An Illustrated Fashion Blog by Angie Rehe

So nice to me are the lovely folk at the NGV (read: they ply me with free champagne), it’s a wonder I recall any information from the opening night of Australian Made last week.  It must truly be a memorable bunch of frocks on show.

I guess it helps too that I had my personal paparazzi Rebecca Rocks on hand to document the event.  Not having to put your drink down to take a photo? Priceless. And as she is my personal pap, you can be sure I’m in every second photo – as opposed to the previous night when I attended Karen Webster’s LMFF farewell and was photographed a paltry once, despite wearing a bright orange dress amongst a sea of black, and then only because I was standing between pap-candy Gwendolynne and Robert Buckingham.  In any case, like my golden moment in Colette all those years ago, I jump at any chance to be immortalized.

But I digress, it’s about the frocks after all.  One of the things I enjoy most when looking at historical garments is the wondering about the life of the garment – who wore it?  What did they do in it?  What secrets could that dress tell?

Plenty, I’m sure.

Afternoon dress c.1878  Miss Scott, Brisbane (dressmaker)

And the attendees:

Oh my goodness, it’s me, with the lovely Sue Coffey, head of Media & Public Affairs at NGV

OMG me again, this time with the fabulous Karen Webster

Marc Nolen, oops-unknown, James Nolen

Shakira Silvestri, the wonderful Alison Murray of the NGV, Hayley Allen

Claudia Chan Shaw, Presenter on ABC Collectors

The ever stylish Kara Baker

What – you thought I was joking about being in every 2nd photo??  Here with crazy old pal Peter Jago.

Daughter of mother-with-the-mostest, Lily &, um, me again!

Brought to you by the colour yellow – Edwina Brennan and Katherine Horseman

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Forgive me (insert chosen deity), I haven’t posted for a record 12 days.  The shame.

Been a little tied up.

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Call me a hypochondriac germaphobe, but is seems like every coughing sneezing sighing spitting carrier monkey has bathed me in their germs this week.

When did covering your mouth to cough go out of style?

I despair.

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As a general statement in life, I can be pretty black & white.  I like it/you or I don’t;  I’m ecstatic or maudlin;  I drink the bar dry or want to eat macrobiotic & run a marathon. Otherwise known as bi-polar.

The theme of yesterday was stupid m***********ng people and i spent the better part of it incandescent with rage.  Quite homicidal in fact.  Until a drawing session where I was overcome with the desire to colour the world yellow.  In terms of colour psychology, yellow causes a rise in respiratory rate, heartbeat, and blood pressure (though not as much as red), and people are “apt to loose their temper in it’s presence”.  So go figure, with every loaded brush I deposited the pigment onto the page, I felt calmed and uplifted.  The fine company was undoubtedly part of it, but suffice to say, last night a colour saved my mind.

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Like my mother and a couple of ex-boyfriends used to say, sometimes I just got the devil in meh.  Like right now.  Could be a result of being driven to self-harm by spending a sunny day in a windowless room marking folios, or could be that he just likes it in here.

In any case, given that it’s sunday night after midnight, it’s a little like being all dressed up and nowhere to go.

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Ain’t that the truth?

To state the bleeding obvious, this is not one of my own artworks, but one from the collection of the talented Jaclyn Réhe, Our Painted Lady, tatoueur de la famille, not to mention my friends.  We have a healthy art-swapping deal going, which suits me fine, but for anyone else, besides waiting for our joint exhibition sometime in the not-so-distant-future, an offering of small works will be for sale at SPARK PRAGUE – a Rock’n'Roll / Art Gallery extravaganza taking place on the 7th May at the Prague Venue, 911 High st Thornbury.

8 bux on the door will get you nibbles while you enjoy the various artists’ works, followed by a rocking band line-up featuring Sons of Lee Marvin, The Knock Outs, The Trophy Wives, Stabbie Stabbie Kill Kill, Two Jacks And A Jill.  Why wouldn’t you?

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Colour me superstitious but by mid-afternoon every day I see a theme-of-the-day emerging.  Wardrobe-malfunction/body-malfunction/universal arseholeness/sexy-people-everywhere/kindness/or sometimes a day is simply brought to you – Sesame Street-style – by a letter.  Today was brought to me by the letter B.

On the slippery-slope of an incoming cold with an unknown endpoint, I’ve been consumed this week with the fear of developing anniversary Bronchitis.  I have conscientiously treated it with Brandy, Baths, and plenty of Bed.  I appear to be Beating it.  Each day this week on the train, I have survived choking fits by popping Butter menthols just in the nick of time. Today, dressed in Black & Blue, just as the train pulled up, an unknown Bird dumped what appeared to be a Bucket of Birdshit on my head, so I got to ride the train not only feeling like hell, but mopping and picking this Bird crap out of my hair all the way to Flinders Street, without a mirror.  It was Brutal.  Am waiting for the good luck to Become apparent.

Superstitiously keeping with today’s theme, I offer an experimental rough sketch of my previous drawing, inspired – post Art Melbourne – by David Bromley.  A somewhat Bandaged Showgirl.

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I could pretty much start a dedicated blog about all the things that are annoying about me.  In fact how I’ve managed to make it through so many bouts of PMT and not have been gunned down is beyond my comprehension.

But what’s annoying about me today is the fact that despite writing about the Dennis Hopper & The New Hollywood exhibition at ACMI 5 months ago, I still left it until the last day – the last hour in fact – to go see it.  Triple groan.  It was fabulous, and worthy of far more than one hour.  Mr Hopper, I love you even more than I did before, not even the mask business in Blue Velvet can put me off now.  Whoever knew he was such a good photographer?  All I can say is thank god for the exhibition book in the ACMI bookshop.

This and the Art Melbourne exhibition in one day?  I’m feeling both kinky & inspired.

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As much as I love a man in make-up - and that’s almost as much as I love a man in a skirt – I draw the line at stupid ghoulish contact lenses.  Take Marilyn Manson par example.  I always thought wearing them was the height of dumb, until he dumped Dita Von Teese for Evan Rachel Wood, and I realised there were always greater heights to climb.

But somehow the gown worn by Dita in her moment of insanity has escaped my attention, until last week when I was researching interesting wedding dresses to draw for the first public launch of Bridal Sketches, at the I Do I Do Bendigo Bridal Fair.  (Yes, I see the irony too.)

Not since (and I hate to name-drop) my uni-friend Megan Park designed my equally starring friend Tiff from Happy House’s royal purple wedding dress way back when, have I seen such a gown of magnificence.

With no plans of walking down any isles, I realise my chances of wearing such a frock are hugely diminished.  Enter the brilliant idea of Dr Mary to take herself to a fabulous bridal store so I can photograph her and produce for her a Dr-Bridal Sketch.  I think I may do like-wise.  In fact maybe this is an even better idea than Bridal Sketches – “Never going to walk down that isle but want to be immortalised in the frock?  Call Faux-Bridal-Sketches – we’ll put you in the picture“.

Either way, chances are it will outlast the marriage.

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