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20 June 2012

Guest Blogger: Aganovich

Well the plan was, on encouragement from Lewis to share with you some of the delights of my current location; Herceg Novi in Monte Negro.

I came down here to a physiotherapy institute to try and increase the flexibility on my injured knee. The idea was Nana's parents' who are doctors and familiar with the institute. On the surface it's a stunning deal; for roughly the same price as one physio session in London you get a whole days worth of physio plus 3 meals and a big hotel room with balcony and bath.

Furthermore despite being together with Nana for 10 years this is my first trip to anywhere near her 'original' part of the world (she actually grew up in Denmark and has a Danish passport). But since I have barely left the institute in 10 days there is not a great deal to report. Apparently it's stunning out there...I did accept a dinner invitation on your behalf from one of my fellow convalescents by the name of Mister Kusturica on the vague hope he was related tothe Mister Kusturica (who owns a cinema and bar down by the port) but alas no; my guy was a 77 year old retired gynocologist.

We drank warm beer and watched Holland get kicked out of the Euro 2012.

So this all you're getting. The view from room 714B at 6.02 am today:

Does look kind of nice. But no, forget Monte Negro, I'm taking you back to Paris!

We draw a certain amount of attention in press releases and interviews to our Anarchist leanings.

Now never was there a more unlikely and less credible marriage than the suffix -ism to the noun anarchy (except maybe the Michael Jackson/Lisa Marie Presley union...) Anarchy surely isn't designed to sit still long enough to become an ism or a state? Though I do know that our Anarchist illustrator Clifford Harper would fervently dispute this point citing the anarchists in Spain in the 30s but that's another story....

At some point everyone has to admit the limitations of their beliefs and plausibly claiming you are an anarchist fashion designer is a tough one indeed, even for the Godmother of Punk, Vivienne Westwood. In an industry that thrives on slave labour (internship anyone..?) and third world dubiously regulated manufacturing it's best to have modest ambitions where anarchism is concerned.

But on a serious note it gives us a place to channel our anger and on a lighter note, being dandies at heart, we are primarily interested in the aesthetics of resistance on the performance of rebellion; the fonts of Mayakovsky and Rodchenko, the woodcuts of Frans Masereel, the primary shapes of Bauhaus and Oskar Schlemmer.

So it was that we had to find a gris-gris for our authority issues, an object or objects in which we could store our troublesome inclinations for safe-keeping.

This came in the form our 'Blackheads' (Black Flag, Black Hand..) a mob of unruly Stockman busts that we bought for our second presentation in Paris and have stored under lock and key in the heart of Paris. They're a hard-drinking, chain-smoking, gobby bunch of proto-feminists guaranteed to bring any tranquil gathering to a violent and unpleasant conclusion. They've been known to picket modelling agencies. (they're French after all).

Here's one we brought out for our pop up shop back in December. Reasonably well-behaved but if you look carefully you can see her starting to curl her fist.

For the SS12 collection we collaborated with the French toy-maker PIXI to make a mini Blackhead.

Hardliners say she is too effeminate to be a true Blackhead (she doesn't even have sawdust under arms) but we were smitten with her air of puzzled insouciance nonetheless.

So when we found out we were moving to Paris Nana's brother Vlada took one of the figurines all around the city:

Hanging out with the other ladies on the rue Saint Denis

Lost on a map of Paris

Overlooking Ile de la Cite

Messing with Poseidon

On safari in the Tuileries

Admiring the gold leaf on the Pont Alexandre III

Slumming it in a back alley

The End

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