Alexander McQueen: The Sublime and Melancholy — The Fashion Studies Journal

Horn has described her sculptures as “Consciousness electrically impassioned,” and is regarded as imbuing her sculptures with elements of the sexual and erotic. [15] High Moon, with its clear plastic tubing and blood-red liquid, feels distinctly biological or medical. The messy splatter of the red paint and the trough intended to catch it call to mind an abattoir or slaughterhouse. McQueen was presumably attracted to the piece because it speaks, however vaguely, of life and death — themes found routinely throughout his work. What isn’t quite so vague is the inclusion of the two Winchester rifles intermittently spraying blood-colored water, sometimes at each other and sometimes not; it is sexual and violent. For a mechanical object, it feels distinctly human-like in how imperfect and inconsistent it is. In 2016 the work was included in an exhibition titled ‘What We Call Love: From Surrealism to Now’ at the Irish Museum of Modern Art. The exhibition title is revealing and suggests we should interpret the actions of the rifles as a reflection of the way human beings love and interact with each other. How at once the sculpture is an illustration of human relationships, with their lust, chaos, pain, and danger. The work aspires to its own idea of the Sublime by walking the fine line between tension and release, or as Professor of Visual and Environmental Studies Giuliana Bruno puts it in the exhibition catalogue, by highlighting “pleasure and pain, danger and sensuality.” [16]

Perhaps McQueen knew all of this. He may have intuited it, or perhaps he didn’t. Whatever the level of understanding he had or level of research he undertook, he took the inspiration, translated it and (factoring in the other key influence, the Arts and Crafts movement), he responded. An engagement with art, culture, and history was central to his work. Art was especially influential and, as soon as he could afford to, he began collecting works by the likes of Francis Bacon, the Chapman Brothers, Sam Taylor-Wood, and Joel Peter Witkin .[17] However, the mode of his art was most akin to performance and even he was acutely aware of this fact. In February 2009, McQueen told Susannah Frankel:

 “When I think back, I was quite happy just doing the performance, happy working as a performance artist. I always looked forward to doing the show with no ties. At the beginning, I never even used to sell the collection. I did that on purpose. It was all about making a statement and the communication of that statement was — and still is very important to me.”[18]

Considering No. 13 as a piece of performance art that took inspiration from a sculpture means we have to consider the role of the human component, Shalom Harlow, in greater depth. Harlow sharing the stage with the mechanized robotic arms calls to mind Le Marchand de Cœurs (The Merchant of Hearts) (1927) by Italian sculptor and stage designer Enrico Prampolini. [19] This Futurist performance included live human performers and an array of abstracted mechanical marionettes. The marionettes, unencumbered by human emotions and complexities, were presented as purer and more truthful, a fundamental belief of the Futurists. [20] Assuming a Futurist interpretation, this positions McQueen’s robotic arms as the objective truth in opposition to the contrived emotional deceit of Harlow. This reading denies the robotic arms their fullest anthropological qualities that are key to establishing the unease we feel. In turn, this would prevent us from experiencing the Uncanny Valley. So, a full Futurist reading cannot work with No. 13; however, it does succeed in allowing us to interpret Harlow as a false temptress, in contrast with the more honest and simple machines. Another helpful comparison to consider might be the Anthropométries (c. 1960) by Yves Klein, in which the artist is choreographing the actions from a safe distance. Klein collaborated with female models, or “living brushes” as he referred to them, and directed them to paint their naked bodies and press themselves against canvasses to create painterly impressions. Klein was criticized for reducing his female collaborators to mere tools, quite literally objectifying them. His absolute control over the models and his detachment from the process seemed to mirror and emphasize the power of the patriarchy over women. [21]

With Anthropométries and Le Marchand de Cœurs in mind, it is worth asking how this changes our understanding of the finale of No. 13. Upon first consideration, it is the robotic arms that assume the role of Klein’s “living brushes.” Although imbued with human-like characteristics such as expressiveness and rhythm, they are under the strict control of a human creator. This then reduces the woman, in this case Harlow, to something subjugated to a machine, which in turn is subjugated to man. If she is the unruly temptress implied by Prampolini’s Le Marchand de Cœurs, then where do our sympathies lie? The wider theme of the presentation was, of course, the Victorian Arts and Crafts movement and this finale, on its surface, seems to speak about the defeat of humanity in the face of the awesome and undeniable power of the machine age. It is nihilistic and euphoric at the same time, with Harlow’s fear and trepidation turning to sexual ecstasy and release. But, a more nuanced gendered reading, factoring in the history of women’s inclusion in performance art by men, suggests a narrative of abuse. In contrast with the objective and truthful machines, Harlow is the emotional, manipulative female and these machines, under the command of McQueen, have the power to enforce the patriarchy. In this respect, the Sublime power of the machine and its uncanny ability to emulate human-like qualities is anchored to the human tendency to dominate and oppress.

No. 13 draws on a host of conscious influences that include the Arts and Crafts movement, High Moon, and perhaps less conscious influences such as Anthropométries and Le Marchand de Cœurs. Through his experiences as a tailor on Savile Row, he learned firstly the exacting craft of manipulating materials and later, through his time at Red or Dead and Romeo Gigli, he learned about the conceptual origins of a collection. Designer John McKitterick, formerly of Red or Dead, explained that when speaking with McQueen about the Space Baby (1990) collection, McQueen “didn’t understand this idea of visual research or historic references or sexual references.” [22] After learning all he could about silhouette and garment construction he enrolled on the MA course at Central Saint Martins, where he discovered the process of using art inspiration to fuel fashion design. From here he found design inspiration in not just art but his own personal traumas and family heritage:

“My collections have always been autobiographical, a lot to do with my own sexuality and coming to terms with the person I am—it was like exorcising my ghosts in the collections.”[23]

If the finale of No. 13 is a piece of performance art in dialogue with the Sublime, then what of McQueen’s later work? Could it be argued that the Performative Sublime, or something very like it, can be found in other presentations?