Michael Clark is an incipit. A starter, a white page, the agitator who defied the system, who threw a couple of glittery fingers in the face of the dominating culture and created another. Michael Clark is the landmark who prompted others to do the same. As such, he is embedded deep, somewhere, in the foundation of JW Anderson and impels now the urgency of a blank slate. An incipit, counter to the dominating culture.
Nowness matters, senseless newness not so much. From this assumption, a confrontation with the idea of what has been done ensues. History and the long term: as perspective, not as a burden. Overcoming rejection in the name of lucidity.
Fifteen years of JW Anderson are condensed here and now, redone and reseen, mixed with Michael Clark imagery, memorabilia, even just the name and what it stands for.
A cathartic reduction to the essence, reconnecting with the tropes and foundations. Reclaiming ownership: of the geometries, the paddings, the draping, the bluntness. Of the slicing and the askew sophistication, of the panels and the flaps.
Of the architectural coats, the sculptural collars, even the anchor and breton stripes. A constant exchange: then and now. Reducing, compressing, condensing.
And starting again.
I am curious, orange.
Creative Director: Jonathan Anderson
Styling: Benjamin Bruno
Music: Pascal Moscheni
Live Performance: Brìghde Chaimbeul
Casting: Ashley Brokaw
Hair: Anthony Turner
Make-up: Lynsey Alexander
Production: Holmes Production