The spell cast over Sleeping Beauty’s castle comes to mind when silken gowns are kept company by the habitants of the
Encased in glass, the dresses are strewn one or two to a room in a discombobulated parade. My favorites, a knife-pleated number in Kelly green jersey and a long Grecian dress in Hermes orange stand in the dark panelled space of Bourdelle’s atelier among a pompadour coiffed bust and heavy antiques propped here and there like forgotten treasures gathering dust in a great aunt’s attic.
Madame Grès whose lifetime spanned the last decade (1903-1993) often wore a turban but never her own dresses. She spoke with poise and the aloof air that an even voice insinuates. Her intricately worked, asymmetric designs accompanied by their sketches and fashion photographs present the timeless output of her Paris workshop.