Photographer: Willy Vanderperre. Model(s): Anok Yai. Source: Another Magazine. Stylist: Olivier Rizzo.
Posted Oct 06, 2020
Only one man could accomplish the impossible, making a group of gorgeous people wearing tattered and torn clothing look like a band of gypsy warriors going off to stage a coo. In the wrong hands these garments could look like trash. Excuse my bluntness, but, that’s a fact. Yet, here we see this play out like sartorial cinema. Ripped in just the right places, the fabric parts, showing us glimpses of raw skin. Material hangs down determined to hold it’s place in the pictorial patchwork. Capturing a sense of cinema, John G. proves once again his works aren’t merely pieces of clothing they are costumes of couture. He managed to make art appear both attached and detached, simultaneously. Haphazardly torn apart yet artfully sewn together. Random cuts expose the tattered ruins of our current system, ripped away from the tattered center and and patched back together with symbolic pride. Here lay the wreckage of reality covered by the canopy of creativity. Viewing the wreckage, I find myself moved.
Vanderperre invites you to escape into this world of mental majesty where only the truly inspired will survive. Sartorial Art is a Secretive Lover. One You Can Never Fully Understand. Yet Your Longing is Forever Felt. The Mental Music of Maison Margiela Artisanal Plays On.
HOLES EXPOSED…
inside the tattered ruins of wreckage
lay the bodies of the beautiful
artfully exposed, yet ruefully ravaged
these are the flowing tears of wasted years
pain and pleasure, agony and excess
feelings castaway like so much raw sewage
ripping through the yearnings of yesterday
here lays the harmony of heartbreak
In the Quiet Respite of My Longing
is a truth I’ll never know
of silent ties and lonely nights
that lay me out to dry
oh dear one don’t leave me here
on a cliff I can not climb
for it is here
in the darkened sphere
where truth I will not find
Left Behind
these images open the mind
to the poetry of harmony
to the sanctity of liberty
life is but a winding road
with nowhere left to go…
poetic prose – tanyajo