack of creativity exhibited by these try-hard labels to argue for better representation and diversity among new designers who can bring superior ideas to the table.

Questions:

1. How did you find (or give yourself) authority?
2. In an industry that is constantly changing and thus where objectivity is devoid, how can you make judgements?

“This isn’t streetwear but clothes about life at street level,” she writes, “and the humanity of everyday people that is both universal and specific.

With so few words she covers so much ground. What’s striking about Givhan’s prose is its tone, how it never relinquishes its conversational lilt. To be readily accessible while packing in nuance and complications, it’s the mark of a capable critic who’s aware of a more general audience. Of course, that breadth of readership doesn’t mean she pulls punches. She’s frank in her assertions; each of those sentence-long paragraphs pop with confident certainty. That style makes her claims undeniable, especially important when she writes in support of a group that the art world and larger world have historically mistreated. “These ‘are’ just clothes in the same way that a black man sitting down at a lunch counter undisturbed is just a midday meal.”

Also to her advantage is her ability to reference. Instead of stretching for elegant adjectives all the time, she can throw in a famous name or group, sometimes to pay homage, other times to ground her image in something embedded in our cultural consciousness. I especially like this paragraph:

“There are hints of Mickalene Thomas’ glamorous portraiture, subversive references to a classic Madonna and child posture, the everyday beauty in a James Van Der Zee photograph and the contemporary confidence seen in so many neighborhood girls who don’t need a corporate glossy or some Instagram influencer to tell them how to look good.”

The list possesses so much range, dipping from religious iconography to Gen Z talk. With this, she effectively glides between the universal and the specific.

Two questions:

1. Is there a pressure to reach for any sort of social commentary when reviewing fashion? Does doing so lend a piece of writing more weight? Does it necessarily make that piece better?
2. Grad school: is it a must, a highly recommend, or an “if it suits you” type of deal? What’s getting a Master’s in journalism like if you’re interested in pursuing criticism?

A photo from Beyoncé’s Vogue Shoot

“The image recalls the aesthetic in the performer’s groundbreaking video opus “Lemonade,” with its lyrical visual references to plantations, slavery and Julie Dash’s “Daughters of the Dust.” For all the styling effort that went into the picture, from the intricacies of the dress to the grandeur of the headpiece, the photograph itself has an enticingly slapdash, fuzzy imperfection.”

Robin Givhan, in her review of Beyoncé’s Vogue cover, relates the image to her “Lemonade” project. The way Givhan describes the imagery present is delightful as “grandeur of the headpiece,” “enticingly slapdash,” and “fuzzy imperfection” roll off of the tongue especially when reading out loud, but satisfy the mind when reading to oneself. Especially because the images portrayed in “Lemonade” have to do with plantations and slavery, Givhan does a wonderful job of making this palatable to everyone through her descriptors.

Questions:

1. How far is too far when criticizing someone’s fashion?
2. What made you view fashion through this objective lens throughout life? And would you ever be able to write about yourself and your own fashion the way you write about that of celebrities?

The opening lines to Robin Givhan’s Washington Post article about Beyoncé’s Vogue cover were not what I expected whatsoever, and it was that surprise that pulled me into this article: “Beyoncé’s latest Vogue cover has been birthed into the world, and it is lovely. Which is a compliment. It’s historic, because it’s the first cover shot by an African American photographer.”

With that opening, Givhan has turned this piece into a celebration of the artist rather than the already famous subject. It isn’t even the photograph itself that Givhan praises – it’s the artist himself and his accomplishment of being the first to break this barrier. In every sense, from the rumpled background to the fuzzy quality of the image, the photograph seems to emphasize its own imperfection. The imperfections are meant to make us feel like we are there; the image is meant to feel intimate and bring the iconic persona of Beyoncé down to our own level. He wanted to show the star as a normal human with a natural body, using very little makeup and avoiding wigs or hair extensions. I really enjoyed learning that Beyoncé chose this photographer, Tyler Mitchell, not just for his notable photographs and experience, but also for the prospect of making history.

Two questions:

1. Since you’ve spent so long observing peoples’ choices when it comes to fashion, do you, in general, see fashion as a mask people use to hide behind or a platform for reflecting one’s true personality?
2. In this piece you rode a blurred line between discussing art (photography) and fashion (Beyoncé’s clothing/makeup choices), and you described the overall message of the photograph as a celebration of natural bodies and intimacy/balance between the subject and the viewer. Would you say the fashion in the photo or the photograph itself (composition, artistic techniques/decisions) plays a greater role in conveying this message?

In a 2009 issue of The New Yorker, Robin Givhan comments on the fashion of First Lady Michelle Obama: specifically pointing out her choice of sleeveless shirts. Givhan describes Obama’s limbs and argues that they: “imply vanity and power: two things that make many women uncomfortable and yet are fundamental to self-confidence.” I chose this article not because I believe it is Givhan’s strongest or most moving piece, but because I am deeply interested in why these words sound so unsettling. The article begins with a brief discussion of Obama’s legacy, followed by several backwards compliments that imply a woman above the age of forty is doing something revolutionary by going to the gym instead of spending every second taking care of her family or, apparently, watching Oprah. But these descriptors feel dated. Is it really so very vain to exercise? So bold to have one’s arms showing? It is a troubling suggestion that goes undeveloped in this short article.

Questions:

1. Do you feel like you are ever objectifying your subjects when you discuss their fashion choices at this level of detail, in such a personalized way?
2. Do these same levels of scrutiny and “implications” apply equally to male and female profiles?

“She was not hiding behind matronliness, androgyny or the stereotype of the steel magnolia. Rice brought her full self to the world stage — and that included her sexuality. It was not overt or inappropriate. If it was distracting, it is only because it is so rare.”

For my article I chose her article about Condoleezza Rice’s outfit that she wore to meet the troops at the Wiesbaden Army Airfield. When I looked at the photo of Rice’s outfit after I read the article, I was amazed by the amount of symbolism and social implications those pointy heels held in our culture. I was particularly interested in this article because you never think about the amount of thought these women of power have to put into the basic way they present themselves and how one slip could alter the respect of the public or act as a message. I love the way Givhan writes that Rice brings her sexuality to the table not because she is trying to seduce or provoke, but because it is a part of who she is and something she shouldn’t have to hind away, because men don’t. It is so frustrating to think that these women have to dull down their wardrobes and the way they present themselves so that it won’t get in the way of their jobs and their legitimacy. Why do clothes have to act as a mediator between strong women and the public so that people are able to digest that a woman is in power? No matter what, no matter the power a woman earns, there is some way she is suppressed and given boundaries and in this case, the suppression of character and sexuality through clothing does this.

Questions:

-When you dress yourself in the morning what runs through your mind? Do you attach the same level of interpretation and importance to your own wardrobe and the way you present yourself as you do with the people you write about?

-How did you concentrate specifically on the art form of fashion? What are the similarities and differences between writing about fashion and other art forms like painting or sculpture?

“No one could drop a fur like Aretha Franklin.

When she was performing, she didn’t slither out of her mink or her chinchilla as though she was doing a flirtatious little striptease for her audience’s pleasure. Instead, she discarded her fur coats as though she was shedding bothersome earthly shackles in order to commune directly with the Holy Spirit. The coat drop was a signal that Franklin, who died Thursday at 76, was ready to loose her full vocal power in a transformative sermon of gospel, soul and rhythm and blues.”

– Aretha Franklin, secret style icon: With the drop of a fur coat, she proclaimed her worth

One of the first articles I read for the class, Givhan’s tour de force on Aretha Franklin was the first article that alerted me to the power of fashion criticism. Not only did Givhan write sentences that were bold and a pleasure to read, but the way she weaved sociopolitical insights into her sartorial observations made for though-provoking commentary on the state of our cultural, ethnic, and gender perceptions. The article was particularly compelling because she not only talked about what Franklin wore but how she wore it. The sentence “she didn’t slither out of her mink … instead, she discarded her fur coats as though she was shedding” makes for such a powerful imagery. Franklin’s fur coats were a statement not because of how she wore it but because of how she un-wore it.

Two Questions:

1. You’re known for your criticisms of prominent political figures. Do you feel your commentaries have had an impact on their choice of attire?
2. What made you see fashion as a conduit for social and political commentary as opposed to the way conventional reviews treat fashion (i.e. as a choice of personal style, aesthetics, taste etc.)