'Death is the mother of beauty,' said Henry.
'And what is beauty?'
'Terror.'
'Well said,' said Julian. 'Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.'
I looked at Camilla, her face bright in the sun, and thought of that line from the Iliad I love so much, about Pallas Athene and the terrible eyes shining.
'And if beauty is terror,' said Julian, 'then what is desire? We think we have many desires, but in fact we have only one. What is it?'
'To live,' said Camilla.
'To live forever,' said Bunny, chin cupped in palm.
The teakettle began to whistle.
Donna Tartt, The Secret History
This passage is quite possibly one of my most favourite passages from any book, ever. I'm no classics scholar (although i have dabbled with the idea of taking up ancient greek), but i think you don't need to be one to appreciate this sentiment. Beauty is terror. We desire to live, forever. Human nature distilled into a few sentences.
I remember posting this poem 'An evil spirit, your beauty haunts me still', with a picture of Lily Donaldson way back in the archives. I think she is possessing of the kind of beauty that haunts, that keeps you up at night, tossing and turning. But beauty that is terrifying, that alarms? What immediately springs to mind is the ferocious vision of the Rodarte girls. Their spring/summer collection was certainly fearsome to behold - futuristic and yet harking back to those ancient days of female warriors like Boudicca. With tattoos snaking up their arms and their dresses slashed and ripped, 'ruined' in the words of laura mulleavy herself, the rodarte girls were the remnants of a post-apocalyptic civilisation, scavenging for clothes in the wreckage of their world and trying to forge a new existence.
Beauty is terror, desire is to live forever... The Rodarte girl, with her rags and steely glare, the dry ice curling around her feet is a terrifying and alarming, yet overwhelmingly compelling beauty. Every season they send forth their particular brand of haunting, gothic romance, but this season was a departure from that. It was Beauty in its purest, crystallised form - frightening in its fury. So frightening that you cannot look away. I can't get enough of Rodarte, and neither can the rest of the fashion world.
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