In the shadows of the workshops, a secret is often whispered, a whisper of ‘silk’, sometimes a caress of drapery, the house of Alaïa becomes the temple of curves and pure lines, under the expert hand of Mulier. With the glow of the Guggenheim, Pieter Mulier returned to the Big Apple to sculpt the fabric. He delivers a dream sewn of rigour and grace, a symphony of purity, a breath of evidence.

The silhouettes glide by, and the light from the transparent ceiling, revealing the tops of the buildings, gives the presentation the purity and splendour of an ineffable and exhilarating memory of the past, where the future embraces it. Creativity never dies, and beneath the quietude of the forms, a storm of know-how; the fingers of the craftsmen weave the invisible and redraw space, brushing against the absolute.

Yet a rumour rises up, fragile and piercing, as if ready to break. Mulier would leave the house in which his soul unfolds, and fade away, just as his footprint was beginning to take root on the beaches of Armorique, where sagas sway.

But tonight, let’s forget the tumult, let the fabrics vibrate, let the beauty float: Alaïa breathes, and under her breath, the world falls silent.

FM

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)