November 7, 2011
I cannot think of a more fitting aural accompaniment when viewing the work of London based designer Rachel Freire, than that of the Witch Trilogy; three albums released in the early-mid 90s by Australian sound designer Darrin Verhagen, recorded under the pseudonym Shinjuku Thief. Loosely inspired by the Malleus Maleficarum, the medieval manual (of sorts) for witch-finders, the trilogy could also be considered as a fictional soundtrack for Walpurgisnacht, the eve between the 30th of April and the 1st of May, when the lines that define our well-reasoned earthly existence begin to blur, allowing slivers of the supernatural and esoteric to bleed through. Freire’s collections present themselves to the viewer like an intricate compendium of findings captured during that arcane twilight – garments that, upon first glance, appear as though from a seemingly familiar other-place which, upon further inspection, reveal meticulously constructed details and dramatic silhouettes motivated by recondite forces. Waves of fabric cascade over and over; dramatic headpieces both veil and embellish singularity; bold lines intersect the body, composing contours that re-construct the figure anew. Tattered, interlocking textures drape from the wearer’s frame, creating pieces that look as though they’ve been fashioned from other, long since dissected outfits, speaking tales of both fashion’s familiar-past alongside it’s yet-to-be-encountered-future.
