Karl Lagerfeld has died at the age of 85. His iconic figure remains intact in his enigmatic way of appearing and being.
Bright white hair, completely without any hint of colour, timeless, but which actually releases a certain distillate of sadness, as if old age were a fault and not a destination, to which one can arrive in the big group, out of breath and with the ravages of time, implacable and blasphemous. K.L. displayed all his majesty, with dark glasses even at night and a puffy shirt collar, tall and white, sculpturing the black of everything else. A composed face, without pointless smiles and stupid emotionality, in short, just right. Physique de rôle, celebrated by Helmut Newton and David Bailey, his contaminated and contaminating genius has so many facets that it can be referred to as Baroque, Art Deco, but also simple industrialism from homes and hospitals, in a multifaceted and eclectic modernity, which was him and always speaks of him.
His words: “What I like about collecting is creating a mood, putting things together and then… go" and so, two years after his death, his personal museum has gone and is going under the hammer; on the one hand a celebration for the market and on the other a shame not to have preserved his style of being and having, fundamental for writing the memory of our time, of which he was a protagonist in the footsteps of Dior, Balenciaga, Versace, in the company of Valentino, Armani, Missoni. To draw a comparison, I think of Andy Warhol, with his great collecting taste, with thousands of precious objects, hidden or displayed in the houses of his life. Sotheby's has “dispersed”, as they say, almost seven hundred lots, including his fingerless leather gloves and the plates on which food was served to his Burmese cat Choupette. Not greed in him, but the pleasure of collecting, more than possessing.
A great one!
KLESSIDRA | EDITED BY FRANCESCO GALLO MAZZEO
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