Kate Moss by Corinne Day
Corrine Day passed away last year on August 27th
Twins: Houses in Five Parts
Upstate New York, 2009-2011
This design proposal for two vacation homes for two brothers and their families on one plot of land in upstate New York represents an examination of a curious part to whole relationship. The mathematical principle of “dissection” states that any two regular polygons with equal areas can be divided into sets of similar shapes; “minimal dissection” is the pursuit of the fewest number of subdivisions in each polygon. This scheme appropriates this principle as a solution to (1) general similarities in the programmatic requirements, and (2) distinctions in the desired relationships to the site, voiced by the two brothers for each of their homes.
A regular six-sided polygon and a regular four-sided polygon contain the same five shapes—each are made up of the same four trapezoids and one triangle. The adjacencies between the five shapes are different within each of the regular polygons, as are their orientations relative to the outer perimeters of the polygons. Translated into spatial divisions in an architectural plan, these fixed arrangements prompt sectional-flexibility. Conceptually, in section the floor planes and the roof planes are configured in order to accommodate strategic micro-topographic continuities and discontinuities across the collective surfaces.
Flows in circulation of residents and water govern possible configurations of the floorscapes and roofscapes respectively. An overall articulation of the five volumes as discrete parts acts as a second ambition which directs the possible formal outcomes of the houses. Programmatically, the pairs of parts are used similarly between the two houses, although each programmatic piece utilizes its unique adjacencies; for example, the triangular space is used as a vertically-oriented, sun room in the center of the square house, and as a landscape-oriented, screened-in porch in the hexagonal house.
Proximity of houses relative to one another is calibrated through the development of the agricultural usage of the interstitial land. Water collection from the two roofs is directed to a subterranean piping system between the houses. The agricultural development of the land between the two houses separates them visually (to varying degrees depending on season) while linking them inextricably, both infrastructurally and communally. Water dispersal stems from two pairs of “water channels” embedded in two walls in each house. The planometric dovetailing of four different crops, which oscillate in harvest seasons, accommodates different proximities of crops to each of the houses. Leaf vegetables, berries, wheat and corn are braided together in order to provide each house immediate access to each food type.
Materially, the houses remain abstract, to offer a reading of the forms as packages of discrete volumes with orientational differences made possible by the large apertures. There is a rubber roofing system that is used for the tops of the houses and dark, thick stucco that coats the sides and underbellies of the houses.
A micro and macro transformative journey that explores the poetry and evolution of human form and movement for Berlin-based fashion label, Umasan.
By John Seabrook, from The New Yorker, September 18, 2000
About four years ago, in a men’s store called Camouflage, in Chelsea, I tried on some trousers. They were perfectly ordinary-looking thin-wale corduroys, and yet something about them was different: the fabric was softer, the color was slightly subtler than basic black. The pants were unpleated, the rise was high, the leg slim. There was a loop for the button over the rear pocket, and an inner waist button-details you don’t often find on sportswear. Was this fashion? Perhaps, but it was hidden; only I would know. The label was inside, too, small and not at all logomaniacal—just the words “Helmut Lang” in black on white. It seemed intended to evoke the “tickets” you find inside bespoke suits from made-to-measure tailors. The pants cost a hundred and twenty dollars—not bad, as designer clothes go. I bought them.
This encounter occurred during my quest to shed the preppy uniforms I’d been wearing in the fifteen years since college—a tux for formal occasions, a suit for church and funerals, a blue blazer and tailored slacks for looking “smart,” a polo shirt and khakis for going out on weekends—and to find a more casual style, one that was better suited to the identity I was imagining for myself. (Clothes, of course, are not so much about who you are as who you want to be.) I had discovered the melancholy truth that men everywhere have learned as they try to master the new casual style at the office: dressing casually actually requires that a man take fashion more seriously than dressing formally does. The new casual, like the old casual, is supposed to give an appearance of ease, of comfort with yourself. But, unlike the old casual, the new casual is all about status. “Casual Power,” a recent style guide by Sherry Maysonave, describes a hierarchy with six different levels of casual attire: Active Casual, Rugged Casual (also called “outdoorsy”), Sporty Casual, Smart Casual (or “snappy”), Dressy Casual, and Business Casual. This may be the most depressing thing about the casual movement: no clothing is casual anymore.
Helmut Lang, the Austrian-born designer, seemed to understand exactly what I needed—a uniform for the new casual world. I bought some more of his clothes: a ribbed cotton sweater that didn’t stretch like my other cotton sweaters; a few pairs of khakis, which had a pleasingly crisp finish; a denim shirt; a woollen sweater in a beautiful straw color; and a pair of jeans. They were intelligent clothes, designed for a maximum number of situations, both work and play, which increasingly seem to be performed in the same outfits.
But there was also a deceptive aspect to my new uniforms. They appeared to be casual, but they were not, and I knew they weren’t. The designer seemed to be playing off this stealthy quality by hiding certain nonfunctional fashion elements inside the clothes, such as the faux drawstrings inside the waistband of otherwise totally ordinary chinos. This hidden streak extends to the way the clothes are presented. The Helmut Lang store in SoHo, which was designed in close collaboration with Richard Gluckman, a New York-based architect of galleries and museums, violates the most basic principle of retail design: you are supposed to be able to see the merchandise. Here the clothes are concealed from view when you walk in—enclosed inside alcoves in the middle of the store. Hiding, it seems, is part of who Helmut Lang is. Read the rest of this entry »
The Boys are Back on the Block
Limited Edition Release
i wanna love you so bad
fuck Ivy League girls, I wanna marry a supermodel
Ray Manzarek, the keyboardist of The Doors, reminisced in a recent radio show how he helped Jim Morrison get leather pants. Ray recalled how Jim brought the subject up.
– I wanna wear leather pants.
– Why, man?
– Like Marlon Brando in The Fugitive Kind.
– Oh, I got you, like Marlon Brando snake-skin jacket?
– Exactly, man. I cannot afford a snake-skin jacket, but we can afford a pair of leather pants.
– Where can I get ‘em?
– God, you know, at a cowboy store? I don’t know where you get leather pants, Jim, but let me look around.
There was a leather shop in Beverly Hills, on Little Santa Monica Boulevard, kept by an old tailor from Germany. Ray went into the shop.
– Can you make leather pants?
– But of course I can make leather pants. That’s what I do here.
– Show me some leather.
– This is glove leather. Look at this, this is kid glove leather.
Ray felt the leather. It was the softest leather he had ever felt. In a little while, Ray returned to the shop with Jim.
– Feel this leather, man. Bring out that kid glove leather. Jim, look at this, man.
– This is perfect, this is it, man. This is soft, that’s what I want.
– I thought you wanted something like stiff kind of leather, like cow…
– I don’t want cow hide, man, I want this kid glove leather, that’s what I want.
Ray asked the tailor whether he could make a pair of pants out of the leather. The tailor was skeptical.
– That is for gloves! You do not make pants, why do you think it’s called glove leather? It’s kid glove leather. That’s for gloves. You cannot make pants out of it.
Jim insisted and the tailor agreed.
– Can’t you make me a pair of pants?
– Well, you know, I can. I’ve never done it… I can do it. I can work anything in leather. Let me take your measurements.
The tailor was in for another surprise.
– What kind of a cut do you like? You like this with a double pleat and do you like a lot of room and…
– No, no, no. Cut them like jeans. Cut my pants like Levi’s.
– What?! You want this finest leather cut like Levi’s? Like cowboy pants? What is the matter with you?
– That’s what I want.
– All right, I will do it. Come back in two weeks.
The tailor took Jim’s measurements and sure enough, in two weeks the leather pants were ready. Ray remembers being impressed.
– They were super. They just fit. They were like snake skin. He looked like a snake, man. He looked like a black mamba. He put on those leather pants and from the waist down he had turned into a black mamba. That was the beginning of the reign of Jim Morrison the sex symbol, Jim Morrison the sex idol, on stage, when he became the black mamba. That was it, man, it was all over. All the women who saw him just absolutely fell in love.
PJ Monte © All Rights Reserved
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All Images Excerpt from Dondoro- Estelle Hanania
Taken from THVM RAG blog.
Be sure to check out the hard copy of THVM RAG ISSUE III in a magazine shop near you. Art Direction by our homie Hassan Rahim. From the young buck at 24kGOLD VGRNTS when we were both still in high school, all the way through Freshjive and Obey, to where he is now, I’ve watched Hassan’s portfolio grow steadily and it’s rather inspiring.