Sticks + Skin + Bones

"Don't try to compete." My friend Monica advised me on what to wear to the Skin + Bones exhibit at the MOCA last weekend. I borrowed a dress from designer Sarah Luna and tried not to worry about not trying to compete. Its an exhibit about "parallel practices in fashion and architecture." I imagined crowd filled with all sort of Watanabe, Yamamoto, McQueen gowns that swirl like Gehry buildings. I was suprised to discover though that the crowd, minus two women dressed in what looked like cow intestine, was pretty tame. There was enough black to outfit the entire funeral procession for JFK. At least I wasn't wearing black. At check in I was informed I could choose from the list of VIPS who I wanted to chat with, "However," she whispered, Demi and Ashton are not giving interviews." She had the regretful tone of a waiter announcing that the most popular dish was 86'ed. I chose Rufus Wainright who was performing, Debi Mazur, Madonna pal and Entourage star, and Arianne Philips, stylist to the stars and movie costume queen and went to wander through the exhibit, Viktor & Rolf, McQueen, Theyskens and more were on display. One circular stage like installation featured a series of dresses that were inspired by Russian stacking dolls. There were architectural models along side architectural feats of cloth. A local artist friend approached me and asked me how I was, what I was doing. Usual catch up banter. I reply, "good, just looking at art." He laughed and looked around sarcastically. "where? where's the 'art'?" Ouch.

Steffie and I skip the shuttle and drive to the Geffen, where cocktails and the sit down $600/plate dinner part of the evening was being held. We run into our friends local artists Ben Ball and Gaston Nogues designed the spider web like sculpture above the dinner tables. The web sinks in the middle like a black hole imploding and is woven with tee shirts. We all scoff at the plastic spout attached to our individual Moet bottles, like test tubes. Steffie goes to look for proper glasses. Gaston and I pop out the plastic part and swig the champagne like beer. I swig too much and have to head to the ladies room, where Eva Mendes and Rachel Griffiths, from Six Feet Under (Brenda, my favorite character) are discussing management. Apparently, Griffiths wasn't happy with hers.

Bored by industry gossip, and wanting to get my interviews out of the way, I head over to Mazur, who looked stunning in a crisp white suit. "It's designed by Isabel Toledo, a great friend of mine and my kid's godmother." Toledo, who has some pieces in the show, is sitting next to Mazur engaged in another conversation. "The exhibit is amazing," says Mazur, "something like this is great for the fashion communtity." You mean because it's here in LA I ask. "No," she says rather emphatically, "I don't care that its in LA, it could be anywhere, it's just amazing that fashion is being recognized as an art form. It's really the first exhibit of its kind." Her salad arrives and I head off to find Arianne Phillips. But because she is seated next to Demi and Ashton, she has to talk to me out in the aisle. Kind of awkward. I guess they were afraid I might make some kind of eye contact with the power May-December couple. Phillips, unlike Mazur, says she's really proud that the exhibit is in LA. "For LA to host this kind of thing really says something to the global fashion community."

Back at my table, a couple of representatives of Yohji Yamamoto arent so sure. "How was LA Fashion Week?' asks the slim brunette practically giggling the words out of her mouth. The condescention was ripe and as juicy as the "beef juxtaposition" were noshing on. I explain that it's still new, but there is a growing community of designers and a real live booming fashion business. She nods with a touch of pity. I change the subject and ask them about the exhibit. They agree that this is the first time fashion is being recognized as an art form. "People collect clothes, just like they do paintings. Some couture is rare and valuable, " she says. I think about my friend scoffing at the gowns being "art." In some way the fashion community struggling for its own place within the art community seems to parallel LA trying to get its own couture foot in the fashion door.

After a solo performance by Rufus, I join my friends outside on the denim bales and collect memorative tea plates and a limited edition collectors copy of Diana Vreeland's Memos. Rufus waves good bye and about 20 minutes, and many champagnes later, we see Demi and Ashton rush out. "OH MY GOD! You're FAMOUS!" Monica calls out in the most sarcastic way that no one would have mistaken the outburst for genuine. I almost fell off my seat. Demi looked up and smiled embarrassed. At least I like to think she was.

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