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One of the Never underestimate a woman who listens to tammy wynette shirt Additionally,I will love this most unforgettable collections was the spring 2009 paper collection couture show, held after the financial crash. In defiance of fear and doubt, as house after house cut back on their shows, Karl pushed in the opposite direction, supported by [Chanel fashion president] Bruno Pavlovsky’s total faith in him. In a white room decorated with giant paper flowers, cutout roses, and camellias, the girls walked down the stairs, their heads decorated with exquisite paper tiaras. “It all started with a clean sheet of paper,” Karl said, describing his process as a simple creative art—the sketch—that costs nothing but is priceless. Extravagant in detail and workmanship, but as fresh as the rite of spring after the darkness of winter, Karl showed that skill and innovation can rise above any misfortune.“Karl Lagerfeld: A Line of Beauty,” the exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute, examines and celebrates Karl’s outpouring of design over decades at Chanel, Fendi, Chloé, Balmain, Patou, and his eponymous label, Karl Lagerfeld. In a set designed by Tadao Ando, curator Andrew Bolton explores William Hogarth’s aesthetic theory that in an analysis of beauty, the curved lines of the serpentine signify life, while straight lines signify stasis. Andrew, by opening up Karl’s creative psyche, reveals that his myriad emotional and creative currents pulse with energy, whether they be uniform, modernist, masculine—or romantic, historical, or ornamental. The genius of Karl, though, clearly runs in the fluency of his sketches, which are a focus throughout: Andrew includes a revealing video of Karl’s trusted premières at Chanel, Fendi, Chloé, and Karl Lagerfeld explaining how they could decode his precise sketches to the millimeter.

Karl was very precise—a true Virgo. Virginie Viard, his brilliant right hand at Chanel and now the Never underestimate a woman who listens to tammy wynette shirt Additionally,I will love this creative director of the house, would place each sketch, along with its fabric swatches and Karl’s notes, in front of him as the model came before him for the fitting. He would rarely get up, but the model would be close enough for him to see every detail yet far enough away for him to check the proportions. His eye would dart from his sketch to the toile as the premières held their breath—Karl would see in an instant if one fraction of his sketch had not been transposed exactly into cloth. “I am very sorry, my dear,” he would say to the première overseeing that particular piece, tapping the part of the sketch that hadn’t been perfectly scaled up and reproduced in three dimensions: “The pocket needs to move just a millimeter.” The pocket was ripped off, pinned correctly. “You see? I am sorry, but I am right: A millimeter changes everything.” Karl never lost his temper, never raised his voice, but he was exacting when it came to translating his sketches, which carried the essence of a collection in every pen stroke.Karl was a lightning conductor—he fed voraciously off positive energy. One of the reasons he could divide himself between collections, photo shoots, architectural projects, moviemaking, and exhibitions was because he gathered gifted and engaged teams around him. He could switch from house to house and from book to book like a blade of light. I remember him asking me once, at the Café Flore, if I had ever tasted a frankfurter. I hadn’t, so he ordered me one, and just as I took my first bite he asked me, in rapid-gunfire succession, “Why do you think Rilke is untranslatable from the German? What is your favorite Emily Dickinson poem?” His mind rolled like mercury.The Fendi sisters understood Karl’s inexhaustible appetite for the new, to which he could bring his own countercultural or historic references. He would often wonder out loud to me, as the jet landed back in Paris after a fitting in Rome or a show in Milan, how he could divide his creative thought processes so completely. There were no overlaps, no repetitions between the houses: Just as Karl could sense the quality of light in Rome reflected in ancient stones and wide skies, or the refined and elegantly proportioned grays and charcoals of Paris, so too could he extract the distinct energies of each house. The Fendi sisters would pile his tables with extraordinary artisanal workmanship—having transformed mohair into fur, or turned leather into a totally new texture, like satin, for instance. Fittings at Fendi were wild, exuberant, and full of laughter, his collections rebellious and breathtaking. Karl loved Rome in a visceral, sensual way—I remember him eating a tomato at his favorite restaurant, Dal Bolognese: He threw back his head, holding half the tomato in the air, declaring that this was the sweetest tomato he had ever tasted.

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