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Conceptual Fashion: Design, Practice and Process.

Ms. Jane Morley

A Practice-Led Masters by Research Degree

Faculty of Creative Industries

Queensland University of Technology

Discipline: Fashion

Year of Submission: 2013

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Key Words

Conceptual fashion

Conceptual art

Fashion design

Design process

Fashion practice

Design system

Practice-led

Hussein Chalayan

Rei Kawakubo

Comme des Garçons

Issey Miyake

Yohji Yamamoto

Martin Margiela

Viktor & Rolf

Ann Demuelmeester

Junya Watanabe

Sol LeWitt

Joseph Kosuth

Lucy Lippard

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Abstract

While Conceptual fashion design practices have been a pervasive influence in fashion

since the early 1980s, there is little academic analysis that might explain how they are

distinct from conventional fashion design practices. In addition, fashion practitioners

have not historically contributed to fashion research. As a result, contemporary

fashion practitioners have difficulty setting critical contexts and expanding their creative

work as there is little relevant literature available from practitioner perspectives. This

project uses practice-led research to develop a discourse for understanding

Conceptual fashion design process and how it relates to more conventional fashion

design practices. In this exegesis I use Conceptual art as a lens to expand

understandings of Conceptual fashion and my own creative practice. This analysis

demonstrates that there are valuable connections to be drawn between Conceptual art

and Conceptual fashion practice. In particular, these connections reveal the

differences between the way Conceptual and more conventional fashion designers

relate to the conceptual and the visual in their design process. This exploration

demonstrates that while fashion is a visual field, Conceptual fashion designers produce

a more ‘intellectual’ type of fashion that uses the visual to communicate ideas that

question the nature of fashion. I explore the relevance of these ideas through

application and experimentation in my creative practice projects by drawing from

systems and rules identified in the work of early Conceptual artists and contemporary

Conceptual fashion designers.

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Table of Contents

……………………………………………………………....................................... Page

Keywords…………………………………………………………………………… 02

Abstract……………………………………………………………………………... 03

Table of contents………………………………………………………………….. 04

Table of figures……………………………………………………………………. 05

Statement of original authorship……………………………………………….. 06

Acknowledgements……………………………………………………………….. 07

Introduction…………………………………………………………………………. 09

Research Approach: Methodology and Rationale…………………………… 12

Contextual Review:………………………………………………………………… 17

I. Conventional Fashion…………………………………………………… 17

II. Conceptual Fashion…………………………………………………….. 22

Comparative Analysis:……………………………………………………………. 29

I. Art as idea/ fashion as idea…………………………………………….. 32

II. Fashion challenging the conventions of fashion…………………….. 40

III. Fashion dematerialised and demystified……………………………. 51

IV. Reflections……………………………………………………………... 60

Creative Practice: System-based creative processes……………………… 62

I. Creative Practice Project 1: three-sixty (2011)……………………… 65

i. Developing the design system ……………………………… 66

ii. Developing new working methods………………………….. 70

iii. Reflections……………………………………………………. 72

II. Creative Practice Project 2: in the round (2011-2012)…………….. 73

i. Developing the design system ………………………………. 74

ii. Developing new working methods………………………….. 77

iii. Developing construction and fabrication methods……….. 85

iv. Colour selection and surface decoration………………….. 90

v. Reflections…………………………………………………….. 92

Conclusion…………………………………………………………………………. 94

References…………………………………………………………………………. 98

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Table of figures

Figure 1 Hussein Chalayan Spring Summer 2011 collection, Sakoku.…..…………… 34

Figure 2 Hussein Chalayan Autumn Winter 2000 collection, Afterwords.…………….. 35

Figure 3 Comme des Garçons Spring Summer 1997 “Lumps and Bumps” collection. 36

Figure 4 Yohji Yamamoto Autumn Winter 1984 catalogue………..…………………... 42

Figure 5 Yohji Yamamoto Spring Summer 1983 collection.…..………………………. 44

Figure 6 Issey Miyake Pleats Please garment, Zig Zag…..…………………………... 48

Figure 7 Issey Miyake A-POC Spring Summer collection 1999……………….….…… 50

Figure 8 Viktor & Rolf ‘on strike’ flier, Autumn Winter 1996-7……..………………….. 53

Figure 9 Viktor & Rolf Spring Summer 1997 campaign poster for ‘Le Parfum’……..... 54

Figure 10 Maison Martin Margiela Semi-couture garments (1996)……….…………… 57

Figure 11 Maison Martin Margiela Spring Summer 2002 shirt………………………… 59

Figure 12 A design and flat drawings from creative practice project, three-sixty ……. 65

Figure 13 Junya Watanabe Autumn Winter 1998 collection….……………………..… 67

Figure 14 Ann Demeulemeester’s Spring Summer 1999 collection…………….…… 68

Figure 15 Maison Martin Margiela’s Spring Summer 1990 collection………………… 69

Figure 16 Working drawings for three-sixty…………………………….……………… 71

Figure 17 Hussein Chalayan Autumn Winter 2000 collection, Afterwords…………… 72

Figure 18 Methods of cutting and slashing circles (in-the-round)…..…….…………… 74

Figure 19 Issey Miyake project 132 5……………………………….….……………… 77

Figure 20 Initial working diagram (in-the-round)………………………..……………… 78

Figure 21 Initial calico experimentation (in-the-round)……………….………………… 78

Figure 22 Initial diagrams for style one and three (in-the-round)….…………………… 79

Figure 23 Flat patterns in calico for style one, two, three and four (in-the-round).….… 80

Figure 24 Development work for style one (in-the-round)……………………………… 80

Figure 25 Development work for style five (in-the-round)……………………….……… 81

Figure 26 Development work for style six (in-the-round)………..……………………… 82

Figure 27 Line drawings of flat patterns for style six and seven (in-the-round).….…… 83

Figure 28 Style six and seven flat and on the mannequin (in-the-round)…….……….. 83

Figure 29 Line drawings of flat patterns for style four and eight (in-the-round)..….….. 84

Figure 30 Style four and eight flat and on the mannequin (in-the-round)……….……. 84

Figure 31 Style two flat pattern shape and construction lines (in-the-round)…..….…. 87

Figure 32 Style three flat construction lines and seaming (in-the-round)……...….….. 87

Figure 33 Style eight laser cutting pieces and fusing (in-the-round)……………….…. 88

Figure 34 Style six technical drawings and full scale garment (in-the-round)…….….. 89

Figure 35 Patterns in the Landscape: the notebooks of Philip Hughes………….…… 91

Figure 36 Laser cutting applications (in-the-round)……………………………..….…. 91

Figure 37 Final garments for in-the-round…………………………………………..…. 93

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Statement of original authorship

The work contained in this thesis has not been previously submitted to meet

requirements for an award at this or any other higher education institution. To

the best of my knowledge and belief, the thesis contains no material previously

published or written by another person except where due reference is made.

Signature ___________________

Date ___________________

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Acknowledgements

This project has only been possible with the immense support I have received from my friends, family, supervisors and colleagues, and I would like to offer my sincere thanks for all the time, brainpower, good humour and kindness they have bestowed on me. I would like to thank Kathleen Horton (principal supervisor) and Dr Grant Stevens (associate supervisor) for their patience and flexibility in working with my not-always-conventional approach; for their intelligent insights as they gently, but purposefully guided me through the project; and for their friendship and advice throughout. I would like to offer deep gratitude to my parents, Brian and Diane Morley, who have always offered me unconditional support and encouragement in everything I do. In addition, to my sister, Katherine Morley, who has always had both comfort and good advice to offer me as I meet new challenges. I am especially thankful to my mother for her unwavering enthusiasm to talk about my project, help iron out kinks in my argument, and act as a precious sounding board for new ideas – thank you. My colleagues at QUT Fashion have also been invaluable supporters cheering me on throughout my study and I thank you all whole-heartedly. Special thanks must go to Kay McMahon and Dean Brough who share my office-space and have travelled on the rollercoaster of postgraduate study with me everyday – their constant encouragement has meant so much to me. I also want to thank all my loyal and thoughtful friends for not deleting my phone number despite my disappearing for months on end – your smiles, laughter, kind words and insistence that I occasionally get out of the house have been essential to this project – thank you.

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Introduction

While Conceptual fashion has been a pervasive influence in fashion since the early

1980s, it has not been thoroughly explored or defined in academic literature or industry

critique. Therefore, although many fashion designers, such as Martin Margiela, Rei

Kawakubo and Hussein Chalayan, among many others, are widely regarded as

Conceptual fashion designers, there are no tangible understandings available to

explain what defines Conceptual fashion design practice. In fact, fashion design and

construction practices are seldom analysed in the existing body of Fashion Studies

research. Furthermore, very few fashion practitioners have historically contributed to

fashion research and, consequently, critical understandings of contemporary fashion

design practices, such as Conceptual fashion, are underdeveloped. This creates

challenges for fashion practitioners trying to set critical contexts for their work, as there

are many complex questions faced by practitioners that are not addressed in the

current literature. For example, in my own practice I am driven by questions about how

I conduct design research and how I use it in the design process. While the limited

research available suggests that these questions could be effectively explored through

Conceptual fashion design practice, the lack of critical discourse in this area meant I

was unable to determine what relationship my own creative practice had to those of

recognised Conceptual fashion practitioners. As an emerging practitioner, this led me

to ask the research questions – “How can I gain a deeper understanding of

Conceptual fashion design practice?” and “How can I understand the critical contexts

and processes of my own creative practice?”.

The basis for this project began a number of years ago while I was studying overseas

and recognised that there are diverse approaches to designing fashion, some more

conventional, and others more conceptually-driven. Although I had already

completed a fashion design qualification in Australia, the Australian course had

focused on conventional, widely accepted commercial practices rather than innovative

design and construction. In contrast, during my study at Polimoda in Florence, my

understanding of fashion design practice expanded because I was able to observe and

experience new conceptually-driven ways of approaching design that did not fit the

conventional framework I had been taught. However, as there are very few resources

available to enable fashion practitioners to critically engage with more experimental

fashion practices, it was very difficult for me to effectively analyse these different

approaches, understand how my own approach related to them, and expand my

creative practice methods.

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While in Florence, I studied the conceptually-driven practices of my fellow fashion

design students and their experiences of the fashion industry to try and develop

deeper understandings about my own practice. I further built on these experiences by

working in a variety of commercial fashion environments: an internship with New York-

based luxury fashion label, Marc Jacobs; design work with Australian mass market

company, Colorado; and design work with Australian luxury label, Easton Pearson.

These years working with brands that use predominantly conventional “commercial”

fashion practices also highlighted the differences between conventional and more

conceptually-driven fashion practices. However, I found a clear distinction between

these “Conventional” and “Conceptual” practices hard to define as not only was there

diversity within each paradigm, but also many Conventional and Conceptual practices

demonstrated similarities: for example, the stages of garment sampling, manufacture,

sale and consumption.

This project aims to analyse Conceptual fashion practice and explore the tensions

between conceptually-driven and more conventional fashion practices with the key

goal of developing deeper understandings about my own creative process. In addition

to expanding existing discourse, a key contribution of this project is the exploration of

these fashion practices from a practitioner-perspective through two interwoven strands.

Firstly, in the Contextual Review I develop a context for my practice by reviewing

existing Conceptual fashion discourse, and then in the Comparative Analysis I use

Conceptual art as a lens to analyse the work of Conceptual fashion practitioners. In

this analysis I examine relationships between three key characteristics of Conceptual

art as defined by Joseph Kosuth, Sol LeWitt and Lucy Lippard; my own creative

practice; and those of other contemporary fashion designers such as Hussein

Chalayan, Issey Miyake and Martin Margiela. Through this process I seek to unpack

the various meanings that the word Conceptual implies when it is applied to innovative

contemporary design practice. Specifically, I explore the relationship between the

conceptual and the visual in fashion to more clearly articulate the complex

considerations for Conceptual fashion design practitioners. Secondly, in the Creative

Practice section I test the relevance of the ideas explored in the Contextual Review

and Comparative Analysis by applying and experimenting with them in my own

creative practice projects in a studio-based inquiry. My design practice throughout this

project evolves as a process that is at times methodical, and at times illogical, with key

similarities to some Conceptual art practices of the 1960s. To expand my creative

practice, I explore the similarities between my own “system-based” creative process

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and those of Conceptual artists, such as Sol LeWitt. Equipped with a deeper

understanding of my own creative process, I am then able to relate it to the practices of

well known Conceptual fashion designers, such as Hussein Chalayan and Issey

Miyake.

This project is comprised of a written exegesis and a body of creative work that are

both equally weighted at fifty percent. Both the theoretical and practical elements of

this project suggest that despite obvious differences between Conceptual fashion and

Conceptual art there are valuable parallels to be made between the two fields.

Although comparing them directly is a relatively rudimentary way to explore fashion

practice, it is necessary due to the lack of existing critical discourse currently available

in Fashion Studies. In this project, I argue that Conceptual art characteristics as

defined by Conceptual artists and critics are useful to understand and explore common

characteristics of Conceptual fashion design practice – particularly how the conceptual

relates to the visual. In addition, I argue that Conceptual art creative processes and

practices are useful to develop more explicit understandings about methods and

approaches used in Conceptual fashion design. This project makes a key contribution

to fashion practice research by examining the differences between how Conventional

and Conceptual fashion designers engage with the conceptual and the visual when

translating their ideas into designs and how this relates to my own design practice.

This is an important contribution to new knowledge because it demonstrates how

contemporary fashion designers can relate their practices to Conventional fashion,

Conceptual fashion and Conceptual art from a practical, studio-based perspective as

well as theoretical perspectives. This approach effectively helped me to develop a

critical context for my practice as well as establish future creative directions. It also

contributes to the field of fashion research, not only because of the specific findings I

present, but also because it provides new ways of analysing fashion practice –

specifically, fashion design research and the translation of ideas into designs.

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Research Approach:

Methodology and Rationale

This is a practice-led research project that responds to questions emerging from my

creative practice. In addition, this project uses my creative practice to test new ideas.

These are essential qualities of practice-led research as defined by a number of

researchers. For example, Bradley Haseman and Dan Mafe (2009, p. 217) argue that:

…practice-led research is a process of inquiry driven by the opportunities, challenges and needs afforded by the creative practitioner/researcher. It is a research strategy specifically designed to investigate the contingencies of practice by seeking to discipline, throughout the duration of the study, the ongoing emergence of problem formulation, methods selection, professional and critical contexts, expressive forms of knowledge representation and finally the benefit of the research to stakeholders.

Haseman and Mafe (2009, p. 217) argue that in practice-led research, the research

question and methods evolve and emerge as the project develops. In Visualising

Research : A Guide for Postgraduate Students in Art and Design, Gray and Malins

(2004, p. 72) also argue for flexible and adaptable methods, suggesting that

methodology for creative practitioners should use multiple method approaches that are

custom-built for each research project so that they are responsive and suited to the

needs of their dynamic, shifting practice. Many researchers argue that these

methodologies need to be bespoke for each project, reflective and designed to explore

complexity and emergent ideas (Gray & Malins, 2004; Haseman & Mafe, 2009), and

most essentially, driven by the creative practice of the researcher (Gray & Malins,

2004; Hamilton & Jaaniste, 2009; Haseman, 2007; Haseman & Mafe, 2009).

Throughout this project, the research design and methods have been refined

constantly to embrace the messy, emergent and reflexive characteristics that Haseman

and Mafe (2009) argue are essential to this research paradigm. Practice has driven

this research inquiry at all stages with theory passed through my creative practice to

facilitate a more constructive comparison between Conceptual art and Conceptual

fashion design practice.

Using a practice-led approach has been important to support a key aim of this project:

to contribute to practitioner-focused research in Fashion Studies. Unlike more

established academic disciplines such as visual art, where practitioners can refer to a

large body of research that critically engages with creative practice, there is very little

published academic research on fashion practice. Although fashion has a long history

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of production and is a well-established cultural and industrial field, it is still in its infancy

as an academic discipline. Historically, fashion designers rarely analysed their work

academically. Consequently, “Fashion Studies” has emerged in the last few decades

as a complex blend of conceptual frameworks and methods from diverse areas such

as anthropology, sociology, literature, cultural studies, art history, economics, design

studies, history and more (Skov & Riegels Melchior, 2010). While this interdisciplinary

body of research successfully brought fashion into academia, fashion continues to sit

on the margins because it has not yet produced clear, fashion-specific research

approaches (Kawamura, 2011, p. 1). Using and modifying more traditional

methodologies from other more established academic disciplines has been a popular

tactic to ensure fashion research gains academic credibility (Finn, 2010). However, it

has also alienated practitioners from conducting research, as their complex and messy

explorations do not always fit within these traditional academic frameworks.

The lack of relevant literature available on fashion practice has been a significant

factor in shaping the way I conduct this research project. Many researchers and

practitioners claim there are large gaps in fashion research (Skov & Riegels Melchior,

2010) — especially in the area of fashion practice (Bugg, 2009; Finn, 2010; Griffiths,

2000). For example, Ian Griffiths (2000) in “The Invisible Man” expresses his

frustration at the almost non-existent practitioner-authored academic fashion research

and lack of research from a designer’s perspective. While Fashion Studies has

become a stronger research area since this publication, fashion practitioners are still

without clear representation and guidance in the field. Sandy Black, editor of the 2009

founded Berg journal, Fashion Practice, highlights that there is still a critical need for

more research discussing fashion practice, stating that: “Although design disciplines

are evolving, there is need for a greater level of activity and recognition of design-led

research in the fashion and clothing sector…” (Black, 2010, p. 6).

Fashion researcher Angela Finn (2010, p.3) argues that without a tradition of academic

publication, much of the tacit knowledge wrapped up in past and present fashion

design practice is unavailable to contemporary researchers. Finn argues that because

this knowledge is not made explicit in fashion literature, it is difficult for fashion

practitioner-researchers to develop a literature review that effectively surveys the field

and demonstrates established ideas of rigor. For example, without a history of

academic discussion about fashion design there is very little fashion design practice

terminology. In addition, the limited terms in use tend to have blurred or have multiple

meanings because they have been used in different contexts by different groups and

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have become increasingly fractured over time. The terms Conceptual fashion,

commercial fashion and conventional fashion are prime examples of this. This lack of

critical discourse and terminology leaves fashion practice researchers with the problem

of building a credible base for their research inquiry while unraveling this unwritten

knowledge.

To address this problem, I use Conceptual art as a lens to investigate Conceptual

fashion practices and expand the available discourse. Conducting a comparative

analysis between two clearly distinct fields is quite a rudimentary method of analysis

and, as a result, the findings are quite broad. However, I found this interdisciplinary

lens helped bridge the significant gaps in knowledge relating to fashion practice. Gray

and Malins acknowledge the challenges of exploring relatively unchartered waters in

creative practice research arguing that:

…because practice-based research in Art and Design is in development and is investigating new areas of research, Contextual Reviews (for PhD at least) are by necessity wide ranging – they are trying to map ‘continents’ so that more local terrain can be located and understood in relation to them. For the moment, this kind of breadth is necessary, but does have its disadvantages – namely lack of depth... Until there is a coherent and detailed set of documented research and practice in an area this will be an ongoing problem and will present a constant dilemma…a balance must be struck. However, our ability to visualize, to think holistically and synthetically, to make connections and develop relationships between ideas are great strengths to apply in contextual understanding. (2004, p. 52)

In spite of my broad findings, this comparative analysis has given me new connections,

ideas and approaches for understanding Conceptual fashion as well as a deeper

understanding of my personal creative practice. While there is no neat translation

between Conceptual art and Conceptual fashion, my study of Conceptual art helps me

to articulate tacit or encoded knowledge wrapped up in the research and design

process of my own creative practice. This more explicit understanding of my practice

then informs my analysis of Conceptual fashion practice.

To develop a context for using art theory in this project and to analyse the similarities

between Conceptual art and fashion, I draw from a diverse array of sources from the

broader field of fashion. To gain a more in-depth understanding of Conceptual fashion

that goes beyond existing academic fashion research, I explore the breath of available

sources from the fashion industry, such as journalists, critics, and practitioners as well

as published academics. In addition, to ensure my research gives these diverse

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sources equal weight and credibility, I adopt an approach inspired by bricolage

methodology. Researchers Denzin and Lincoln (2000, p. 6) describe bricolage stating:

The researcher-as-bricoleur-theorist works between and within competing and overlapping perspectives and paradigms… The product of the interpretive bricoleur’s labor is a complex, quiltlike bricolage, a reflexive collage or montage-- a set of fluid, interconnected images and representations. This interpretive structure is like a quilt, a performance text, a sequence of representations connecting the parts to the whole.

Athough I have endeavoured to acknowledge the intricacies and indiosyncracies of the

ideas and creative practices examined in this project, I recognise that in creating

meaningful connections and understandings about fashion practices I have in many

ways “flattened” or “over-simplified” them. Methodology researcher John Law (2004, p.

6) argues for research that embodies a “…kaleidoscope of impressions and textures…”

and method that “…reflects and refracts a world that in important ways cannot be fully

understood as a specific set of determinate processes”. While I have conducted my

inquiry with Law’s ideas in mind, my bid to “map continents” (Gray & Malins, 2004, p.

52) in the relatively unexplored field of fashion practice has necessarily resulted in my

silencing many facets of the practices studied. In this sense, I acknowledge that this

research project is just the beginning of a conversation to which complexity and depth

could be added with further research.

When analysing my research sources I aim to embrace the complexity inherent in a

practice-led research inquiry that addresses such wide research gaps. Haseman and

Mafe (2009, p. 217) argue that “ cop[ing] with the ‘messy’ research project… requires

practice-led researchers to have an understanding of not only emergence but its

constituting condition of complexity”. To this end, throughout this project I have been

guided by Corning’s (1998) description of complexity where “…the unique combined

properties (synergies) that arise in each case, are vastly more important than the

commonalities”. For example, Conceptual art and Conceptual fashion have similarities

and differences and comparing them is not a neat and clear-cut process. However, my

use of the highly critiqued area of Conceptual art as a lens to gain a better

understanding of Conceptual fashion design practice is a rational approach I have

adopted after my analysis of fashion discourse identified many valuable connections

between the two fields. Similarly, in using a broad range of sources from different

areas of fashion, I seek to explore, not only similarities, but the possible intersections,

contradictions and new perspectives to be gained. This approach has enabled me to

draw comparisons between diverse fields, sources and practitioners with an

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exploratory focus that in many ways raises more questions than it answers. However,

despite this, the project and the methods employed have effectively deepened my

knowledge and understanding of both Conceptual fashion design practices and my

own creative practice.

Creative practice has been a vitally important method for helping me understand

possible intersections and connections between Conceptual art and Conceptual

fashion. For example, I have expanded my own design research and design process

by drawing on the practices of early Conceptual artists, such as Sol LeWitt, On Kawara

and Roman Opalka. Specifically, as I read literature about Conceptual art, I tested the

emerging relationships to my own rules and system-based creative process through

sketching, model making, pattern and construction experimentation, toiling and making

garments. Studying the ideas and processes of Conceptual artists through studio

experimentation helped me develop and test new creative practice methods that have

even more direct parallels with Conceptual art characteristics and practices. My

creative work involved a constant dialogue between theory and practice as I moved

back-and-forth between reading, sketching and toiling to develop my designs as well

as construction and fabrication methods for the garments. Through this process I

developed two creative practice projects: three-sixty, which consists of working

sketches, model making, design sketches and flat technical drawings for six outfits,

and in-the-round, which consists of extensive pattern and construction

experimentation, toiling and eight finished garments. This practice-led project has

helped me to expand my practice, find similarities with Conceptual art practices and

also identify parallels between my own practice and those of Conceptual and

Conventional fashion designers. Exploring these parallels has also resulted in more

useful connections between Conceptual art and Conceptual fashion in a broader

context to expand understandings about Conceptual and Conventional fashion design

research and design processes.

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Contextual Review:

Conceptual fashion discourse and Conceptual art as a lens for

exploration

I. Conventional Fashion

To effectively explore conceptually-driven fashion design practices, the norms of

conventional fashion design practice first need to be made more explicit. In my work

experience as a fashion designer, I learnt that within both conventional and Conceptual

fashion design paradigms, practices vary enormously and boundaries between the two

paradigms are often blurred. However, for the purposes of expanding understandings

about Conceptual industrial fashion design practice I have identified some common

characteristics of what I will call Conventional fashion design practice.

Fashion is an industry that generally revolves around cyclic imitation and the diffusion

of ideas; however, the point at which this cycle initiates has shifted over time. Early

theorists, such as Georg Simmel (1904), argue for what has been termed the ‘trickle-

down theory’ in which higher social classes adopt a social pattern that is then adopted

by the class immediately below (Miller, McIntyre & Mantrala, 1993, p.153) with this

process repeating until the pattern eventually filters to the masses. Simmel argues that

“the elite initiates a fashion and, when the mass imitates it in an effort to obliterate the

external distinctions of class, abandons it for a newer mode – a process that quickens

with the increase of wealth” (1957 [1904], p. 541). In contemporary society, due to

increased social mobility, fashion has become increasingly democratised with

Kawamura (2005, p.78) identifying that “the diffusion of fashion has become more

difficult to study because the creation of fashion has become less centralised”.

However, while the point at which trends originate has become more diverse,

consumers continue to adopt trends or social patterns based on images or people they

aspire to emulate. For example, Keller (2009) argues that elite luxury fashion brand

imagery includes both a vision of the idealised brand user, and a personality or

association attached to the brand itself. Therefore, the influences dictating the

characteristics of the idealised brand user and the resulting trends may have

expanded, but the nature of trends and their rise and fall remains the same. Simmel

explains the nature of trends arguing that:

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The distinctiveness which in the early stages of a set fashion assures for it a certain distribution is destroyed as the fashion spreads, and as this element wanes, the fashion also is bound to die… fashion includes a peculiar attraction of limitation, the attraction of a simultaneous beginning and end, the charm of novelty coupled to that of transitoriness (1957 [1904],p. 547).

Fashion brands are positioned at a variety of levels in the market, with some brands,

especially luxury brands, being positioned as elite innovators who initiate trends, while

other brands are positioned progressively lower down the chain of innovation. These

brands generally imitate the patterns of the elite brands at varying speeds depending

on their positioning in the market and the aspirations of their consumer.

Depending on the level of the market and price-point a fashion company is working at,

the steps in the design development and production process can vary in focus and

execution. In my experience as a designer, this generally corresponds directly with the

level of innovation versus mimicry. Despite this diversity, there is value in identifying

an overall framework that conventional commercial designers generally follow.

Fashion researcher, Yuniwara Kawamura (2004, p. 74-75) defines what she terms the

“production process of ready-made clothes” as she compares ready-made and

custom-made clothing in her book, The Japanese Fashion Revolution in Paris. By

“ready-made”, Kawamura refers to garments which have been made in standard sizes

designed for either smaller niche markets or the broader mass market. She is

referencing clothing that is bought “off-the-rack” rather than clothing that is bespoke for

an individual client. Kawamura argues that there are seven basic steps for

conventional ready-to-wear clothing that I have summarised as follows:

1. Fabrics- the designer sources material for the garments.

2. Design- the designer develops appropriate styles for the fabric through

techniques such as sketching and generally creates a visual presentation

indicating the mood of the collection.

3. Draping/ Drafting/ Patternmaking- the designer or other staff develop the

sketches into three-dimensional garments through draping on a mannequin or

other means. This process results in a paper garment pattern which will then

be used to cut and sew the first garment sample.

4. Sample- cutting and sample sewing- the production staff use the patterns to

cut the fabric and make sample garments with the designers instructing and

advising any changes to be made.

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5. Making production patterns and grading- the production staff make any

necessary changes to the patterns and develop a pattern in every size for

each garment to use for mass production in the factory.

6. Writing specifications and drawing flat sketches- the assistant designer

draws up specification sheets that instruct factory sewers how to construct and

finish the garments.

7. Mass production- the designers liaise with the factory to ensure the mass

produced garments are the same as the sample made in the designer’s

workroom.

Kawamura’s identification of a chain of processes is useful to a degree; however, it is

important to acknowledge that this oversimplifies the fashion industry as well as

fashion practices that change constantly to meet evolving consumer needs. The

fashion industry is an intricate system of production and consumption and the diverse

and innovative ways that fashion practitioners navigate this system is not adequately

captured in this rigid set of processes. However, as I do not have the space in this

exegesis to engage in a detailed critique of Kawamura’s description, I would simply like

to point out a crucial oversight in her list that informs my project directly. This oversight

can be identified clearly when Kamawura argues that there are no technical

differences between the processes of luxury ready-to-wear and lower priced mass

market ready-to-wear companies apart from the quality of the fabric and the technical

skill of the seamstresses (2004, p. 75). From my work experience with luxury and

mass market fashion companies, I argue that there are noticeable differences in at

least one step that Kawamura has very pointedly not included in her model: namely

Research. I also argue that if one must choose a ‘first’ stage in design development

then Research is a more ‘accurate’ starting point. I would describe this stage as:

Research- the designers gather information and inspiration relevant to their

market level and consumer and develop ideas that they use to inform and lead

their design process.

The diversity of Conventional fashion practices is much more obvious if the research

stage is analysed in depth. For example, the type of research collected during this

phase and how it is used in the design process is directly influenced by the level of the

market at which the fashion brand is positioned and this affects all the subsequent

development processes.

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The research process is important for designers operating at all levels of the market;

however, the type of research they conduct and how they use the information in the

design process differs substantially. From my observations, both the design team at

mass market brand Colorado and luxury fashion designer Marc Jacobs generally work

within Kawamura’s model for ready-made clothing design. However, the research

conducted by these designers has a completely different focus and influences their

fabric sourcing, design and sample making process in vastly different ways. For

example, when I worked as an Assistant Designer at Colorado in 2006, they were

positioned towards the bottom of the innovation cycle targeting a conservative mass

market consumer who desired contemporary rather than fashion-forward garments.

The designers at Colorado would research trends in fabric, colour and silhouette that

had ceased to be ‘new’ on the catwalk and had already been translated by more

fashion-forward middle and mass market fashion brands. Colorado designers would

draw from these trends and dilute them to suit a mass market price-point and lifestyle.

The Colorado design team still informed their design process with research; however,

this took the form of trend forecasting to help them decide which ‘moods’ or aspects of

other designers’ work to imitate and adapt in their own collections. This process is

often termed ‘product development’ rather than design, as the Colorado team would

begin the ‘design process’ with existing styles from past seasons and adapt them to

reflect the new trends for each season.

In contrast, Marc Jacobs is viewed as an innovative fashion leader who initiates rather

than imitates trends. As a result, despite working within a similar Conventional fashion

framework to the Colorado design team, Jacobs does not follow trend forecasting or

other catwalk designers and instead conducts extensive research to develop new

creative directions for each season. From my observations in the season that I

interned for the brand, much of his research was based on visual inspiration and

references as he collected and studied vintage garments, old magazines, and,

historical costume and imagery among other things. Jacobs used this research to

develop a unique perspective or visual mood for the collection by juxtaposing these

stylistic and cultural references from the past and present in innovative and unusual

ways. I suggest this research influences his evolving ideas of femininity, desirability,

fashionability and beauty and therefore leads the design process influencing the

fabrication, colour, silhouette, construction and marketing of his collections. He

appeared to develop his designs primarily from a visual perspective and secondarily

from a construction perspective, drawing sketches for his patternmakers and

seamstresses to execute in three-dimensional prototypes for his revision and approval.

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Exploring Marc Jacob’s practice through a Conventional fashion design framework

demonstrates that Conventional practices do not necessarily preclude innovative

fashion forward design. The relevance of the comparison between Colorado and

Jacobs is that it highlights a common approach to both the idea and significance of

research and design processes across both luxury and mass market practices. I would

suggest that most commonly, the designers working in both these markets work

primarily with visual imagery and sensory qualities to achieve the common goal of

creating desirable, fashionable or beautiful clothing through their research and design

development process. By this I do not mean to insinuate that the designers do not

read literature or take into consideration popular culture or other political or societal

influences when doing research for their designs. Rather my point is that in the

process of translating their research into designs, their research is used to determine

the right visual or sensory qualities for their products to appeal to their specific

consumers. While these designers may use these visual or sensory qualities to

communicate a variety of messages to the consumer; I suggest that these messages

are generally communicated to position the clothing as a desirable object of ‘beauty’ or

consumer-driven notions of what is ‘on-trend’.

I contend that in the context of fashion design process, the emphasis on the ‘visual’ is

paramount. This translation of ‘the visual into the visual’, or the translation of visual

research into the visual qualities of fashion objects, may well define Conventional

fashion at all levels of the market. However, the question of how Conceptual fashion

design process relates to this context is much less self-explanatory. In this project, I

question whether Conceptual fashion design process could be more accurately

described as ‘ideas into the visual’ investigating how Conceptual fashion designers

work with research and ideas to develop the visual qualities of their garments. While

many argue that Conceptual fashion is not commercial, I explore the notion that these

fashion objects are still desirable to niche consumers for the very fact that the

designers move beyond conventional ideas of beauty or fashionability to communicate

self-reflexive ideas through the visual qualities of their work. This in turn leads to

broader questions that have driven my project – namely how research may inform less

conventional design processes and how Conceptual fashion design processes may

differ from more Conventional design processes. The research phase I previously

identified, in which ideas are translated into a design process to determine the visual

qualities of garments, is relevant to my own practice and underdeveloped in academic

research. As a result, to gain a deeper understanding of my own research and design

process, I explore the research phase of Conceptual fashion designers.

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I. Conceptual Fashion

Conceptual fashion has been widely recognised since the early 1980s; however,

researchers have not yet effectively developed an explicit understanding of the term or

highlighted common tendencies or frameworks around Conceptual fashion design

practices. Consequently, this analysis discusses existing literature surrounding

Conceptual fashion and supplements these academic and industry sources with

insights from Conceptual fashion designers themselves. This approach attempts to

highlight similarities, contradictions and emerging ideas across the field of fashion to

gain a deeper understanding of the meaning implied within the term ‘Conceptual

fashion’.

Fashion journalist and critic Susannah Frankel (2009) addresses the difficulties of

distinguishing Conceptual fashion from Conventional fashion in her essay “The birth,

death and re-birth of conceptual fashion”, written for the book Maison Martin Margiela.

Frankel agrees that ideas underpin the work of Conceptual fashion but argues that this

is also the case for Conventional fashion asking:

Isn’t the word “concept” … ultimately just a synonym for idea? And, if so, doesn’t any major fashion brand from Ralph Lauren – the label that gave the world lifestyle – to Marc Jacobs – where the concept is that there is no concept – come under its umbrella? (2009)

Frankel goes on to explore the ideas behind Maison Martin Margiela’s collections

arguing that “each Margiela main line collection springs from its own concept” and that

“…more often than not it is very simple: a study of white aged to yellow, an exploration

of the back over the front of clothing, or the scaling up of women’s garments to a men’s

Italian size 78”. However, I argue that concepts such as these are far from ‘simple’, as

they communicate complex questions about the norms of fashion that are more

‘intellectual’ than the ideas communicated by Ralph Lauren’s sportswear or Marc

Jacob’s vintage-inspired collections. I agree with Frankel that Conventional fashion

design is also underpinned by ideas; however, I argue that Frankel is using ‘concept’

and ‘Conceptual’ as if they are interchangeable and in the context of Conceptual and

Conventional fashion, I argue that they are not.

Fashion authors François Baudot (1997) and Hazel Clark (2011) both argue that

Conceptual fashion has similarities to, or has been influenced by, the Conceptual art

movement because of its tendency to question norms. In the introduction to her book

of photographs exploring the work of Conceptual fashion designer Yohji Yamamoto,

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Baudot (1997) explains that the term Conceptual when applied to fashion designers of

the early 1980s “ …referred back to the conceptual art of the sixties, whose

practitioners sought to replace the work of art itself with the idea underlying it, the

project of its gestation, the analysis of its concept and its effects” (p. 6). Similarly, in

the book Fashion and Art (2012), fashion researcher Hazel Clark contributes a chapter

relating Conceptual fashion to Conceptual art, arguing that “conceptual fashion had the

ground prepared for it by conceptual art” (p. 67). Clark maintains that “...conceptual art

practices identified the primacy of ideas over appearance, self-reflection over

resolution, innovation and experimentation, and statements that posed questions but

that rarely provided clear answers” claiming this as a clear influence on Conceptual

fashion (2012, p. 67). She defines Japanese designers, Issey Miyake, Yohji

Yamamoto, and Rei Kawakubo as Conceptual fashion designers because “together

and apart these designers questioned the conventions of fashion- what it was, what it

looked like, how it felt on the body, how it was displayed and sold, and moreover,

where it originated” (2012, p. 68). Similarly, Baudot compares Yamamoto’s practice to

those of artists from the Conceptual and Arte Povera art movements because he was

“…one of a small number who tried to break away from a fossilized conception of what

clothes were” (1997, p. 8).

While Baudot’s analysis is limited to the practice of Yohji Yamamoto, Clark goes

beyond the ‘Japanese’ designers to explore the Antwerp Six as Conceptual fashion

designers due to their ability to question fashion conventions and bring attention to

social patterns and fixations (2012, p. 69-70). Clark’s research draws some specific,

valuable parallels between Conceptual fashion and Conceptual art practices. However,

the connections that Clark draws are extremely broad and do not address the diversity

of practices within either Conceptual art or Conceptual fashion. Clark essentially

condenses all the Conceptual fashion practices into a more-or-less cohesive group

exploring little of the research and design process and drawing a schematic picture of

Conceptual fashion design practice that provides little understanding of how it differs

from more Conventional fashion practices.

While most fashion academics, journalists and practitioners agree that Conceptual

fashion is defined by self-reflexivity, many argue that a key distinction between

Conceptual and Conventional fashion is commerciality. For example, Susannah

Frankel (2009) argues that Conceptual fashion came to be known as fashion design

that had become such an intellectual endeavour that it lost its primary purpose of being

consumed and worn. Frankel (2009) claims that the term Conceptual in fashion

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“…sprang up in the 1980’s to imply that a garment was thoughtful and provocative

even, in reaction to the deluge of strong-shouldered, violently colored, mindlessly

status-driven dress codes of the day”. She goes on to argue that “by the mid-nineties,

conceptual fashion meant clothing that was driven by an idea to the point where its

function – which is always that it must be worn – was lost”. And that “for years now it

has been weighed down by negative associations, denoting clothing that one feels

should be appreciated – it’s clever, it’s challenging – but that, to be honest, one doesn’t

actually like all that much let alone want to wear”. Frankel quotes Maison Martin

Margiela to support her statement, “…If some designers’ will is to be labeled

intellectual it’s probably to give their work a more ‘respectable’ aspect, to bring it closer

to art and as far as possible from its original purpose, that is to put clothes on people’s

bodies” (2009, n.p).

However, the statements of Frankel and Maison Margiela make a broad assumption

that fashion has historically had a close relationship with utility, and I argue that this

may be a case of interchanging the idea of ‘fashion’ with ‘clothing’, which are often two

quite different concepts. Philosopher Lars Svendsen also argues that fashion

designers have aspired to be recognised as artists since the beginning of haute

couture circa 1860 (2006, p. 90) and that the ‘conceptual clothes’ that emerged in the

1980s are the clearest example of this urge (2006, p. 91). However, Svendsen argues

that these clothes are not without ‘function’, but that they function symbolically rather

than as utilitarian garments. He proposes that this is not simply clothing-as-art, but

instead demonstrates an investment in cultural capital and branding by distancing

fashion from the commercial market. He explains that, “Fashion has always found itself

in a space between art and capital, where it has often embraced the cultural side in

order to tone down its financial side” (Svendsen 2006: 93). Svendsen’s argument

suggests a paradoxical position where Conceptual fashion designers distance

themselves from commercial markets to increase their branding and therefore their

commercial potential.

Fashion researcher Angela McRobbie (1998) also claims Conceptual fashion is

distinguished from other more conventional fashion practices through its close

relationship to fine art practices; however, unlike Svendsen’s paradox, she claims it

maintains relative independence from commercial considerations. In her book, British

Fashion Design: Rag Trade or Image Industry? McRobbie (1998) briefly proposes a

definition of Conceptual fashion in an educational context as she attempts to describe

the different types of fashion practices taught to British students before they enter the

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industry. McRobbie (1998, p. 46-48) does this by defining three different types of

fashion design taught in British fashion design colleges:

managerial fashion, integrating design skills with business and marketing to

prepare graduates for a broad portfolio of commercial fashion-related jobs;

professional fashion, developing creative design skills, in-depth technical skills

and focusing on making clothes that people will wear rather than clothing that

represents new ideas; and

ideas fashion or conceptual fashion, maintaining a strong connection with fine

art and prioritising creative experimentation and innovation without the

pressure of business-related concerns.

McRobbie claims Conceptual fashion is largely taught without a strong emphasis on

commercial concerns and instead revolves around innovative ideas. However, this

assertion is problematic.

Svendsen’s argument gains strength from the comments of celebrated Conceptual

fashion designer, Hussein Chalayan, who claims commerciality was a key element of

his education. Central Saint Martins has a strong reputation for producing Conceptual

fashion designers, and Hussein Chalayan contradicts McRobbie by describing his

experience there:

Central Saint Martins was a proper art institution, fashion just happened to be one of its departments. It was a fantastic place in which to understand the body in a cultural context. We were like body artists, but we also had to learn how to make our clothes sell (Aspen, 2010, p.13).

However, while Chalayan’s comments challenge McRobbie’s claims that Conceptual

fashion education and practice exist relatively free from the pressure of commercial

ideals, his comments do support claims that Conceptual fashion maintains a close

relationship to art. In fact, the suggestion that Conceptual fashion has a closer

relationship to art than other types of more conventional fashion is a recurring theme.

What is less clear is exactly what makes Conceptual fashion closer to art than

Conventional fashion practices and how these tensions sit within larger debates about

the relationship between fashion, art and commerciality in contemporary culture.

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In her book Voyage on the North Sea: Art in the Age of the Post-Medium Condition,

Rosalind Krauss goes beyond defining the relationship between fashion and art to

question if any aesthetic fields are distinct in a postmodern commercial world. Krauss

(1999, p. 56) explores the idea that aesthetic fields have become more entwined with

commodification through philosopher Frederic Jameson’s characterization of

“postmodernity as the total saturation of cultural space by the image”. Jameson

argues that in postmodern culture, everything leisure related, including shopping, is

experienced as aesthetic, and this not only puts into question the concept of aesthetic

autonomy, but has made actual aesthetic spheres obsolete (Krauss,1999, p. 56). As a

result, while most Conceptual fashion practitioners claim they are not artists,

postmodern paradigms have brought fashion and art closer than ever before.

My research of the art-fashion debate demonstrates that opinions are divided, with

some claiming fashion can be art, while others seek to maintain a clear distinction

between the two fields. The fact that many designers argue for separate fields

suggests that this may be crucial to their identity as fashion designers; however, what

is pertinent to this debate is the role commerciality plays in their arguments for

maintaining or breaking down this separation. For example, fashion researcher

Yuniwara Kawamura (2004, p.140) claims that Conceptual fashion designer Rei

Kawakubo is considered an artist rather than a designer. However, Kawakubo herself

disagrees because of the commercial aspects of her design practice. Kawakubo

explains, “Fashion is not art.” (Menkes,1998, p.20). “I’ve always said I’m not an artist.

For me, fashion design is a business.” (Sims, 2004: 123 as cited in English, 2011:77).

In contrast, Conceptual fashion designer Hussein Chalayan argues that in

contemporary culture commerciality unifies rather than divides art and fashion arguing:

Fashion, because it’s industrial, is perceived as not having the same value as art but you can argue that art is now industrial, as well. It’s part of a money market, certainly, so I don’t really see what the difference is any more. If you are doing a dress that is informed by good ideas or is an amazing thing then it’s as much a piece of art as somebody’s painting or somebody’s installation, I think (Frankel, 2011, p. 23).

Chalayan’s statement relates to Jameson’s argument that all cultural fields, such as

fashion and art, are unified by the fact that they are aestheticised and commodified.

However, Chalayan also suggests that it is not a fashion practice’s commerciality that

separates or links it to art, but whether it is underpinned by “good” ideas.

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Chalayan’s argument that art is also a commercial practice is supported by Conceptual

artist Victor Burgin’s declaration in 1988 that even Conceptual art, which began with

ideals of anti-commodification, had failed to avoid commerciality. Burgin states that:

The original conceptual art is a failed avant-garde…amongst the ruins of its

Utopian program, the desire to resist commodification and assimilation to a

history of styles. The “new” conceptualism is the mirror image of the old –

nothing but commodity, nothing but style (as cited in Godfrey, 1998, p. 386).

While Conceptual art initially sought to avoid commodification and prioritise ‘the idea’

by not making traditional art objects, by 1973, art critic Lucy Lippard noted that the

most influential conceptualists were being represented by prestigious galleries and

selling their non-traditional work for large sums of money (Lippard, 1997, p. xxi). The

fact that even the idealistic Conceptual art movement became a commercial enterprise

supports Chalyan’s argument that both art and fashion are commercial practices and

that it is therefore a prioritization of ideas that brings fashion and art closer together. In

particular, this suggests that Conceptual fashion is seen as being closer to art than

Conventional fashion, not because of a lack of commerciality, but rather because the

designers shape their creative works in a way akin to artists. This further upholds

Baudot and Clark’s claim that Conceptual fashion is similar to Conceptual art because

it functions to question the norms of the field.

Nathalie Khan also argues that the type of ideas that inform creative works determine

whether something is design or art claiming that “what helps define Margiela’s work as

art rather than design is that it offers reflexive commentary upon the very fashion

industry of which he is a part” (2000, p. 123). While Conceptual fashion house Maison

Martin Margiela disagrees that their practice is art rather than fashion (Derycke & Van

De Veire, 1999, p. 12; Miglietti, 2006, p. 71), critical discourse seems to agree that

Conceptual fashion is closer to art because of the more ‘intellectual’ and self-reflexive

ideas that are explored and communicated through the sensory qualities of the

garments. Kay Durland Spilker and Sharon Sadako Takeda (2007) also believe the

ability to reflect ideas about social norms and identity through sensory qualities of the

garments is a key aspect of Conceptual fashion that demonstrates its close

relationship to art. In their book, Breaking the Mode, Spilker and Takeda claim that “A

conceptual approach blurs the line between fashion and the fine arts”.arguing that:

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A number of contemporary fashion designers take a conceptual approach in their work. With strategies similar to that of the fine artist, they examine conventional notions for origins- the “how” and “why” of the rules of fashion – then proceed to invalidate the rules with insidiously subtle or outrageously radical garments so firmly couched in tradition that the designers’ subversions are truly startling. In rejecting the formulaic use of media and technique, they have established new aesthetic principles of fashion – in construction, materials, form, and ultimately, in the concept or meaning of clothes to the designer, wearer, and audience (2007, p. 15).

Spilker and Takeda support their statement with photos of garments that demonstrate

what they argue is a Conceptual approach, because the designers have questioned

the rules of fashion through innovative uses of construction, material, form and

concept. They explore how these garments function symbolically – for example, how

their visual qualities challenge gender or established conventions of dressing. As

these garments have been designed to go beyond communicating consumer ideals

such as beauty and trend, Spilker and Takeda’s work further supports the argument

that Conceptual fashion is similar to Conceptual art in terms of the self-reflexivity.

Therefore, despite the on-going and somewhat circular debates about the relationship

between art, fashion and commerciality, Conceptual fashion is frequently identified as

having a closer relationship to art than Conventional fashion practices because it

frequently makes references to the cultural field of fashion. While there are some

intricacies to this argument, the shorthand version is that Conceptual fashion is more

explicitly charged with ‘meaning’ than Conventional fashion because Conceptual

designers engage in self-reflective practice that challenges the conventions of fashion.

Both Conventional and Conceptual fashion are visual and both often focus on ideas of

beauty, ugliness or just the idea of trends or fashion itself. However, the ideas

underpinning Conventional fashion (across all sectors of the market) are more likely to

be focused around the established notions of beauty and trends according to the

market. This is not to say that the work of Conceptual fashion designers is not

beautiful, but raises the question that perhaps visual beauty is not the primary driving

force or end goal of Conceptual fashion practices. What is less clear following this

analysis is exactly how these ‘self-reflexive ideas’ are translated through the design

process in Conceptual fashion design practice. This relates clearly to the fashion

research phase I identified in the Contextual Review. As a result, in the following

analysis I explore the ideas and creative process of early Conceptual artists and

Conceptual fashion designers to expand understandings about the Conceptual fashion

research phase.

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Comparative Analysis:

Conceptual art and Conceptual fashion

In this comparative analysis I explore parallels between Conceptual art and

Conceptual fashion. Through this analysis I aim to set critical contexts for my own

research and design process as well as expanding the discourse of Conceptual

fashion practice.

While the term ‘Conceptual’ was first applied to art in the late 1950s and early 1960s

(Newman & Bird, 1999, p. 3), ‘Conceptual art’ was not in general use until 1967

(Godfrey, 1998, p. 6). Arguably, early forms of Conceptual art pre-date this; for

example, Marcel Duchamp and his ‘readymades’ – most famously the urinal that he

presented as art in 1917 entitled Fountain (Godfrey, 1998, p. 6). However, in his book,

Conceptual Art, Tony Godfrey (1998, p. 7) argues that, ”...the issues were most fully

developed and theorized by a generation of artists that emerged in the late 1960s,

whose work must lie at the heart of any study of Conceptual art”. In Rewriting

Conceptual Art, Bird and Newman (1993, p. 3) claim that, “in general, the shift enacted

through Conceptual art opened one important pathway for the analysis of all visual

signs and meanings which now constitute the broad field of visual culture”. They also

claim that a key shift revolved around the idea that “…Conceptual art proposed an

informed and critically active audience who were expected to work in order to fully

engage with the objects, texts, installations…” (1993, p. 6). In addition, Conceptual art

was a clear departure from previous art movements because the focus was not on the

physical nature or visual qualities of the artworks themself, but rather on the idea

underpinning the work.

Before Conceptual art, modernist art theorists and practitioners sought to define art

through what critic Clement Greenberg termed “medium-specificity” – the testing and

questioning of the established norms to determine what is “unique and irreducible” to a

specific medium (Costello, 2007, p.95). For example, Greenberg encouraged the

gradual removal of properties from each art medium, such as painting, until only a few

qualities remained to define the “essence” of that medium (Matravers, 2007, p. 19-20).

However, ironically, these attempts to define clear boundaries between mediums led to

a context in which the boundaries began to collapse. Consequently, as Conceptual art

grew, many artists insisted that art should be considered as a unified whole rather than

as distinct self-contained art mediums. Explaining the birth of Conceptual art, Rosalind

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Krauss (1999, p. 10) argues that “if modernism was probing painting for its essence –

for what made it specific as a medium – that logic taken to its extreme had turned

painting inside out and had emptied it into the generic category of Art: art-at-large, or

art-in-general”. Krauss (1999, p.20) argues that due to the influence of Conceptual art

and particularly the work of artist Marcel Broodthaers “we now inhabit a post-medium

age”.

The move to a post-medium age based on the tension between the specific and the

general can be traced to some of the earliest formulations of the Conceptual art

movement. For example, in his 1969 essay, “Art After Philosophy”, artist Joseph

Kosuth, who is often recognised as one of the movement’s founders, advocated for

“art-in-general” arguing that “if one is questioning the nature of painting, one cannot be

questioning the nature of art. That’s because the word art is general and the word

painting is specific” (quoted in Krauss,1999, p.10). In a definition of Conceptual art

from 1998, Godfrey expands on this key idea arguing that:

Conceptual art is not about forms or materials, but about ideas and meanings. It cannot be defined in terms of any medium or style, but rather by the way it questions what art is. In particular, Conceptual art challenges the traditional status of the art object as unique, collectable or saleable. Because the work does not take a traditional form it demands a more active response from the viewer, indeed it could be argued that the Conceptual work of art only truly exists in the viewer’s mental participation (p. 4).

This suggests that Conceptual art cannot be categorised by a series of cohesive

working methods or a visually cohesive style, but rather by its emphasis on self-

reflexive ideas.

Key characteristics of Conceptual art have been widely debated making it difficult to

determine which characteristics to apply to the study of Conceptual fashion design.

However, in this analysis I refer to three characteristics of Conceptual art defined by

practitioners Sol Le Witt, Joseph Kosuth and critic and curator, Lucy Lippard. These

are summarised by Godfrey (1998, p. 142) as follows:

“Le Witt’s notion… that the concept behind the work actually constitutes

the art”;

“Kosuth’s description of an inquiry ‘into the foundations of the concept

“art”’;

“Lippard’s notion of the dematerialization of the art object (though some

artists have preferred the word ‘demystification’ to ‘dematerialization’)”.

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While these three definitions imply an inherent complexity in the field of Conceptual art,

a common theme is the primacy that Conceptual artists placed on ideas rather than the

physical characteristics of the creative works themselves (including the extent to which

the idea itself was the work). Following this, the main objective of my analysis is to

explore the ways in which the practices of Conceptual fashion designers also exhibit a

conscious prioritising of the ‘idea’ and how these ideas work to question the field of

fashion. To do this I examine the work of several key conceptual designers including

Hussein Chalayan, Rei Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto, Issey Miyake, Viktor & Rolf and

Martin Margiela to explore how their practices may align with these three

characteristics. While acknowledging the disparity between cultural fields of fashion

and art, and the historical disjuncture underpinning this comparison, as I will show,

valuable insights can be drawn through this form of comparison. Indeed, as my

analysis demonstrates, all three of these tendencies can be identified in the

contemporary practices of major Conceptual fashion designers. This finding in turn

leads me to new insights as to how Conceptual fashion designers translate their

research ideas through the design process and how my own practice reflects similar

approaches to prioritising ideas so that they shape the visual qualities of my designs.

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I. Art as Idea/ Fashion as Idea

The artist Sol LeWitt argues that it is the concept or idea underpinning an artwork

rather than the physical artwork itself that constitutes the art (Godfrey, 1998, p. 142).

LeWitt is perhaps most accurately described as a proto-conceptualist (Costello, 2007,

p. 104; Osborne, 1999, p. 53) rather than a purist; however, through his publications,

Paragraphs on Conceptual Art (1967) and Sentences on Conceptual Art (1969), he is

widely regarded as an influential figure in the development of Conceptual Art (Costello,

2007, p. 104). In Paragraphs, LeWitt argues that ideas behind an artwork should be

given precedence over the physical artifact itself because “the idea becomes the

machine that makes the art”. He insists that a Conceptual artist should execute an idea

“blindly” and mechanically putting themselves at the service of that idea rather than

forcing their own aesthetic judgements or ego into the artwork (Costello, 2007, p.104-

105). LeWitt explains that “Tampering with an idea by amending it, for example in the

light of the way its execution looks, always compromises the integrity of the work and

may be merely an expression of the artist’s willfulness or ‘egotism’” (Costello, 2007, p.

105-106). Leaving aside the ideological nature of his critique of the artistic ego, the

value of LeWitt’s statements to my research project is the way in which they so

explicitly pitch the conceptual against the visual or the aesthetic. Consequently, they

helped me to explore if Conceptual fashion design practices are driven by ideas rather

than how the final creative work looks.

Hussein Chalayan’s creative works suggest that his practice is driven by concepts and

ideas more than the visual qualities of his fashion objects, and consequently, he is

widely perceived as one of fashion’s foremost “intellectuals”. Critic Sarah Mower

(2011) claims that Chalayan could not be explained or categorised in the same way as

any of the designers before him (p. 36), describing his work throughout the 1990s as

“uncomfortable, astonishing, poignant, political and impenetrable” (p. 37). Chalayan

was born in Cyprus but moved to England at a young age and the cultural dislocation

he feels as he identifies with these two nationalities is threaded throughout his

practice. In addition to cross-cultural and cross-time themes, Chalayan is also well

known for integrating and exploring new technology in his collections. Susannah

Frankel argues that the stories and ideas surrounding Chalayan’s collections drive his

practice (2011, p.16) and that in his eyes, the concept is of equal or greater importance

than the clothing he creates (2001, p. 64). Chalayan supports this saying, “I

sometimes don’t like calling myself a fashion person… I really do think I am an ideas

person” (Frankel, 2001, p. 68), “my work is about ideas, really. My starting-point isn’t

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always the woman. It’s the idea” (Irvine, 2001 as cited in Quinn, 2003, p. 121).

Chalayan’s tendency to design garments primarily as idea-vehicles rather than

conventional fashion objects is further supported by fashion researcher Bradley Quinn

who states that:

...the point of Chalayan’s departure from conventional fashion was his use of clothing as a site of exploration, and his designs were created as expressions of concepts rather than as garments made with only functionality in mind. As a result, Chalayan’s collections are characterised by a heightened sense of meaning, an allusion to a more intense experience somewhere else, or the promise of a richer, wider horizon to be found (Quinn, 2002, p. 46 as cited in Bugg, 2009, p. 14).

While Quinn does not articulate what defines this horizon as “richer” than those

provided by Conventional fashion, I suggest that he refers to the ability of garments to

deliver more than conventional ideals of beauty and fashionability – the ability to

appeal to the intellect on a deeper level.

Chalayan’s design process further demonstrates that his practice is driven by ideas

because the exploration and communication of his research concepts appear to

determine the visual qualities of his work. For example, in his Spring Summer 2011

collection, Sakoku, Chalayan uses his research into Japanese cultural heritage and the

impact of natural disasters, such as earthquakes and tsunamis to lead the design

process. In one section of this collection, Haiku, I argue that Chalayan’s research

directly determines the visual properties of the garments demonstrating a conceptually-

based rather than visually-based design method. Chalayan drapes chiffon to form the

characters of the Japanese word sonzaisuru which means ‘to exist’ (Frankel 2011:17)

showing that his research directly determines the position of the fabric drapes and

overall garment design (Figure 1). In this example, Chalayan still has to make some

aesthetic decisions, such as fabric choice, garment type, and technique for draping the

fabric. However, this is on the whole an unconventional approach to fashion design,

as rather than visualising a garment and then setting out to produce it, the design

process revolves around translating a research concept or idea so that it shapes the

final designs.

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Figure 1: Hussein Chalayan’s Spring Summer 2011 collection, Sakoku, in which the fabric of

this dress is draped to form the Japanese word sonzaisuru (Frankel, 2011, p. 11).

Chalayan’s Autumn Winter 2000 collection, Afterwords also uses similar methods of

idea-driven design. I suggest that this collection uses a function-led design idea that

shapes the visual qualities of the garments through a dialogue between design and

construction – with the functionality significantly shaping the visual characteristics of

the garments. For example, the concept behind Chalayan’s Afterwords collection is

the journey of refugees and so he “imagined scenarios in which people are required to

flee carrying what they are able” (King, 2011, p. 9-10). He translated this research

concept into the idea of designing a lounge room of furniture that transforms into

garments and accessories to be carried away at a moment’s notice. For example, in

one section of the collection show, “four models entered the stage wearing only

neutral-toned shifts, they occupied themselves with the sitting room chairs and within

minutes had transformed the chair covers into dresses “after which the chairs were

folded into suitcases (King, 2011, p. 9) (Figure 2). Chalayan’s idea dictates that the

four dresses must function as both dresses and chair covers. Consequently, while

Chalayan would have made many aesthetic decisions, I argue that the negotiation

between the dual functions of each dress would have strongly led the design process.

In other words, without the dual functions related to this idea, that each dress must

function as both cover and dress, it is unlikely that Chalayan would have come up with

the same designs. This further supports my argument that Chalayan’s design process

is primarily driven by the exploration of research and ideas rather than the goal of

creating a traditional fashion object as in Conventional practices.

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Figure 2: Hussein Chalayan’s Autumn Winter 2000 collection, Afterwords, in which chair covers

were transformed into dresses (King, 2011, p. 9).

Similarly, I argue that Comme des Garçons designer, Rei Kawakubo’s practice is

driven by the exploration and communication of ideas rather than the creation of

conventionally beautiful fashion objects. Kawakubo is widely acknowledged as a key

founder and driver of the Conceptual fashion movement. Born in Tokyo, Kawakubo

studied the history of aesthetics at Keio University rather than fashion design. After

working in advertising, Kawakubo began her brand Comme des Garçons, or, “like the

boys” (Menkes, 2009). After success in Japan, Kawakubo launched her clothing in

Paris in 1981 with fellow Conceptual designer Yohji Yamamoto causing great uproar

because the clothing worked against the prevailing ideals of beauty and fashionability

(English, 2011, p. 38). Kawakubo explains her desire to create new ideas of beauty

rather than following convention saying, “I want to see things differently to search for

beauty. I want to find something nobody has ever found... It is meaningless to create

something predictable’ (Hirakawa,1990, p. 24 as cited in Kawamura, 2004, p. 137).

Fashion historian Caroline Evans analyses the unconventional ideas of beauty

Kawakubo presents in her famous “lumps and bumps” Spring Summer 1997 collection,

Dress Becomes Body Becomes Dress, arguing that it did not “engage with the

everyday language of the fashion body” (2002/2003) (Figure 3) . This collection

contained clothing padded with goose down to distort the body and present

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unconventional images of women. Evans describes the ideas communicated through

the collection “...as paradigmatic postmodern representations of a body which

oscillates endlessly between subject- and object-hood” (2002/2003). These garments

did not reflect conventional ideas of beauty and this was highlighted by the actions of

both Vogue and Elle magazine who attempted to bring the garments closer to

conventional ideals by photographing the collection without the padding that was so

key to communicating Kawakubo’s ideas. This suggests that like Chalayan, Kawakubo

is primarily motivated to create clothing as a vehicle for her research and ideas rather

than as an expression of conventional beauty or ‘on-trend’ fashionability.

Figure 3: Comme des Garçons Spring Summer 1997 “Lumps and Bumps” collection where

padding created distorted figures (www.firstview.com).

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However, while Chalayan and Kawakubo’s practices are both idea-driven, Kawakubo’s

design process to translate her research into designs is very different to Chalayan’s. I

argue that Kawakubo’s role in the Comme des Garçons design process has more in

common with that of Conceptual artist John Baldessari than with other fashion

designers. For example, rather than using conventional design sketches or draping,

Kawakubo allows her patternmaking team to translate her abstract ideas into form.

Kawakubo’s role in the design process demonstrates parallels with Baldessari’s

position as the creative “impresario” or “composer” of his work, such as The

Commissioned Paintings (1969-1970) (Godfrey, 1998, p.138). In this work, rather than

executing the paintings himself, Baldessari commissioned fourteen painters from

country fairs to paint a photo from a series of photographs he took of a hand pointing

at things. Although the painters completed the work in their own style and their names

were displayed on the canvases, the work was attributed to Baldessari – positioning

the paintings as documentation of the idea-as-art rather than artworks themselves

(Godfrey, 1998, p.138). Similarly, Kawakubo formulates an idea or concept and

instructs her patternmakers to execute her idea as closely as possible but with their

own unique approach. It is common for fashion production workers, such as

patternmakers, to have some creative input towards the designs as they translate the

sketches of a fashion designer. However, like Baldessari, Kawakubo assumes the role

of composer or director and gives her patternmakers a much more active and creative

role in developing the final fashion objects. This suggest that like Baldessari,

Kawakubo sees Conceptual fashion as being defined by the ideas behind it rather than

the physicality of the fashion object produced.

Kawakubo has developed a collaborative Conceptual approach by replacing

conventional design sketches with abstract concepts presented to her production

team. Describing her process Kawakubo explains:

With all collections, I start abstractly...I try to find two to three disparate themes, and think about the techniques to express them not in a straight way. This is always the longest part of the process (English, 2011, p.74)

After establishing her themes for the collection she communicates them to her team

and challenges them to develop the garment’s physical characteristics that express her

ideas. A patternmaker from her team describes the process in greater detail saying:

Once she gave us a piece of crumpled paper and said she wanted a pattern for a garment that would have something of that quality. Another time she didn’t produce anything, but talked about a pattern

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for a coat that would have the qualities of a pillowcase that was in the process of being pulled inside-out. She didn’t want that exact shape, of course, but the essence of that moment in transition, of half inside, half out. (Sudjic, 1990, p. 34 as cited in Kawamura, 2004, p. 145)

Researcher Yuniwara Kawamura (2004, p. 146) interviewed one of Kawakubo’s team

who further explained that each patternmaker would devise garment prototypes they

felt best embodied Kawakubo’s ideas. These prototypes were presented to Kawakubo

who would select those that best matched her ideas and request any changes.

Kawakubo did not train as a fashion designer and unlike Hussein Chalayan, who holds

“…an uncanny ability to visualize complicated flat paper patterns in three dimensions”

(Lowthorpe, 2011, p. 260) she does not have the expert construction knowledge of

some of her peers. However, despite this she is viewed by many as one of the most

creative and influential forces in contemporary fashion design. Without Conventional

fashion design training and in-depth construction knowledge, Kawakubo has

developed an unconventional, but extremely innovative research and design process

for Conceptual fashion design. Like Chalayan, her practice revolves around ideas that

are communicated through her fashion designs, even though they use very different

design processes to translate their ideas.

In summary, although Conceptual fashion designers are more committed to producing

a traditional enduring physical artifact than Conceptual artists, my research shows that

ideas still fundamentally drive their design processes. For example, LeWitt’s

statements on Conceptual art relate to Conceptual fashion designers Hussein

Chalayan and Rei Kawakubo as they both begin their creative process with the

exploration of research concepts that determine the direction for their final creative

works. In contrast, Conventional fashion designers generally begin the research and

design process with a pre-conceived visual aesthetic or direction for their work. Many

Conceptual artists directly privileged ideas over physical form by reducing their work to

language-based statements, diagrams or temporary installations. Artists Sol LeWitt

and Lawrence Weiner did not feel it was essential to make their works as traditional

enduring physical artifacts, and instead, often sold typed statements or certificates of

the idea behind their work, sometimes accompanied by a diagram (Godfrey, 1998).

While fashion designers create many catwalk pieces that are not necessarily widely

adopted or practical to wear, they still generally produce a final garment. As

researcher Hazel Clark (2012, p. 74) states, “while conceptual fashion can conceivably

exist without the production of an object, to date that has not tended to be the case”,

also noting that the high-profile Conceptual fashion designers she explores in the

article, “...continue to produce technically, as well as conceptually, sophisticated

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garments”. I argue that Conceptual fashion designers may be more inclined to produce

physical works as their ideas may be most clearly communicated by interactions

between their designs and the body. From this perspective, making the physical

garment does not indicate that Conceptual fashion designers are driven by the

conventions of producing a traditional enduring fashion object, but that their garments

are primarily made as vehicles to communicate their ideas rather than objects of

conventional beauty to be admired.

Relating LeWitt’s ideas to Chalayan and Kawakubo’s practices highlights their

common tendency to operate outside a Conventional fashion paradigm by primarily

designing ‘idea-vehicles’ rather than visually desirable, conventional fashion objects.

While my research demonstrates that both Chalayan and Kawakubo primarily design

to explore and communicate ideas, their design processes and methods for translating

research into designs is remarkably different from each other. This suggests further

similarities between Conceptual fashion and Conceptual art, as Conceptual art was not

defined by specific working methods or a cohesive visual style, but by a clear

emphasis on exploring the nature of art and perception.

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II. Fashion challenging the conventions of fashion

The artist Joseph Kosuth argues that “the “purest” definition of Conceptual art would

be that it is inquiry into the foundation of the concept “art”, as it has come to mean”

(Godfrey, 1998, p. 134). In 1969 Kosuth insisted that “being an artist now means to

question the nature of art” (Krauss, 1999, p.10) and the value of an artist should be

measured by how much they question (Godfrey, 1998, p. 134). Kosuth did not produce

traditional art objects but advocated a language-based form of Conceptual art that

some other artists viewed as “tedious and self-indulgent” branding it as ‘Theoretical art”

(Godfrey, 1998, p. 14). Although Kosuth’s statements about Conceptual art refer

primarily to language-based art rather than physical artifacts, I found them useful to

explore how Conceptual fashion designers convey self-reflexive ideas that question

their field. In much the same way as Conceptual artists questioned the very nature of

art, its conventions, its rules and its contexts, these fashion designers question aspects

of fashion, such as aesthetic qualities, materials, construction, meaning and display.

In addition to these aspects, Conceptual fashion designers also question how fashion

interacts with the body and shapes identity. Philosopher Lars Svendsen (2006) argues

that we look to the body for identity and therefore also seek it from clothing. He

attributes our drive to find identity in our clothing to an ongoing ‘dialogue’ in which body

shape influences fashion and our perception of the body is influenced by the prevailing

fashions of the time (2006, p. 76). Given, therefore, that the ‘nature’ of fashion is tied

so closely to identity, it is not surprising that Conceptual fashion designers often

explore the range of relationships between the body, identity, self and fashion, thus not

only questioning the fashion object, but also how we communicate through and

engage with fashionable dress.

There are established conventions about how fashion communicates and many of

these were famously explored by philosopher Roland Barthes in his book, The Fashion

System (1967). Kawamura argues that Barthes’ “Fashion system” would be more

accurately described as a “clothing system” that teaches us the conventions of what

clothing should look like and how we should wear it in different social contexts. As she

explains:

There are assumptions about what Western clothes are supposed to look like. We have learned from socialization that a shirt usually has two sleeves or a pair of pants has two legs. Similarly, there are rules that we take for granted as far as dressing is concerned (Kawamura, 2004, p. 8)

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In addition, the fundamental properties of clothing itself, the ‘rules’ of clothing act as

symbols that communicate various messages to other people linked to aspects of our

identity, such as gender, social status and even political ideology. For example, dress

has historically been very important to communicate social and political messages and

this is clearly demonstrated through Louis XVI’s tight regulations on fashion in France.

These regulations dictated all aspects of clothing, from the amount of fabric used, to

the type of braid or buttons used, to distinguish rank and social standing (Kawamura,

2004, p. 30). Consequently, during the French Revolution, clothing was used to

communicate personal views and alliances with the working class or elite (Kawamura,

2004, p. 31-32). In addition, clothing can communicate messages specific to an

occasion, for example, formal black clothing worn at a funeral to communicate

mourning and respect, or a white wedding dress in Western culture to denote purity. In

this sense, the conventions of clothing can be viewed as visual communication or a

language, and therefore, to question these conventions is to question the very nature

of clothing and fashion.

Conceptual fashion designer Yohji Yamamoto has questioned the Western “fashion-

system” and in the words of dress historian, Alexis Romano (2011, p. 109), “…

uprooted and broke clothing conventions and codes, rethinking established ideas of

beauty, age, gender and the body”. Yamamoto is considered to be one of the key

catalysts of the Conceptual fashion movement along with Rei Kawakubo, with whom

he debuted in Paris in 1981. He was born in Tokyo and after studying law completed a

fashion qualification from Bunka (Baudot, 1997, p. 9). Yamamoto was raised by his

poor, hardworking seamstress mother and this informed his creation of stronger, more

functional women’s clothing (Figure 4), as explained in his comments, “I don’t know

any woman who doesn’t work… this completely formulated my outlook on women”

(Shoji, 2005 as cited in English, 2011, p.70). Yamamoto has continued to challenge

many ideals of the traditional Western “fashion system”. For example, he challenges

conventional ideas of femininity and masculinity, by using androgynous shapes that

don’t contour the body; barriers between high and low fashion, by using

unconventional fabrication, construction and decoration; and blurring boundaries of

“old” and “new”, by imbuing his clothing with a patina of age.

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Figure 4: Yamamoto’s Autumn Winter 1984 catalogue demonstrates his more active and

utilitarian image of women and fashion (Jones, 2011, p. 141).

Yohji Yamamoto also broke traditional conventions by questioning what garments are

meant to look like as illustrated by journalist Sally Brampton (1983) in a review of

Yamamoto’s Spring/Summer 1983 collection:

...there were armholes that bore no relation to the line of the shoulders, trousers that were neither trousers nor skirts but some new mutant jackets that seemed to be half finished with some major part completely missing. They defied convention as they defied the shape of the human body” (as cited in English, 2011, p. 39).

In addition, Yamamoto challenged the way traditional gender norms are communicated

through clothing and the essence of fashion as a system of constant change and

renewal. For example, women’s fashion in the early 1980s was predominantly tight

fitting and glamorous, but Yamamoto’s garments presented femininity in the

revolutionary guise of baggy, asymmetrical, androgynous garments. François Baudot

(1997) claims that Yamamoto broke away from ‘fossilised’ ideas of clothing by

“disrupting the codes by which clothes made their appeal; by rethinking the glamorous

signals sent out by their external appearance; by redefining their relationship with the

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male or female body; and ultimately… by radically reinterpreting the respective

contributions of beauty and ugliness, past and future, memory and modernity”.

Yamamoto also questioned the fashion ideals of perfection and constant renewal by

using unconventionally heavy, strong fabrics and designing garments that look “pre-

aged. Yamamoto explains his desire to question these fashion norms stating:

My starting point was that I wanted to protect a human’s body… actually hiding women’s bodies. This is about sexuality, about protecting it. From the very beginning of my career, I was not sure that I would become a so-called fashion designer. It sounded very light- “fashion designer”. When I think about the image of a fashion designer I have to think about trend. I have to think about what’s new, what’s next, what kind of feeling consumers want. It’s too busy for me. So, from the beginning, I wanted to protect the clothing itself from fashion, and at the same time protect the woman’s body from something, maybe from men’s eyes or a cold wind. I wanted people to keep on wearing my clothing for at least 10 years or more, so I requested the fabric maker to make a very strong, tough finish. It is very close to designing army clothing…. they live forever (Salazar, 2011b, p. 82)

Curator Ligaya Salazar argues that Yamamoto’s “... garments seem to be in direct

opposition to what the industry stands for: they possess a timelessness that means the

consumer does not need to buy every season, and they obliterate a particular body

image instead of enforcing it” (Salazar, 2011a, p. 48). While the fabric strength and

weight Yamamoto uses is partially responsible for this, it is also the worn aesthetic he

presents to the consumer. Fashion researcher Bonnie English (2011, p. 38-43) argues

that by showing collections that are ripped, torn, uneven and asymmetrical,

Yamamoto’s clothing both defied existing codes of haute couture and broke down

sartorial conventions of high fashion. This not only questions how we as consumers

project our identity and status with clothing, but further undermines traditional

definitions of fashion. For example, Barthes (1967) developed a method for identifying

when “fashion” is present by analysing the replacement of wardrobe items, arguing

that:

Fashion is sustained by certain producer groups in order to precipitate the renewal of clothing, which would be too slow if it depended on wear and tear alone…if the garment is replaced as soon as it is worn out, there is no Fashion…if the garment is worn beyond its natural replacement time, there is pauperization… if a person buys more than he wears, there is Fashion, and the more the rhythm of purchase exceeds the rhythm of dilapidation, the stronger the submission to Fashion. (1967, p. 297-298)

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By presenting “new” garments to consumers which appear old and well worn,

Yamamoto questions the fundamental ways in which fashion is both produced and

consumed, encouraging consumers to wear garments across seasons in his bid to

escape the fashion “trend” cycle (Figure 5).

Figure 5: Yamamoto commonly pre-aged his clothing as demonstrated in his Spring Summer

1983 collection which included distressed cotton tunics and trousers (Salazar, 2011a, p. 49).

On the surface, Yamamoto’s research and design process may appear similar to more

Conventional practices because it draws quite heavily on visual and sensory

references. However, I argue that unlike these more Conventional practitioners,

Yamamoto uses these references to convey ideas that question the conventions of

fashion. In addition, it is not just the visual nature of these references that Yamamoto

draws on, but what they symbolise and communicate. Yamamoto’s work is influenced

by both Western and Japanese garment traditions, historical detailing and

construction. In addition, other key visual and conceptual inspirations evident in

Yamamoto’s work are the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sab, which embraces

“imperfection, impermanence and incompletion”, and photographer August Sander’s

book of 1920s and 1930s portraits, People of the Twentieth Century (Salazar, 2011a,

p. 23). Yamamoto draws from wabi-sabi and one of his favourite Sander’s portraits of

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a casually dressed gypsy to highlight and question narrow Western norms and

traditions surrounding perfection by striving for “the perfect imperfection, or… the

individuality of a garment”. These influences can be seen in Yamamoto’s use of worn

and pre-washed fabric and in his unorthodox way of constructing each garment. As

Salazar explains:

More understated means of imbuing his creations with this sense of imperfection can be seen in the internal construction of Yamamoto’s garments. Not a single piece of his is totally symmetrical, whether it’s a matter of the back and front being different lengths, two shoulders having entirely different shapes or aspects of the garment’s construction being revealed on the outside (2011a, p. 23).

Yamamoto personally translates these ideas into designs by draping on a mannequin

and closely manages their development into final sample garments. Salazar describes

the process saying:

He used to work from drawings but for years now he has been working directly with the fabric on a stand... Each garment goes through a succession of changes and adjustments until it is ready for a pattern to be made. Subsequently, further steps are added between the construction of the toile and the final garment fitting, with Yamamoto involved at every stage (2011a, p. 34).

Unlike Conventional designers, I argue that Yamamoto transforms visual and sensory

references into a series of symbols that are used in specific ways to communicate very

specific concepts. These symbols are used to explore and communicate the deeper

ideas and meanings behind his work rather than to create conventionally beautiful or

on-trend fashion garments as is the norm in Conventional design practices. While I

argue that Yamamoto’s creative works are therefore primarily idea-vehicles rather than

conventional fashion objects, it is more difficult to separate ‘the idea’ and ‘the visual’ in

Conceptual fashion than in Conceptual art. For example, language-based Conceptual

art is a clear example of this separation; however, in Conceptual fashion the distinction

is more subtle. However, the comments of Yamamoto himself demonstrate this

juncture between the visual style of the fashion objects he creates as idea-vehicles,

and his personal aesthetic which I suggest he refers to as “typical Yohji”. For example,

Yamamoto describes viewing his own retrospective exhibition saying:

I always want to go against something, some trend or some movement. So as an archive, there are so many outfits, so many creations, which are not Yohji. They are a kind of journalistic criticism, so they are not typically Yohji. So when this kind of twisted idea of

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clothing is put in the exhibition hall, I feel very embarrassed (Salazar, 2011b, p. 89).

With this statement I argue that Yamamoto infers that his clothes are intended as

conversation or critique rather than conventionally beautiful fashion objects to be

admired. This does not mean that the garments themselves are not beautiful, only that

for Yamamoto, beauty is not their primary function and their visual qualities are

determined by what he wants to say rather than what he wants to see. This suggests

that as a consequence, a Conceptual fashion designer’s archived body of work may

not serve to communicate their personal tastes or aesthetic, but instead provide a sort

of ‘documentation’ of the history of their ideas and any comments they have had about

fashion.

Like those of Yamamoto, the creative works of Conceptual fashion designer, Issey

Miyake, also demonstrate a critically based exploration of his ideas about fashion.

Miyake could be seen as the early founder of Conceptual fashion as he paved the way

for Conceptual designers Yamamoto and Kawakubo to bring their work to Paris. Born

in Hiroshima, Miyake grew up in devastated postwar Japan and after graduating from

Tokyo’s Tama Art University in graphic design, he moved to Paris in 1965 to study at

the Chambre Syndicale de la Couture (Chandés, 1999, p.150). After his training,

Miyake became an apprentice to Guy Laroche and then an assistant at Givenchy

(Jouve, 1997, p.11) before starting his own brand. Although he gained traditional

Western training, Miyake wanted to find a new way of making fashion explaining that

“The Western tradition in clothing seemed to me to be too rigid. I wanted to create

things that could be free, both mentally and physically” (Jouve,1997, p. 11). Although

Miyake’s design practice challenges the Western fashion system by referencing his

Japanese heritage, he has always maintained that he does not want to evoke

Japanese culture with his clothing but to “be between cultures” (O’Brien, 1993, p. 23

as cited in Kawamura, 2004, p. 96). Miyake explains what drives his exploration and

remaking of Western and Eastern traditional fashion practices in his statement, “I

believe in questioning” (Callaway, 1988). However, it is important to note that many of

Miyake’s most unconventional design projects are designed to be accessible to a wide

range of consumers despite the ‘intellectual’ way in which they question fashion.

Fashion researcher Djurdja Bartlett argues that Miyake has drawn from the “restrained”

traditions of Japanese clothing to deconstruct the traditionally complex fashion of the

West, giving new meanings to the clothing he produces (Bartlett, 2000, p. 224). Marie-

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Andre Jouve (1997) highlights how Miyake’s approach differs to Western design

approaches that take a sensual approach to the female body arguing that he “… sees

the body as a reed, a neutral flexible thing, in the tradition of the kimono” (16).

However, Miyake’s comments suggest that the sculptural and oversized shapes he

often uses are more to do with accessibility and the consumer experience than

adhering to Japanese traditions:

I want women to be able to wear my clothes in the kitchen, when they’re pregnant... My clothes are for the young, the old, the short, the tall. They’re ageless you see? (Frankel, 2001, p. 48)

It is this combination of daring sculptural shapes and consumer accessibility that has

come to define some of Miyake’s most innovative projects along with his strong drive to

use technology to revolutionise fashion practice. Miyake reflects this continual

challenge to the fashion system saying:

…our society is poised to make dramatic changes based upon developments in science and technology. Will fashion be able to afford to keep the same old methodology? (Lee, 2005, p. 59)

Miyake questions conventional fashion practices by using innovative applications of

technology, traditional techniques and forward-thinking design that often work to

enhance the experience of consumers. He sees technology as a way to revive rather

than replace tradition and craftsmanship. This is highlighted in his comments that

“…the joint power of technology and manual work enables us to revive the warmth of

the human hand, in other words, to come close to the value inherent in artisanal work”

(Sato, 1998, p. 55). This approach is demonstrated in Miyake’s iconic project, Pleats

Please, developed in collaboration with Dai Fujiwara, who became Creative Director of

Issey Miyake in 2006. To develop this range, Miyake designed a new method of

clothing production using fusing technology and combined it with the simple body-

skimming shapes from his Japanese heritage and a contemporary design aesthetic.

Pleats Please emerged from Miyake’s desire to develop a universally accessible

fashion product, the ‘blue jeans’ of the twenty-first century. The resulting range is easy-

care, easily packaged, relatively affordable and accessible (Bartlett, 2000, p.227;

Frankel, 2001, p. 50), and despite the clothing’s sculptural, vaguely cubist shapes, the

permanent pleats result in stretchable garments that easily cocoon and adapt to

diverse body shapes (Spilker & Takeda, 2007, p.18) (Figure 6). Like Yamamoto,

Miyake questions the fashion trend cycle by maintaining a range of enduring classic

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styles in the Pleats Please range while adding some new styles to the collection each

season. While pleated fabric is traditionally set in shape and then cut so that it can be

sewn together, for Pleats Please Miyake reversed these processes. By first making the

garments between two-and-a-half and three times their final size, folding and sewing

the pleats in place, and finally permanently heat setting the pleats, Miyake was able to

keep the pleats straight (Sato, 1998, p.23) and achieve a level of malleability in the

garments despite their abstract shapes. Pleats Please resulted in garments that adapt

to the body of the wearer rather than imposing a pre-defined shape on the body. This

fundamentally challenges traditional Western garment design and construction, which

has often been developed to sculpt the body into current ideals of beauty rather than

accommodating the natural shape of the body.

Figure 6: Irving Penn Photograph of Miyake’s Pleats Please garment, Zig Zag, (Callaway,1988).

Miyake’s research and design process is led by his ideas to revolutionise conventional

construction, production and function, and his practice is therefore primarily driven by

the exploration of ideas rather than the conventions of ‘on-trend’ fashion objects. For

example, Miyake’s Columbe dress demonstrates his desire to develop unconventional

design, construction and production methods as well as new ways of dressing. For

example, Miyake produced the Columbe dress in 1991 with a technique that eliminated

sewing by using a single piece of fabric, cutting a hole for the head, and using press-

studs to both fasten and decorate the style (Bartlett, 2000, p. 226). Miyake traditionally

translated ideas such as these where there is an explicit dialogue between design and

construction with his own hands, as he explains, “I create by wrapping a piece of fabric

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around myself. It’s a process of manual labor. My clothes are born out of the

movement of my hands and body” (Tsurumoto,1983, p. 103 as cited in Kawamura,

2004, p.147). However, as the complexity of his projects has increased with the

application and development of new technology, Miyake has often collaborated with

design partners and experts outside of fashion.

In a significant departure from Conventional fashion practices, Miyake’s practice is

often driven by his desire to solve big-picture problems and engage consumers in new

ways. For example, A-POC, a project from Miyake’s long term exploration, A Piece of

Cloth, proposes a radically different way of designing, producing and engaging with

fashion in response to Fujiwara and Miyake’s ideas about where the future of fashion

needs to head in terms of garment production, sustainability and consumer

engagement. Dai Fujiwara has stated that A-POC was inspired by a need for

designers to become more accountable for the way their garments are made – the

environmental damage that is done and the amount of waste created (Benjamin,

2009). Through A-POC, Miyake and Fujiwara insist that the clothing be made from a

single piece of fabric that fully clothes the body (Kawamura, 2004, p. 134). This

addresses the environmental concerns of fabric waste by referencing one of Miyake’s

long-standing inspirations, the Kimono – which produces no waste as it is cut entirely

from rectangles of fabric that fit into the textile width. Using this approach, Miyake

fundamentally questions the way garments are designed and constructed in traditional

Western fashion.

In addition, A-POC questions modern trends in fashion to outsource production

overseas to countries with cheap labour and to exclude consumers from the creative

design process. A-POC challenges Conventional fashion practices by developing both

knitted and woven garments from a tube of fabric that requires lower levels of labour to

be manufactured into garments – with the consumer playing a vital role. For example,

in the knitted garments sewing is eliminated completely because the machine knits a

tube that contains several garments that are then cut by the consumer (Rissanen)

(Figure 7). Many of the woven A-POC garments also require little sewing, reducing

labour costs and avoiding the need to use cheaper factories overseas where it may be

hard to ensure ethical manufacturing. A-POC also fulfils Miyake’s long-term goal to

involve the consumer in the design and production process where he claims ...” he

does only half of the work and that the wearer must contribute the other half” (Bartlett,

2000, p.227).

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Figure 7: Miyake’s A-POC Spring Summer collection 1999

(http://www.moma.org/collection/browse_results.php?object_id=100361).

Using Kosuth’s statements to analyse Yamamoto and Miyake’s practices highlights

that both their design processes are driven by ideas that question fashion. Both

Yamamoto and Miyake fundamentally challenge Western and Japanese fashion by

questioning norms regarding gender, high and low culture, accessibility, beauty and

perfection with their unconventional sculptural shapes, fabrication, and finishing.

However, while Miyake and Yamamoto both explore ideas that question fashion, the

way they translate these ideas in the design process is very different. I argue that

Miyake’s design process is governed by a desire to innovate the function and

construction of fashion, to embrace technology and increase consumer engagement.

In contrast, my research shows that in Yamamoto’s design process he translates his

research ideas into visual and sensory references that work as symbols. This further

supports the idea that Conceptual fashion, like Conceptual art, is not about specific

techniques or cohesive visual qualities, but about communicating deeper meaning – in

particular, ideas that question the norms of fashion.

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III. Fashion Dematerialised and Demystified

In the late 1960s, art critic Lucy Lippard emphasised the ‘dematerialization of the art

object’ as a defining factor of Conceptual art (Godfrey, 1998, p. 14). Lucy Lippard and

John Chandler famously argue in “The Dematerialization of Art” (1968) that “...during

the 1960s the anti-intellectual, emotional/intuitive process of art-making characteristic

of the last two decades have begun to give way to an ultra-conceptual art that

emphasizes the thinking process almost exclusively” (as cited in Matravers, 2007,

p.18). They suggest that this shift in emphasis was inspiring a dematerialisation of art,

in particular, the idea of art as a physical object and believed this trend may result in

the obsolescence of the art objects altogether. Derek Matravers (2007, p. 25) argues

that there is a link between Conceptual artists’ desire to dematerialise the art object

and distance themselves from modernism and traditional conceptions of art by

avoiding commodification. However, dematerialisation also relates to Conceptual art’s

aim to shift traditional passive viewers of art into active thinkers by positioning artifacts

as signifiers. For example, artist Allan Kaprow’s observed that in Conceptual works,

the viewer had in fact become the object while the work presented by the artist

became like a canvas (Godfrey, 2006, p.143). Lippard and Chandler argue that art

objects are signifiers that have the ability to function as a language:

When works of art, like words, are signs that convey ideas, they are not things in themselves but symbols or representatives of things. Such a work is a medium rather than an end in itself or “art-as-art” (as cited in Morgan, 1996, p.16)

Lippard and Chandler suggest that Conceptual art is more about the ‘symbolic

function’ of the medium rather than the artifacts or ‘things’ in themselves (Morgan,

1996, p. 16).

In contrast to early Conceptual artists, fashion designers Viktor & Rolf and Maison

Martin Margiela openly work within a commercial paradigm; however, they do

consistently use their clothing, brand, and identity as signifiers. In response to the

common tendency in Conceptual art to view the idea as the art and the physical artifact

as ‘documentation’ of the idea, Lucy Lippard and John Chandler argue that in an act of

dematerialisation, the artifacts functioning to communicate the ideas behind them

became signs rather than ‘things’. This idea is useful to explore the practices of Viktor

& Rolf and Maison Martin Margiela and the way they question the fashion object and

the role of the fashion designer or brand. This is particularly so as both have at times

critiqued aspects of the commercial paradigm in which they operate. Fashion

52

researcher Jessica Bugg argues that, “both Viktor & Rolf and Margiela

have...challenged the catwalk and used it as a space to confront or explore the

capitalist values of fashion” (2009, p.13). However, in spite of this, these designers

openly participate in the fashion system that they question and produce clothing for

commercial sale. Consequently, I argue that their fashion objects demonstrate similar

techniques of dematerialisation to Conceptual artists through their function as signs.

However, these techniques are not as strict an attempt to avoid commodification as in

Conceptual art practices, but instead communicate Viktor & Rolf’s ideas that critique

the fashion system.

I argue that Viktor & Rolf consistently use visual symbols in their practice to

communicate ideas in ways that intentionally echo the dematerialisation techniques of

early Conceptual art practices. Born in Holland, Viktor Horsting and Rolf Snoeren are

seen as new, young, fresh faces of Conceptual fashion, having studied at the Arnhem

Academy of Art and Design before moving to Paris in 1992. In their early career they

skirted the boundaries of art and fashion practice until they experimented with couture

in 1997 before moving to ready-to-wear in 2000. Despite making a clear shift towards

the field of fashion, the design duo still maintain close ties to art, often engaging with

fashion as a form of critical inquiry steeped in irony. For example, in Viktor& Rolf’s

Autumn/ Winter 1996-1997 collection the designers made no clothes at all and instead

sent fliers to the fashion editors saying “Viktor & Rolf on strike” and distributed posters

around the streets of Paris (Figure 8). Fashion researcher Caroline Evans (2003)

claims that:

Such tactics suggested that the designers were well aware that fashion is the ultimate product that emphasises consumption at the expense of production, making the latter invisible in classically Marxist fashion. Viktor & Rolf managed simultaneously to critique the industry and its spectacle yet to be a part of them in an ironic and knowing way (p. 83).

I argue that this work shares strong similarities with Conceptual artist Robert Barry’s

1969 show held at the Art & Project Gallery in Amsterdam which consisted of a sign on

the closed front door that read “during the exhibition the gallery will be closed”

(Godfrey, 1996, p. 164). It is difficult to distinguish whether this work by Viktor & Rolf

was most strongly motivated by their lack of financial capital at the time, their drive to

critique fashion, or ironically, their desire to build a media profile. However, the design

duo continue to create these paradoxical positions where they become the very

phenomenon they critique as they explore the role of fashion branding.

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Figure 8: Viktor & Rolf ‘on strike’ flier, Autumn Winter 1996-7 (Evans, 2003, p. 83).

Viktor & Rolf also provoked consumers to consider the emptiness of fashion branding

and ‘media hype’ in 1997 when they presented small maquettes of a catwalk

‘spectacular’ in an Amsterdam gallery and launched a Viktor & Rolf perfume in a

limited edition of 250 bottles. While Viktor & Rolf developed a full marketing campaign

for the perfume (Figure 9), the bottles were empty (Evans, 2003, p. 83). By selling

every bottle at 200 pounds each, they provided an “ironic symbol of a brand-obsessed

era” (Menkes, 2003). Evans (2003, p. 85) describes this aspect of Viktor & Rolf’s

practice as a “nod to ...undercut any notion of resistance to the spectacle by

acknowledging that cultural producers and consumers today can be seduced and

entranced by the spectacle even as they understand that they are being manipulated

by it”. I argue that this further highlights that Conceptual fashion, while not necessarily

being commercial in the conventional sense, appeals to a niche consumer who wants

to engage with products that stimulate them on an intellectual as well as visual and

sensory level. Viktor & Rolf’s work demonstrates that this consumer is willing to

consume products that are not ‘things’ in themselves but signs that communicate the

designer’s ideas.

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Figure 9: Viktor & Rolf Spring Summer 1997 poster for their perfume launched at the Torch

Gallery in Amsterdam, November 1996 (Evans, 2003, p. 82).

Similarly, when Viktor & Rolf’s performance as designers and their spectacular shows

became the crux of their creative practice, their clothing became signifiers of their

ideas rather than creative works in themselves. As Rolf states, “For us really the show

is the performance, that is the real work. Those ten minutes is our work and the clothes

are like actors in a play” (Martin, 2008). Rolf’s comments suggest that their clothes are

symbols or signs used to communicate a larger idea or narrative. The narrative of

Viktor & Rolf’s work changes each season but they generally work to critique various

aspects of the fashion system and consumerism. In addition, a recurring theme

threaded throughout much of their work relates to the role of the fashion designer. In a

break with tradition, Viktor & Rolf have often appeared in their own fashion shows –

dressed like the models with a full face of black makeup for their 2001 Black Hole

collection, tap dancing to Singing in the Rain in 2001, and dressing and undressing in

front of the audience to launch their menswear line, Monsieur (Chang, 2010;

Lowthorpe, 2001; Menkes, 2003). In this sense, I argue that Viktor & Rolf’s work can

be seen as a performance with the clothing becoming documentation of their work

rather than being positioned as the creative outcomes. Fashion journalist Rebecca

Lowthorpe (2001) agrees that Viktor & Rolf’s work is performance-based explaining of

their Autumn/ Winter 2001-2002 Black Hole collection:

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When Viktor and Rolf appeared to take their bows, blacked-up like the models, it brought the house down. Never before had it been made so clear that the clothes weren't the performance. The performance was Viktor and Rolf.

English argues that by positioning themselves this way Viktor & Rolf were “ironically

challenging the notion that sartorial status was defined not by the clothing but by

association with the image of the designer” (2011, p. 157). This further supports the

argument that Viktor & Rolf’s practice is driven by ideas and their physical artifacts are

positioned as signifiers rather than creative works in themselves.

Viktor & Rolf are driven by a desire to communicate ideas and shift their consumers

from passive to active through their performances. Olivier Saillard, fashion curator at

Musée de la Mode et du Textile in Paris, explains the key inventiveness of Viktor &

Rolf’s practice as “...how you can read their work. It is a hall of mirrors reflecting the

world” (Menkes, 2003). Viktor Horsting also explains their motivations saying, “I hope

that we inspire people with the work that we do, give them something beautiful but

something that makes them think and that touches them emotionally” (Martin, 2008).

This comment demonstrates parallels between the aspirations of Viktor & Rolf and

those of Conceptual artists in terms of cultivating an active viewer, or in the case of

fashion, an active consumer. In addition, this statement further demonstrates the

difficulty of distinguishing ‘the idea’ from ‘ the visual’ in fashion with Horsting citing

‘beauty’ as a key concern of their practice. However, it is important to note that Viktor &

Rolf’s idea of beauty is likely to differ substantially from those of more Conventional

practitioners.

In their design process, Viktor & Rolf may seem to further blur distinctions between

Conventional visually-driven and Conceptual ideas-driven fashion by drawing on visual

references to create their designs. For example, Richard Martin relates Viktor & Rolf’s

design process, in which ideas are translated into designs by patchworking together

symbols, to the Visual Arts practice of collage:

Viktor & Rolf used pre-existing fragments as the collage medium to create new clothing. …. The effect is to see… a new order emerging from the familiar pieces of old style (Martin, 1999, p.113).

Similar techniques of collage or pastiche are commonly used in Conventional fashion

practices. However, unlike Conventional practitioners, Viktor & Rolf use these visual

references as symbols or signifies that are cobbled together to communicate their

ideas and critique fashion rather than to create a conventionally beautiful or on-trend

fashion object.

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While many Conceptual artists dematerialise or demystifiy the art object by erasing it

entirely, I suggest that Maison Martin Margiela demystifies the fashion object by

displacing or distorting the physical qualities of the objects produced so that they

becomes signifiers of ideas-as-fashion. Martin Margiela is seen by many as the

defining Conceptual fashion designer of the 1990s. Born in Belgium and trained at the

Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp, he graduated just a year before the famous

Antwerp Six designers emerged from the same course. After working as a freelance

designer for luxury labels, such as Jean Paul Gaultier, he launched his own label in

1989. However, it is not what we know about Margiela, but what we don’t know about

him that defines his practice, as he has famously cultivated the status of the

‘anonymous’ designer. He worked as the creative director for major fashion brand

Hermès between 1997 and 2003 and left his own brand, Maison Martin Margiela, in

2002 when it was purchased by fashion company, Diesel. It is interesting to note that

the work his house Maison Martin Margiela produces in his literal absence continues to

attract critical acclaim.

Maison Martin Margiela is particularly well known for practices of deconstruction or “le

destroy”. While deconstruction is not actually a destructive technique, some of the

ideas communicated by Margiela’s use of deconstruction could be related to the

Erased De Kooning Drawing of 1953. This artwork was created before Conceptual art

gained momentum; however, while Rauschenberg’s early work was influenced by

Abstract Expressionism (Godfrey, 1998, p.63), this work demonstrates a clear shift

towards art-as-idea rather than art as a thing in itself and could therefore be framed as

a significant precursor to Conceptual art. In this work, Robert Rauschenberg requested

a drawing from fellow artist Willem de Kooning so that he could “make an artwork in

reverse” by rubbing it out. Godfrey (1998, p. 63-64) argues that this work asks the

question “Could an act of apparent destruction be creative too?”. Similarly, in

Margiela’s practice, “destruction becomes a process of analytical creation” (Martin &

Koda 1993, p. 94 as cited in Gill,1998, p. 27) and a method through which to demystify

fashion. The idea of deconstruction in fashion is explored by Bradley Quinn in his

book, The Architecture of Fashion (2003). Quinn explains the power of deconstruction

to demystify designed objects by exposing the structure and inner workings of the

garment or building’s form. For example, fashion deconstruction can be used to

communicate the construction history of a garment defying traditional fashion design

practices that aim to “erase” the previous experience of the garment (Quinn, 2003, p.

229) and reinforce the “perfection” and “newness” of the fashion object.

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Fashion researcher Alison Gill explores Margiela’s use of these deconstruction

techniques as a critique of the fashion system. Gill (1998) argues that:

His dresses are made from mis-matched fabrics, lining-silks with jerseys, and one can see the inside mechanics of the dress structure—darts, facings, and zippers. Or old jackets have been re-cut, tacked, sewn and re-detailed, their seams and darts reversed and exposed to the outside. Accepting that a seamstress or tailor performs a certain labor of “outfitting” bodies and giving them an enclothed form, a labor stitched inside as the secrets of a finished garment, a secret that is kept by the garment itself as it performs “seamlessly”, Margiela literally brings these secrets to its surface (p. 27).

Margiela’s creative works have often worked to capture and communicate the process

of creating fashion. For example, in Margiela’s1996 ‘semi-couture’ collection he made

basic garments that looked like the fabric and form of a tailor’s dummy to turn the

wearer into a mannequin (English, 2011, p. 135-6). He then added fabric in the guise

of half draped, unfinished garments to the “mannequin” garments, such as one front

side of a silk top or a quarter of a skirt to mimic the process of developing fashion

garments (Figure 10). This could be interpreted as an attempt to provoke the viewer to

question the ideal of perfection that prevails in fashion. However, Gill (1998) argues

that fashion deconstruction techniques like this offer a deeper critique of fashion

because:

…visibility is given to the simultaneous bidirectionality of the labor that the garment-maker and clothes perform—i.e., the garment-maker is simultaneously forming and deforming, constructing and destroying, making and undoing clothes. This bidirectional labor continues in dressing and wearing clothes, as clothes figure and disfigure the body, compose and decompose (p.28).

Figure 10: Margiela’s Semi-couture garments (Derycke & Van de Veire, 1999, p.285-286).

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I argue that Maison Margiela also dematerialises the fashion object, not by erasing the

object entirely, but by creating non-traditional fashion objects that both question

fashion norms of perfection and beauty and encourage consumers to be active and

think about the ideas behind the work rather than simply enjoying their visual qualities.

Maison Margiela does this by distorting the features of garments so that they cease to

function as traditional fashion objects. For example, in Spring/ Summer 2000 and

Autumn/ Winter 2001 Margiela made a number of garments in size 74 and 78, so large

they would only fit giants in a conventional sense. While this could be interpreted as a

technique to question fashion’s standardization of the body, I argue this technique

transforms the garments into signifiers of the idea-as–fashion rather than positioning

them as the creative works themselves in the minds of consumers. In this instance,

because the garments are too large to function as conventional fashion objects, they

encourage consumers to stop viewing them as the end-product and contemplate what

they represent. In another example of this technique, Maison Margiela made garments

from unwearable materials, such as the Autumn/Winter 1989-90 collection featuring a

waistcoat from wire and broken plates.

Martin Margiela has also worked to dematerialise himself, the creator, in a bid to erase

traditional fashion branding tools, such as a charismatic designer, logo, and garment

labelling. Luxury fashion is traditionally about two key symbols – a brand with logo

and trademarks, and the profile and identity of the creative founding designer (Troy,

2002, p. 26). Traditionally, these symbols have imbued fashion objects with a sense of

authenticity through the identity, tastes and indiosyncracies of the founding designer

(Kapferer & Bastien, 2009). This phenomenon of identity transfer or symbolic

handwriting that marks the brand’s products is frequently called the “griffe”. Barbara

Vinken defines the term in Fashion Zeitgeist (2004, p.81) saying, “the griffe, is the sign

of the house, guarantees original authorial authenticity. It stands as the signature to

uniqueness, the inspiration and the ability of particular individuals”. Margiela attempts

to undermine the griffe by dematerialising the fashion branding of Maison Martin

Margiela, including logos and signage, and his own identity as the designer. He

refused to distribute photographs, insisted that the collections are the team effort of

Maison Margiela (English, 2011, p.131-132), and traditionally only answered interviews

by fax. Interestingly, all the questions are answered in the first person plural from all

those who work at Maison Margiela (Debo & Loppa, 2010, p. 499; Frankel, 2001, p.

34).

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Margiela also extended this process of dematerialisation to the clothing labels. Instead

of marking the clothes with his brand and identity, the labels are empty except for

numbers indicating the type of clothing – the only key visible branding signifiers being

the four white stitches that attach the label to the garment (Figure 11). Ironically, these

seemingly “empty” gestures have become symbols of the mythical designer, Martin

Margiela, giving an enhanced exclusivity to his clothing. As Maison Margiela openly

admits it is a commercial business, I argue that these techniques are not intended to

avoid commodification or critique the commercial nature of the field as in Conceptual

art. Instead, I argue that these are a self-reflexive comment on industry conventions

which question what makes a garment ‘fashion’ – the tangible object, or the intangible,

or in a broader sense, what constitutes ‘fashion’ – the fashion object itself, the aura

lent to the fashion object by the designer or brand’s profile, or the designer’s ideas that

are communicated through the clothing-as-signifier.

Figure 11: The labels on Margiela garments are distinguished by numbers as seen in this Spring

Summer 2002 shirt (Maison Martin Margiela, 2009).

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Using Lippard and Chandler’s idea of artifact-as-signifier to examine Viktor & Rolf and

Maison Margiela’s practices highlights a common tendency to dematerialise or

demystify the fashion object in order to communicate their ideas and activate

consumers to question the conventions of fashion. This tendency positions their

practices outside a Conventional fashion paradigm where the clothing is seen as the

final creative outcome and is generally designed to be an object of visual beauty or

fashionability. Although Viktor & Rolf and Maison Margiela both have different

approaches to dematerialisation and fashion design in general, both design practices

are frequently driven by ideas that critique the conventions of fashion rather than the

creation of a conventional fashion object. This again points to parallels with Conceptual

art which was not categorised by cohesive creative processes or visual qualities, but

by a tendency to prioritise ideas through creative practice in order to activate viewers

to question the field.

IV. Reflections

This comparative analysis highlights how Conceptual fashion design practices differ

from more Conventional fashion practices by relating them to key characteristics of

early Conceptual art. The analysis suggests that a key characteristic defining

Conceptual fashion practices is that the research and design process is driven by the

exploration and communication of critical ideas pertaining to the field of fashion rather

than the creation of garments that conform to accepted notions of beauty or on-trend

fashionability. However, while Conceptual fashion designers are driven by this

common tendency, the way each designer translates the conceptual through a material

design process are very different from each other. This suggests similarities with

Conceptual art practices which were not able to be defined by cohesive visual

qualities, mediums or techniques used, but by an emphasis on the critical ideas that

underpinned the work rather than the artifacts themselves. In both Conceptual art and

Conceptual fashion, these ideas often work to question the field and activate the

viewer or consumer to think rather than simply enjoy the physical qualities of the art or

fashion object. I suggest that all six of the designers, Hussein Chalayan, Rei

Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto, Issey Miyake, Viktor & Rolf and Martin Margiela, share

the common tendency with Conceptual artists to make self-reflexivity the primary

motivation driving their design process. This distinguishes Conceptual fashion design

practice from more Conventional fashion practices that often begin with a

preconceived aesthetic or visual direction for the garments and are generally geared

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towards developing fashion objects that conform to conventional ideals of beauty and

respond to trends.

While many of the Conceptual fashion design processes demonstrate very different

approaches for translating research into designs, there are some similarities. For

example, Hussein Chalayan and Issey Miyake both demonstrate similar approaches to

some of their creative works where the design process is led by ideas relating to

function or construction parameters that stem from their research. In addition, Yohji

Yamamoto and Viktor & Rolf both demonstrate design processes in which visual

references are transformed into symbols that communicate the self-reflexivity of their

practices. In contrast, other fashion designers demonstrate their own unique design

processes, such as Rei Kawakubo and her collaborative design approach that

positions her patternmakers as translators for her ideas. However, her collaborative

design approach does share some parallels with the collaborative nature of Maison

Martin Margiela.

To extend this analysis, I seek to further explore the Conceptual art and Conceptual

fashion creative processes that relate to my own design research and design process.

I aim to expand my understanding of my own practice and develop new stimulus and

directions for future creative projects. This comparative analysis has set critical

contexts for my work because like these Conceptual artists and designers, my creative

practice is also primarily driven by research and exploration of ideas relating to fashion

design process rather than pre-conceived visual qualities and the goal of creating a

conventionally beautiful fashion object. More specifically, I suggest that my design

process is most similar to Hussein Chalayan and Issey Miyake’s as my ideas are often

linked to function or restrictions I have set for the construction of the garments. This

also relates to many Conceptual artists, such as On Kawara and Roman Opalka, and

other Conceptual fashion designers, such as Martin Margiela, Junya Watanabe and

Ann Demeulemeester. In my creative practice I seek to explore more specific

relationships between these artists, designers and my own research and design

process while developing a more explicit understanding of my working methods.

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Creative Practice

Throughout this project I have identified and experimented with a new approach to my

design research and design process that is based on developing mechanical,

systematic processes or design rules. These systems and rules are translations of my

research concepts and drive my design process. My system-based approach is

primarily driven by the exploration of ideas rather than any preconceived ideas for the

visual qualities of my creative works relating to conventional ideas of beauty or trends.

As a result, I suggest that this aspect of my practice is more closely related to

Conceptual fashion practices than Conventional fashion practices. Through this more

detailed analysis of design process and my studio-based inquiry, I explore similarities

between my own practices and those of early Conceptual artists, and Conceptual

fashion designers, Hussein Chalayan, Issey Miyake, Martin Margiela, Junya Watanabe

and Ann Demuelemeester to further develop critical contexts for my work.

I first recognised similarities between my practice and those of early Conceptual artists

while reading about Conceptual artist, Sol LeWitt. As previously discussed, LeWitt is

widely regarded as an influential figure in the development of Conceptual art through

his publications, Paragraphs on Conceptual Art (1967) and Sentences on Conceptual

Art (1969) (Costello, 2007, p. 104). Peter Osborne (1999, p. 52) summarises

Paragraphs on Conceptual Art as:

…a distillation of the immanent logic of an object-producing , though not object-based, practice which evolved primarily, through the exploration of the effects of self-regulating series and systems of rules for decision-making about the production of objects out of preformed materials.

I feel a particular affinity with LeWitt’s statement in Paragraphs that “the idea becomes

the machine that makes the art”. This statement in many ways describes a key aim of

my creative practice – to create new ideas or “systems” for each project that drive me

to explore new methods and approaches for designing and constructing fashion

garments. I have adopted this approach in an attempt to escape from the cycle of

Conventional fashion design where change is adopted for change’s sake, to satisfy the

constantly shifting desires of consumers. During my time working in a Conventional

fashion paradigm, I found it difficult and unsatisfying to engage creatively with

preconceived ideas relating to creating ‘beautiful’, ‘on-trend’ collections. Admittedly, I

have not worked as a designer at the highest luxury level of Conventional fashion and I

believe this would present more opportunities for challenging and innovative research

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and design development. However, regardless of the additional creative potential

gained by working at a higher price-point, I felt that to remain stimulated in my practice

as a fashion designer, I needed to find some deeper and perhaps more ‘intellectual’

ways to connect with and create fashion. From this perspective, I explore and

question both my own research and design process and simultaneously, the very idea

of fashion – what fashion is, how ideas about fashion are conceived and how these

ideas translate into the design of garments.

In my own practice I am at times systematic and at times random and illogical. As a

result, I also feel a strong affinity with LeWitt’s claim that Conceptual art is irrational

and in some cases illogical because ideas are discovered through intuition and often

do not develop in a logical order (Costello, 2007, p. 104-105). While I now recognise

that I have worked with “design-systems’ before this project, in the past I have used

them to develop initial ideas and then altered the creative outcomes to conform to my

pre-conceived aesthetic ideas relating to prevailing visions of beauty or fashionability.

I suggest that using this approach sits somewhere between Conceptual and

Conventional approaches, as the design research process is quite intellectual and

driven by ideas to create a system and find new creative directions through

experimentation; however, the design development process is primarily focused on

creating a conventional fashion object of physical beauty. The garments may, like

Conceptual fashion garments, communicate some of the deeper, more intellectual

ideas from my research process; however, they would most certainly lose their ability

to question fashion norms because they would have been ‘tampered with’ to reflect

these same norms. As a result, in this research project, I was particularly intrigued by

LeWitt’s suggestion that once a Conceptual artist had an idea, they should execute the

idea “blindly” and mechanically putting themselves at the service of that idea rather

than forcing their own aesthetic judgments or ego into the artwork (Costello, 2007,

p.104-105). This position inspired me to test what would happen in the studio if I

adopted a more rigid approach to my design-systems. Therefore, paradoxically, while I

was effectively choosing to adopt a more rigid set of design constraints, the value of

this model was in fact that it liberated me from a professional design process that I had

felt was a creative straightjacket.

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It must be pointed out that when LeWitt adopted his position in the context of 1960s

American Art scene, its value to his art practice was also crucial, but for slightly

different reasons. LeWitt believed that using a machine-like process was the best way

to avoid subjectivity and preserve the purity of the idea. As Isabelle Graw (2006, p.

129) explains, LeWitt was reacting against Abstract Expressionism when he attempted

to remove emotion, subjectivity and expression from the art making process with his

“production-aesthetic systematic” approach. However, Graw (2006, p. 128) also

argues that although LeWitt “saw the fundamental choice of a system, which then

made decisions, as guaranteeing avoidance or subjectivity and personal expression,

the systems are, equally, results of personal selection, which may display personal

preference, or resonate with existential necessities…”. This paradox within LeWitt’s

position echoes similar tensions in my own practice: objective/ subjective; intellectual/

emotional; illogical/ logical; systematic/random; Conceptual/ Conventional. When I

used system-based methods in my own creative practice, the research underpinning

each project formed an idea that functioned as a “machine” that helped me determine

the overall garment designs. However, there was still a large degree of subjective,

creative in-put, for example, to develop the “idea-machine” itself as well as the

parameters, such as the materials and construction methods I used. Acknowledging

these tensions I was still motivated to work more “faithfully” within design-systems and

to resist as LeWitt suggests, “Tampering with an idea by amending it, for example in

the light of the way its execution looks” (Costello, 2007, p. 105-106). In this way, my

project actively explored the relationship between the conceptual and the visual as it

operates in fashion, thus contributing to the articulation of a very complex set of

considerations for designers working in the field of Conceptual fashion design practice.

In this research project I worked on two creative projects, three-sixty and in-the-round,

that are both developed using a system-based approach. These projects are

characterised by a methodical and systematic approach; however, like the work of

Conceptual artist Sol LeWitt, I found they were still informed by intuitive and illogical

connections and ideas that emerged as my creative work developed. Each project

worked with a different design-system and required the development of new working

methods that I will describe to highlight potential connections and similarities with

Conceptual art and Conceptual fashion practices.

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I. Creative Practice Project 1: three-sixty (2011)

Three-sixty was the creative practice that began this research project as it highlighted

similarities between my working methods and those of Conceptual artists, such as Sol

LeWitt. The project consists of working drawings, sketches and flat technical drawings

for six full outfits that were designed using what I describe as a design-system to lead

the design process (Figure 12). The similarity between my own creative practice and

those of early Conceptual artists of the 1960s led me to question if other fashion

designers would also share similarities with their work and ideas. As a result, I sought

to explore Conceptual fashion through the lens of Conceptual art. As my highly logical,

systematic and diagrammatic work in this project related to Conceptual artists, such as

LeWitt, who did not make traditional art objects, I decided to emphasise the ideas

underpinning three-sixty by not creating traditional fashion objects from my drawings

and sketches. Because the viewer can only engage with my three-sixty designs on an

intellectual level, this project demonstrates how fashion designs can relate to ideas of

dematerialisation and cultivating an active, thinking viewer. This also works to question

the norms of how fashion is experienced and consumed.

Figure 12: A finished design and flat drawings from three-sixty.

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i. Developing the design system

Three-sixty began with a research concept which I then translated into a design-

system that led the design process. In three-sixty, the design-system took the form of a

single rule:

all garments must appear exactly the same from all perspectives – front, sides

and back

I developed this rule from the idea of designing garments to create the same view from

multiple perspectives and based my design research on mathematically-inspired

design, Einstein’s theory of relativity, and the perception of time and reality. To make

a garment that is symmetrical on all sides but fits the body, and is different on all sides,

may seem an impossible task. However, to solve this problem, I started by determining

that the garment shapes and finishes should be the same on all sides but that by

unbuttoning, unzipping or tying certain elements, the garments could be worn in a way

that fits the body. My decision to solve the problem in this way demonstrates my

subjective and creative decision making around the design-system – as there were

certainly other ways I could have approached the problems created by this rule. In

three-sixty I was able to draw from some preconceived ideas about the types of

clothing I might like to design. However, within the tight constraints of the design-

system I had set for myself, I needed to revise my ideas constantly in a reflective

process between the practicalities of clothing the body while maintaining identical

pattern pieces. This effectively prevented me from being able to “tamper” with the

designs so that they adhered to fashion norms and trends.

To expand the critical contexts for my work and further understand its relationship to

Conceptual fashion design practice, I analysed Conceptual fashion designers to

identify any similar approaches in their work. I found that Conceptual fashion designer

Junya Watanabe explores ideas that question fashion conventions through a similar

system-based design process. Watanabe explains:

Last season my starting point when designing the collection was to get away from a normal clothing pattern making. The garment was a cloth that was wrapped around the body. But I needed something to hang the material from. It could have been anything, a pencil! But wire was the best solution (Petronio, 1998, p.7 as cited in Kawamura, 2004, p.102). (Figure 13)

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Figure 13: Junya Watanabe’s Autumn Winter 1998 collection that used single pieces of fabric

supported by wire to make unconventional garments (www.firstview.com).

In her Spring Summer 1999 collection, Belgian Conceptual fashion designer, Ann

Demuelemeester also uses a similar system or rules-based approach to challenge

traditional patternmaking. She asked herself the question, “how can I make a

collection from a painter’s canvas?” (Figure 14) and claims the ideas were born from

what she calls “Zero Base- to set aside the repertoire of traditional patterns and to

confront herself with the essence of a garment: A piece of material which you can wrap

around yourself” (Derycke & Van De Veire, 1999, p. 118). Like the six Conceptual

designers analysed in the Comparative Analysis, both Junya Watanabe and Ann

Demeulemeester demonstrate through their “problem-based” systematic approach that

they are primarily driven by the need to explore more intellectual ideas that question

rather than by ideas relating to conventional beauty or trends. Their design processes

are clearly driven by their research and ideas rather than from preconceived ideas

about the visual qualities of their work.

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Figure 14: Ann Demeulemeester’s Spring Summer 1999 collection in which single pieces of

fabric were wrapped around the body to create garments (Derycke & Van de Veire,1999, p.117)

Some of the collections produced by fashion house Maison Martin Margiela also

demonstrate processes that relate to my approach of developing a design-system from

a rule. For example, in Margiela’s Spring/Summer 1990 collection he uses an

approach that I suggest could be phrased as the rule:

Each wearable garment will be made using a single oversized garment made

in size 74-78.

In response to this restriction, Maison Margiela creates an evening dress from a giant

man’s undershirt singlet that is the height of a person. This undershirt is draped on a

female mannequin and “contained” within a sheer nylon long-sleeve T-shirt to create a

long dress (Figure 15). The final garment is a striking evening gown that shows little

resemblance to the giant man’s singlet used to create it. There are conceivably a

number of ways to design around this rule and the solution of the sheer shirt to contain

the oversized garment is just one possible outcome. However, I suggest that without

the rule dictating the use of giant garments, it is unlikely Margiela would have draped

this same dress. I relate this to three-sixty because I would never have developed the

garments I designed in this project without the stimulus of the design-system.

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Figure 15: Maison Martin Margiela’s Spring Summer 1990 collection featured a giant undershirt

draped to create a dress (Derycke & Van de Veire, 1999, p. 226-227).

As my analysis demonstrates, similar approaches to my system-based research and

design process can be identified in the work of Conceptual fashion designers Junya

Watanabe, Ann Demeulemeester and Maison Martin Margiela. I argue that these

significant parallels were only able to be identified after expanding my research

process to more sincerely comply with the assertion of Conceptual artist Sol LeWitt,

that ideas should not be “tampered” with. I suggest that this is due to the fact that

when I did not “tamper” with my ideas, the intellectual aspects underpinning my work

were more effectively translated and communicated through my final designs, and as

my previous analysis demonstrates, this is a defining characteristic of Conceptual

fashion. As a result, it is not surprising that this key shift in my research and design

process uncovered more direct similarities with Conceptual fashion designers than

when I was working with a more hybrid Conventional/ Conceptual approach.

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ii. Developing new working methods

The design-system for three-sixty required me to develop a new working method that

engaged in a dialogue between design and construction – a reflective back and forth

between abstract idea and form, imagination and practicality. Previously I had

designed by focusing on the visual properties of the garments through sketching, and

had only considered the construction in terms of how best to re-create my design so

that it reflected my sketch. To develop a dialogue between design and construction, I

needed to build new working methods that moved between 2D and 3D

experimentation. I needed these new methods because the system-based approach

that I adopted questioned both the visual qualities and the fundamental aspects of

traditional fashion construction norms. In the first stages of each garment design, I

would bounce my ideas between design and construction by making numerous rough

sketches and diagrams (Figure 16). I would then test these ideas with 3D paper

models to ensure each design would work on the body. Using this process, I would

move back and forth between sketching and 3D modeling numerous times before

finalising each design. Three-sixty was the first project in which I translated an

intellectual idea into a design-system that drove the design process without my

“tampering” with the visual characteristics. It was also the first design project in which I

created a reflective dialogue between design and construction or function. In addition,

this back and forth between design and function took each of my initial design ideas in

radically different directions from the initial preconceived design ideas I had when I

began sketching. With this system-based approach, I was pleased to find that true to

Sol LeWitt’s statements, I was able to in many ways ‘bypass’ my ‘ego’ by not

tampering with the idea.

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Figure 16: Working drawings for three-sixty.

I argue that my exploration of these working methods that engage with both design

and construction is relevant to the broader field of Conceptual fashion design practice

as similar methods appear in the practices of other designers, such as Conceptual

fashion designer Hussein Chalayan. Hussein Chalayan uses a similar design process

that creates a dialogue between design and construction or function in his

Autumn/Winter 2000 collection, Afterwords. As previously discussed, this collection

explored the hardships experienced by refugees and Chalayan determined that four of

the dresses would also function as chair covers that could be transformed and worn. I

suggest that the single rule he develops to lead the design process is similar to my rule

in three-sixty. For example, in Afterwords, the rule could be interpreted as:

Each unique dress will transform to create a chair cover.

While there is no literature explaining Chalayan’s actual design process for this

collection, I suggest that to successfully achieve the two functions, dress and chair

cover, Chalayan would have needed to use methods that create a dialogue between

design and construction (Figure 17). I suggest that in Chalayan’s design process, as in

three-sixty, the requirements of the garment functions or characteristics would have led

the design process and heavily determined the visual characteristics of the final

designs. It is important to note that it is was only after engaging with the ideas of

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Conceptual artist Sol LeWitt that I was moved to develop these new dialogic working

methods. The fact that after adopting this approach I have been able to identify new

parallels with Conceptual fashion designers suggests that working methods that work

with both the visual and construction aspects of garments enables a clearer

communication of ideas and the ability to engage with more intellectual ideas that

fundamentally question fashion norms on all levels.

Figure 17: Hussein Chalayan Autumn Winter 2000 collection, Afterwords (Violette, 2011)

iii. Reflections

Before the project, three-sixty, I did not have an explicit understanding of my research

and design process, and I suggest that because I was using a hybrid Conceptual/

Conventional approach, I had difficulty relating my practice and working methods to

those of other fashion designers – both Conceptual and Conventional. However, after

reflecting on Conceptual art theory and specifically integrating Sol LeWitt’s idea into

my practice, I have been able to analyse Conceptual fashion practices and find a

number of connections with my own approach of creating design-systems and working

methods that create a dialogue between design and construction or function. This

more explicit knowledge I have of my own practice, as well as the new information I

have gained about Conceptual art and Conceptual fashion practices, led me to

develop a more complex design-system for my next creative practice project, in-the-

round.

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II. Creative Practice Project 2: in-the-round (2011-2012)

After developing my symmetrical garments for three-sixty I wanted to continue working

with the idea of design-systems and explore how they might relate to Conceptual art

practices. While in-the-round related to three-sixty because it explored symmetry and

unconventional garment construction, the primary link was the driving force of a

design-system. As in three-sixty, I began developing a design system based on

adapting unconventional shapes and garments features to a conventional body. While

in three-sixty I had simply explored symmetry, in this project, inspired by LeWitt and

other artists, I wanted to work with a more restrictive system and I therefore selected a

basic shape and explored its relationship to the body. I chose a circle as it provided a

canvas that is the same in all directions, allowing an extensive exploration of

symmetry, geometry and the body. From the basic canvas of a circle, I wanted to

develop a system of strict rules to work within, while still trying to develop completely

different and individual looking garments. I called the project, in-the-round and the

original rules were as follows:

in-the-round

i. the garment must be cut from a circle

ii. the fabric may be cut

iii. the fabric must remain in one piece

At this stage, the rules set a design-system that provided a set of restrictions for my

experimentation with shape and form. The first rule dictated the basic canvas as a

circle. I selected a circle with 160cm diametre for the logical reason that when the

circle was folded in half- as it would need to be to create garments- the length was

long enough to clothe the body. The second rule dictated that I could cut the fabric as I

experimented with shape; however, the third rule dictated that I could not cut a piece of

the circle off entirely as the circle must remain intact. As demonstrated in Figure 18,

this meant that my only options were to make cut lines into the edges but not through

the circle or make slash line cuts inside the circle that did not extend to the edges of

the circle.

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Figure 18: Two options for the types of cuts and slashes that could be made in the circle.

In the first stage of this creative practice project, these restrictions forced me to work

outside traditional patternmaking and drove my design process ensuring I could not

draw on pre-conceived ideas or dictate how the final garments would look based on

conventional ideas of beauty or fashionability. Similarly to my design-system in three-

sixty, this freed me to work completely independently of trends. While I thought that

these rules only related to my shape experimentation on half scale mannequins, in

stage two I began to translate these half scale prototypes into full scale garments. In

this translation process, I was surprised to find these rules also began to influence the

construction details and fabric choices as well. To address the evolving needs of the

project as I moved to stage two, I also added additional rules during the design

process. I argue that this project has a number of key similarities with early

Conceptual art and Conceptual fashion design practices and to further demonstrate

the relevance of my creative practice research and the context surrounding my practice

I will highlight these parallels in my analysis.

i. Developing the design system

In addition to reading about Sol LeWitt’s ideas and practice, I read about the creative

processes of Conceptual artists Lawrence Weiner, On Kawara and Roman Opalka.

Their practices influenced the development of the system of rules for in the round. A

key influence in the development of my design method for this project was Lawrence

Weiner’s Declaration of Intent (1968):

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The artist may construct the piece.

The piece may be fabricated.

The piece need not be built.

Each being equal and consistent with the intent of the artist, the decision as to

condition rests with the receiver upon the occasion of receivership.

(Alberro,1998, p.124)

It was not the meaning of Weiner’s declaration, but his use of short instructive

statements that intrigued me as I began to explore other artists who developed

systems or rules in their practice. For example, On Kawara’s date paintings

demonstrate a creative process bound by a very strict system of rules. Tony Godfrey

explains that On Kawara’s date paintings were prepared with four or five layers of paint

to remove any form of individual expression through a perfect surface. They were

monochromatic works consisting of the date of the day the work was made, and while

On Kawara allowed himself to produce up to three works each day, as part of the

system of rules, he was bound to destroy any that were not complete by midnight. In

addition, the system dictated that each work must be packaged for sale in a box

containing a page from that day’s newspaper (Godfrey, 1996, p.156). Artist Roman

Opalka showed a similar dedication to rules-based, systematically produced works in

his practice of painting numbers from one towards infinity. In 1965, Opalka began

painting white numbers on a black background and his system dictated that he would

add one percent extra white paint to the background with each subsequent work so

that eventually he would reach white-on-white works (Godfrey, 1996, p. 156). Opalka

continued faithfully to this system of rules until his death in 2011, at which point he had

reached the five millions. It was with these practices in mind that I developed the initial

rules for in-the-round.

By adopting an increasingly rigid system-based design process with similarities to

Conceptual art practices, I argue that my previously hybrid Conventional/ Conceptual

practice developed even further parallels with Conceptual fashion practices. For

example, I began to see that Conceptual fashion designer Issey Miyake works with

complex design problems with similarities to my design-system of rules. For example,

earlier in this analysis I explored Miyake’s Columbe dress made from a single piece of

fabric with a hole for the head and press-studs to both fasten and decorate the style

and eliminate sewing (Bartlett, 2000, p. 226). While Miyake may not visualise his

research and design process in this way, I suggest that he designs around a set of

rules or parameters he has set himself. For example:

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i. the garment must use a single piece of cloth

ii. the garment may not use stitching of any kind

iii. decoration will be added to the garment through means of function and

construction

I argue that Miyake’s project A-POC, or A Piece of Cloth, can also be conceptualised in

a similar way. As previously examined, A-POC was designed to respond to Miyake

and his collaborator Fujiwara ideas about how fashion needed to reduce environmental

impacts by eliminating waste, maintain local manufacture by developing innovative

production methods that require little labour, and engage consumers by giving them

input into the design and production process. The parameters could be interpreted as:

i. the clothing must be produced from a single piece of cloth

ii. the clothing must eliminate or use minimal stitching

iii. the final designs must be determined by the end user

iv. multiple designs must be possible from the same piece of cloth

Miyake continues to demonstrate a practice governed by complex parameters, for

example, in his latest design project, 132 5 (Figure 19) described on the Issey Miyake

website:

132 5. ISSEY MIYAKE", developed by Issey Miyake and his Reality Lab team, is both a new label and a new evolution of "A Piece Of Cloth". The process by which the clothing is made is groundbreaking, using a mathematical algorithm: first, a variety of three-dimensional shapes are conceived in collaboration with a computer scientist; then, these shapes are folded into two dimensional forms with pre-set cutting lines that determine their finished shape; and finally, they are heat-pressed, to yield folded shirts, skirts, dresses etc. These clothes are significant not only for the process by which they were made but because they are also made using recycled PET products, sometimes in combination with other recycled fibers. 132 5. ISSEY MIYAKE" is Miyake's new creative challenge based on the ideas of "Regeneration and Re-creation" and a continuation of his perpetual search for new ways by which to make "clothes that bring joy and happiness to wearers (www.isseymiyake.com).

I suggest that like my project in-the-round, the rules of 132 5 could be conceptualised

as:

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i. the clothing must be produced from a single piece of cloth

ii. the cloth must be made from recycled material

iii. the clothing must use no stitching

iv. the designs must fold into an origami design

Figure 19: Issey Miyake’s project 132 5 in which flat origami shapes unfold into garments

(www.isseymiyake.com).

Similarly, like the working methods I developed for my project three-sixty and those

used by Hussein Chalayan’s Afterwords collection featuring his “chair-cover dresses”, I

suggest that Issey Miyake would most likely need to use working methods that create a

dialogue between design and construction. Because in-the-round uses a more

complex system of rules than three-sixty, I found that I needed to develop new working

methods that enabled me to more actively experiment with innovative construction.

ii. Developing new working methods

Throughout in-the-round I used some similar methods to my first project, three-sixty;

however, due to the complexity of the design-system for in-the-round, I needed to do

more of my problem-solving in 3D. In addition, unlike three-sixty, I went beyond

developing sketches and flat technical drawings as the final works and realised the

designs in full scale to be worn on the body. Translating my designs from designs into

garments required additional phases of design and problem-solving relating to

fabrication and construction.

I began in-the-round with similar working methods to three-sixty using sketches and

diagrams supported with small 3D mock-ups to test my ideas. However, I quickly

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realised that to effectively work with this more complex design-system, a significant

part of the design process would need to happen in 3D on a half scale mannequin. In

my first design, inspired by the diagram-based work of Sol LeWitt, I spent a great deal

of time working out a complex and intricate design on paper (Figure 20). However,

when I made this style in calico it did not function as a wearable garment and was not

at all as I had visualised it. I realised that I had tried to achieve too much complex

problem solving before becoming familiar with the basics of conceptualising a 3D

shape from a single circle of fabric (Figure 21).

Figure 20: The initial complex diagram.

Figure 21: The initial calico experimentation.

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Before I could approach more complex designs, I first needed to start simply and think

about the basic and obvious ways I could convert this fabric circle into a wearable form

(Figure 22).

Figure 22: Initial diagrams for style one and three.

I ‘slashed’ into the fabric so I could mould it to the body but always kept the single

piece of fabric intact. I was really happy with how the styles looked as flat patterns, as

the slash lines created striking shapes that shared some of the same visual aesthetic

qualities of the Conceptual art diagrams and pieces I had been studying. This was an

unexpected correlation considering I was consciously working with similar ideas to

Conceptual artists but had not even considered that the visual aspects of my work may

contain similarities. I felt this process was successful because the patterns I created

were so far removed from conventional fashion patternmaking that I could view them

as objects in their own right. These patterns, like the final garments, became signifiers

that communicated my ideas about patternmaking and the body and I enjoyed how

foreign they seemed in a fashion context (Figure 23).

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Figure 23: Flat patterns in calico for style one, two, three and four.

My design process for the more simple shapes was quite linear and moved from 2D to

3D development. For example, to develop styles one to four, I made diagrams of the

initial design ideas, roughly tested my ideas in small 3D paper or fabric models, refined

them through sketching, and then tested and further refined them on the half scale

mannequin (Figure 24).

Figure 24: Development work for style one.

These simpler styles were fundamental to the success of the project as they laid the

groundwork for all other styles by showing me different ways I could manipulate the

circle – either with the centre becoming the neckline or becoming the hem. However,

the styles became progressively more complicated as I stretched the boundaries of the

new knowledge I had about transforming the circles into wearable forms as I tried to

develop a completely unique garment with each progressive style. As I expanded my

knowledge of the capabilities of the circle and its relationship with the body, I

experimented with different ideas for sleeves, necklines and silhouettes. To refine

these more complicated styles, I found I needed to move back and forth between

making diagrams, making small 3D mock-ups and testing the designs on the

mannequin.

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Until this point, my final designs reflected those that I sketched fairly faithfully;

however, this changed with the development of style five and six as they were radically

different to the initial diagrams. For these styles, I made a diagram and mocked-up

one design idea, but they failed to work as planned when tested on a mannequin.

However, when I put these ‘failed’ patterns back on the mannequin and experimented

freely, I found a completely different way to use the existing shape to produce a

different design. This was quite a different process to some of the other styles, for

while the initial sketching phase was necessary to develop the pattern shape, it was

working on the mannequin that produced the final design. This highlighted to me that

even when working within a design-system, there may be multiple methods or

techniques possible to answer the brief at different stages of the project.

Style five and six not only showed me how to use a new approach where the final

design deviated from my initial sketch, but also created new design opportunities by

using overlapping fabric layers. Until this point, all edges of my designs had met

another edge and there were no overlapping layers. In contrast, because I had not

worked style five out with a diagram beforehand, to turn the abstract piece of fabric into

a garment I needed to overlap layers of the fabric (Figure 25).

Figure 25: Development work for style five where overlapping layers were used for the first time.

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Although this seems like a simple step, it opened up a world of possibilities and

potential design innovations. This process led me to experiment with overlapping

layers and crossing layers from the front to the back. With style number six I worked

this way again, by taking a slashed circle pattern that had failed to translate

successfully from the sketch to the mannequin and used it in an entirely different way

to drape a new style on the mannequin. This style was extremely complicated with

many overlapping layers that would have been impossible for me to visualise when

working from a diagram or sketch (Figure 26).

Figure 26: Development work for style six where a major component of the design work was

done on the mannequin resulting in a more complex style.

As a result, I decided that this too could be a valuable way of working. Essentially I

was creating an even tighter set of restrictions or rules by slashing the circle of fabric

and then developing a new design unrelated to the thought process that went into

creating the slash positions in the first place. I had initially started the design process

through thoughtful analysis and placement of the slash lines in relation to the body –

legs, arms and head. However, I now considered moving forward with random slash

lines not informed by critical thinking and then moving into 3D designing on the

mannequin. This also resulted in my exploring the idea of “mutations”.

Because I had achieved such positive results from working on the mannequin rather

than sketching, I wondered if I might be able to transform some of the existing styles I

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had developed by working with them on the mannequin in different ways. I began with

style seven by taking style six with all its overlapping layers and thinking about how I

could transform it. I began by shrinking the circle of fabric from 160cm in diameter to

140cm in diameter which changed the proportion substantially. I then experimented

with draping the pattern piece on the mannequin to see if the layers could be

rearranged in a new way. I added two extra ‘slash’ design lines to the style (Figure 27)

and successfully arranged it into a design that looks remarkably different to style six

(Figure 28). I determined that this could be a useful strategy for future creative

projects where I could build on previous work by reassembling them in new ways.

Figure 27: Line drawings of the flat patterns for style six and seven show the similarities.

Figure 28: Style six and seven flat and on the mannequin.

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I experimented with another technique when designing style eight in which I slashed

the fabric repeatedly to change the way the garment sat on the body. I developed style

eight using the basic shape idea of style four. In this process, I actually drew a new

pattern piece rather than using the pattern from style four, but used a very similar

positioning of the ‘slash’ lines. Rather than developing the intricate slash lines on the

body, I developed them in a diagram, transferred them to the fabric and then

developed a prototype on the half scale mannequin (Figure 29). I was very happy with

the result, as the shape and overall look of the style was dramatically different to style

two despite their similarities in silhouette (Figure 30).

Figure 29: Line drawings of the flat patterns for style four and eight show the similarities

between the main slash lines to create the neckline and the sleeves.

Figure 30: Style four and eight flat and on the mannequin (the final line drawing (figure 29) and

the development work (figure 30) for style four are different as the neckline was changed to a

straight opening in the final stages of development).

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I felt this method met my design aims of working without concrete pre-conceived ideas

about the visual qualities of my designs and working with a design process that

embraces unexpected results and works outside conventional fashion norms. I

determined that my strategy for style 8 could also be a useful strategy for future

creative work, and while I could have experimented with it endlessly, I wanted to

analyse how my designs changed and developed as I translated them from half scale

prototype, to full scale garment, so moved on to begin the construction process.

iii. Developing construction and fabrication methods

In this second phase, I needed to take the prototypes I had developed beyond rough

experiments and translate them to full scale, wearable garments. This section is

difficult to explain in a linear fashion as many of the decisions were happening

simultaneously. As a result, I will discuss the construction challenges and decisions

first and then follow with the fabric and colour choices, as this most closely mirrors the

way I approached the process. However, at some points this may make my

description appear disjointed as I am forced to reference colour before I have fully

explained my process for this. I had to problem-solve so I could adhere to the design

rules I had set, but also work within the parameters of garment construction, such as

fabric width and finishing. I had tested all my larger 3D work on a half scale

mannequin which had been a useful experimentation method; however, with this

method I had been able to work with a single piece of fabric to complete each design.

In contrast, when translating the designs into full scale, I needed to add seaming to fit

the pattern into conventional fabric widths as my circle patterns were wider than most

conventional fabrics. For some styles I could source extra wide fabric that

accommodated the 160cm wide circles, but in most instances, I needed to add a

number of seams which influenced the design of the final garments. I came up with

three construction solutions that can be identified in my final creative works:

1. bagging out all edges so seam allowance and stitching is hidden

2. laser cutting edges and fusing seams to eliminate edge fraying and stitching

3. fusing multiple layers of fabric together and leaving raw cutting edges

When I first set out to solve the problem of translating the half scale designs into full

scale garments, I decided that the seaming should become an integral part of the

design. Consequently, I added three additional rules to my system of design. However,

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these rules were interpreted in different ways throughout the project as I designed with

different materials:

in-the-round

i. the garment must be cut from a circle

ii. the fabric may be cut

iii. the fabric must remain in one piece

iv. the garment may be sewn

v. no stitching may be visible

vi. no seam allowance may be taken from the circle

In design styles one to six, I initially planned to adhere to the design rules by hiding all

stitching through entirely bagging all edges out with two layers of fabric (so that the

seam allowance and stitching is hidden inside the layers of fabric). Because

conventional fabric is generally much narrower than the 160cm of my full scale circle

patterns, this approach required the final ‘slashed’ circle patterns to be dissected into a

number of pieces that would then be individually cut and sewn back together to form

the whole. I determined that after these pieces were seamed together, the ‘slash’

design lines of the original half scale pattern would be bagged out so that all edges

were fully finished and all stitching was enclosed. The flat piece of fully bagged out

fabric would then be arranged on the body (as it had been in the toiling process on the

half scale mannequin) and ‘invisibly’ hand stitched in place. I did this to enclose the

stitching and follow the design rule “no stitching may be visible”. However, I also did

this to follow rule six, “no seam allowance may be taken from the circle”. To take no

seam allowance from the circle meant that I needed to ensure that when the original

circle pattern piece was dissected to fit onto the fabric, seam allowance was only

added to rather than subtracted from the circle. This would mean that after the

seaming and bagging out process had been completed (but before it was arranged on

the body and hand sewn), the fabric could be laid out flat to form a circle identical to

the original pattern piece, with no gaps where seam allowance had been subtracted

(Figure 31).

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Figure 31: Style two flat pattern shape and final seaming and construction lines.

To achieve this, there were specific places where I had to create seam lines and there

were also additional seam lines required to ensure each pattern piece fitted on the

narrow width of fabric. Consequently, constraints of construction led the design

process in this second phase. However, despite all these restrictions, I also realised

that there were a number of ways I could solve the problem of fitting the pattern onto

the fabric so each style had many potential design solutions. In other words, while

construction dictated that some of the lines had to be in specific places, many of the

other lines could be placed in numerous different configurations to fit in conventional

fabric widths. As a result, with these additional construction lines, I was still making

subjective and at times illogical design decisions while working within my system of

rules. For example, Figure 32 demonstrates two very different and equally possible

and logical placements for the seaming so that the garment fitted on available fabric.

Figure 32: Style three flat pattern shape, initial brainstorming diagram for colour and seam lines

and diagram of final seaming and construction lines.

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The process of translating a prototype into a ‘finished’ garment is full of technical

challenges and is another under-examined area of fashion research. This process,

which is often seen as relating to construction or production, is actually very relevant to

the design process as it can alter the final garments drastically from the original design.

My process of translation involved problem solving based on a series of rational

approaches; however, this did not always result in rational and logical outcomes. For

example, bagging out all edges was extremely difficult as the pattern-pieces, being

circular, were cut on unusual grains of the fabric, causing the fabric to twist and warp

easily. In later styles, I replaced the bagging out process with laser-cutting to sear the

edges and prevent fraying so I did not need to finish the edges. However, as the laser

cutting machine can only work with fabric pieces 120 centimetres long and eighty five

centimetres wide, I had to add new seams to accommodate the machine. In addition,

because the laser cutter seared all edges and eliminated fraying, I started to fuse the

fabric pieces together with special heat-set fabric glue rather than sew the seams to

eliminate stitching altogether. This is not dissimilar to some of the production and

construction processes of Issey Miyake’s fusing technology in his Pleats Please and

APOC projects (Figure 33).

Figure 33: Style eight laser cutting pattern shapes and final fabric fused together.

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As well as fusing seams, I also explored the idea of fusing multiple layers of fabric

together so I could leave cut edges raw and eliminate all seaming. For style seven, I

was looking to make a full scale version with no seaming at all, so I sourced a non-

conventional fabric, a polyester felt made from 100% recycled plastic bottles, that

atypically, was wide enough to fit a 160cm circle. While high quality wool felts used in

fashion are often less than 160cm in width, this felt fabric is produced for craft projects

which may explain the wide width. While this eliminated the need for seams and the

felt could be cut with a raw edge as it did not fray, the fabric was quite unstable as a

single layer. As a result, I decided to fuse two layers of felt together, one blue and

one black, to strengthen the fabric. This not only allowed me to maintain raw edges

and eliminate seaming, but also created interesting colour interactions as the

overlapping layers folded to expose the two different colours (Figure 34). With the

knowledge gained from style seven, I used the same method when producing style

eight, fusing two layers of black fabric together and cutting the style with raw edges.

Figure 34: Style six technical drawings and full scale garment.

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iv. Colour selection and surface decoration

The final part of phase two involved my selecting fabric qualities, colours, and surface

techniques for the garments. While for some elements I maintained a systematic and

logical approach relating to fabric availability, fabric performance and construction

requirements, in other instances I seemed to abandon my systematic approach. I

could have added additional rules to lead this part of the process as I had for the

construction process; however, in deference to my creative impulse I wanted the

flexibility to choose the colours and fabrics outside of a system. I can’t really logically

examine my decision to do this, except perhaps that it is one of the illogical creative

aspects acknowledged as part of Conceptual art by Sol LeWitt. In addition, I did

observe that there was a certain ‘flow-on effect’ and each garment I made brought up

new ideas for colours, fabrics, shapes, or surface techniques that then carried on or

developed for the next garment. As a result, this was not so much a system-driven

process, but closer to a series of ideas that evolved further with each piece. Arguably,

this aspect of my design process could be more similar to Conventional fashion design

methods than Conceptual approaches.

When I first started translating the half scale into full scale garments, I was working

with the premise that the garments would be seamed into sections and bagged out

with all seams hidden. Visualizing the garments this way I saw them in bright colours –

not for any reason I can pinpoint, this is just the way I imagined them. I was

particularly inspired by the unusual colour combinations used by Philip Hughes in the

book Patterns in the Landscape: the notebooks of Philip Hughes. These landscapes

were sectioned, segmented and layered in unusually geometric abstract ways and the

colour combinations were unexpected – at times tonal, and at other times clashing

(Figure 35). I looked to some of these sketches when choosing my colour palette as

well as being guided by suitability of fabric for the produced style and fabric availability.

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Figure 35: One of Philip Hughes’ painting studies from his book Patterns in the Landscape: the

notebooks of Philip Hughes (Hughes, 1998).

In addition to the choice of colour, I also decided to take advantage of the laser cutting

machines to create surface decorations on some pieces, such as style one, four, five

and eight. I produced style eight first adding shaped pieces of organza to layer over

the slashes I had made all over the garment. After producing this, I found the shapes

a little large and awkward on the body, so I shrank them down to use them on style

five, and shrank them again to use as small intricate shapes cut out of the base fabric

in style one and four (Figure 36).

Figure 36: Laser cutting applications for in-the-round.

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The way I developed these surface techniques by adapting and evolving them from

style to style does not adhere to a system, nor is there any logical explanation as to

why I made these decisions. Despite my otherwise systematic approaches, I found

myself reverting to more Conventional fashion approaches that draw on conventional

ideas of beauty and fashionability when selecting colours and fabrics. I found this an

interesting shift in my practice and although there was no room to further examine this

aspect in this research project, it occurred to me that mapping my intersections

between Conventional and Conceptual design methods and practices could be an

interesting research question for future studies.

v. Reflections

In-the-round was a valuable project to further expand my understanding of

relationships between Conceptual art and Conceptual fashion practice. By developing

a more complex design-system of rules, I was able to experiment with new applications

for my existing design research and design process methods. This more complex

design-system further helped me to identify links between my practices and those of

Conceptual fashion designers, such as Issey Miyake. As a result, I also expanded my

understanding of the research and design processes of Conceptual fashion design as

a whole. From both three-sixty and in-the-round I have identified connections between

my own research and design process and the creative processes of Conceptual artists,

Sol LeWitt, Lawrence Weiner, On Kawara and Roman Opalka. In addition, I have been

able to identify similarities between my research and design processes and those of

Conceptual fashion designers, such as Hussein Chalayan, Martin Margiela, Issey

Miyake, Junya Watanabe and Ann Demeulmeester. This has perhaps provided me

with the most valuable new knowledge for my own creative practice, as by exploring

how these designers use similar approaches in different ways I have identified many

different techniques to experiment with in my future practice (Figure 37).

93

Figure 37: All the final garments for in-the-round.

94

Conclusion

In this project, the dialogue between theory and practice has helped me to expand my

creative practice, find similarities with Conceptual art practices and also identify

parallels between my own practice and those of Conceptual fashion designers. In

addition, through a practice-led research approach, I developed a greater

understanding of Conceptual fashion design research and process. Due to the limited

critical discourse currently available in Fashion Studies, I used Conceptual art as a

lens to expand understandings of Conceptual fashion and my own creative practice.

Both the theoretical and practical elements of this project demonstrate that despite

obvious differences between Conceptual fashion and Conceptual art, there are

valuable parallels to be made between the two fields. For example, exploring literature

about Conceptual artists, such as Sol LeWitt, On Kawara and Roman Opalka, helped

me explore and expand my understandings of my own systematic design process.

Studying their ideas and processes helped me develop and experiment with new

creative practice approaches that have more direct parallels with Conceptual art

characteristics and practices than my previous creative work. Before this project, I

argue that my research and design process was a hybrid of Conceptual and

Conventional practices. By aligning my practice closer to the more ‘intellectual’ ideas

and processes prevalent in Conceptual art, I argue that I also developed a design

process that has greater similarities with the practices of Conceptual fashion

designers. These similarities with Conceptual fashion design practices became more

explicit after I adopted the self-reflexivity of Conceptual artists because my ideas more

directly led my design process. This led me to develop garment designs that more

clearly communicated these self-reflexive aspects of my practice. In addition, my

creative practice more explicitly questioned the field and norms of fashion and I argue

that this shift resulted in a more ‘intellectual’ fashion design practice that directly relates

to Conceptual fashion design practice.

I argue that a key difference between Conventional and Conceptual fashion design

practitioners is how they approach the research phase of their practice – when their

research ideas are explored and translated into design ideas. For example, I suggest

that the primary objective of Conventional fashion design research is generally to

create more-or-less traditional fashion objects of conventional beauty or fashionability.

In contrast, Conceptual fashion practices are driven by the exploration of ideas that

often question conventions and norms of fashion. This part of the design process, the

translation of research into designs is underdeveloped in academic research. As a

95

result, I explored Conceptual fashion design practices for translating research in the

design process. My analysis demonstrates that while Conceptual fashion designers

are generally driven by a tendency to prioritise ideas over the visual qualities of their

fashion objects, they use diverse design processes to translate these ideas into

designs.

I argue that like Conceptual art, Conceptual fashion cannot be defined by cohesive

visual qualities or working methods, but by an emphasis on the exploration and

communication of ideas. While both Conceptual artists and Conceptual fashion

designers prioritise self-reflexivity, I have found that Conceptual fashion designers are

more likely to make ‘things’ or objects. However, their objects do not always end up

conforming to pre-existing or conventional ideals of beauty or fashionability. Despite

their diverse design processes, I argue that this tendency is demonstrated in the

practices of all six of the analysed Conceptual fashion designers, Hussein Chalayan,

Rei Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto, Issey Miyake, Viktor & Rolf and Martin Margiela. For

example, I argue that Hussein Chalayan and Rei Kawakubo both begin their design

process with concepts that they seek to embody in their garments. However, while

Chalayan’s translation of these ideas is often very systematic and related to a dialogue

between design, construction and function, Kawakubo uses a unique collaborative

design approach where she directs her patternmaking team to explore her ideas. My

research also shows that Yohji Yamamoto and Issey Miyake both explore and

communicate ideas that fundamentally question fashion conventions and norms

through their garments. However, while Yamamoto’s design process involves turning

visual and sensory references into symbols that communicate his questioning of

fashion, Miyake develops entirely new ways for designing, producing and engaging

with fashion that often adapt new technology and create new consumer roles. In

addition, my research shows that Viktor & Rolf and Maison Martrin Margiela both have

developed work that effectively dematerialises fashion.. However, Viktor & Rolf use

collage or pastiche that, like Yamamoto, transforms visual references into symbols that

communicate their ideas. In addition, their performance as designers and the

spectacle of their fashion shows is the crux of their creative practice and is a key part

of communicating their idea of fashion. Maison Margiela’s practice also dematerialises

fashion objects by using them as signifiers to communicate their ideas through

deconstruction or distortion of conventional features. However, in parallel with the

practice of Viktor & Rolf, I argue that Martin Margiela’s non-performance or ‘anonymity’

as the designer is also a key part of communicating the a key aspect of the house’s

creative practice. While these designers represent only a small sample of the diversity

96

of practice within Conceptual fashion design, they do highlight that despite inherent

differences, they are all united by an identifiable intellectual approach to fashion that is

primarily driven by the exploration and communication of ideas rather than developing

conventional fashion objects.

As part of this analysis, through studio-based inquiry I explored the Conceptual art and

Conceptual fashion creative processes that relate to my own design research and

design process. This set critical contexts for my work because it demonstrates that like

Conceptual artists and designers, my creative practice projects are also primarily

driven by my research and exploration of ideas rather than pre-conceived visual

qualities influenced by conventions of beauty or trend. My creative practice projects,

three-sixty and in-the-round explore my use of design-systems and rules to translate

my research ideas in the design process. This work reveals connections to the system-

related practices of Conceptual artists, such as Sol Lewitt, On Kawara and Roman

Opalka. My exploration of design-systems through creative practice also highlights

similarities between my own design process and those of Conceptual fashion

designers Hussein Chalayan, Issey Miyake, Martin Margiela, Junya Watanabe and

Ann Demeulemeester.

Firstly, my research demonstrates that both Junya Watanabe and Ann

Demeulemeester use a similar approach to my project three-sixty, which was driven by

the exploration of a single rule. Watanabe and Demeulmeester demonstrate a

tendency to explore questions in their design process, that like my rule, place

restrictions on their design exploration and force them to design around these

constraints. Secondly, I argue that my system-based methods relate to working

methods that Hussein Chalayan uses for some of his creative works. In a similar

manner to my own process, Chalayan sets construction and function-related

restrictions that lead his design process and require a dialogue between design and

construction to develop a solution. Thirdly, I suggest that my practice has similarities

to Conceptual fashion designer Issey Miyake as he works within a complex series of

restrictions that lead his design process as he tries to solve fundamental challenges he

identifies in the fashion industry. While Miyake’s practice differs to mine in that he is

trying to solve definitive problems to achieve a specific outcome, the complexity of the

system of restrictions he works within relate closely to the arbitrary, but complex

system I built for myself in in-the-round. This theoretical and studio-based analysis has

helped me identify my creative practice as relating to Conceptual fashion design. In

addition, I have identified new areas of experimentation for my future practice through

97

identifying and exploring art and fashion practitioners who use a similar self-reflexive,

intellectual and systematic approach.

As this project shows, the field of Conceptual fashion is complex, its design processes

diverse, and its outcomes unpredictable. It is a form of fashion that often targets a

critical consumer who is seeking to consume ideas as well as objects. Fashion is a

visual medium; however, it also trades on ideas, and Conceptual fashion design

exemplifies this. This is an ambitious project that scopes Conceptual fashion practice

and compares it to Conceptual art through a studio-based, theoretically informed

inquiry. In conducting this research, my central objective was to shed some light on

the way Conceptual fashion designers translate the conceptual into the material

through design process. In addition, I wanted to challenge and expand my own

creative practice by exploring how art practices related to my own creative practice.

Through this process I have analysed how fashion designers relate to the conceptual

and the visual in their design practices, traversing ideas of the tangible and intangible,

literal and symbolic, rational and irrational, systematic and random, logical and

intuitive, Conventional and Conceptual. I have made garments that test these ideas

and their relevance to my own creative practice. These garments are both

representative of my self-reflexive design process, and beautiful things in themselves.

There is still a significant amount of research that needs to be conducted on both

Conventional and Conceptual fashion design practices, as well as the range of

practices that lie between them. My project contributes to the field by positioning

Conventional design practices as the translation of ‘the visual into the visual’ and

suggesting that Conceptual fashion design practices would be best described as ‘ideas

into the visual into ideas’ – Or more specifically, as ideas that are conveyed to the

consumer through visual symbols that transform back into ideas that question the

nature of fashion.

98

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