Sprouse, Meetings, and Snow

Stephen Sprouse 1987 Hardcore Boy acryic and xerox on canvas

December 1, 2008

Today's Women's Wear Daily offers a preview of the Marc Jacobs/Louis Vuitton Stephen Sprouse tribute collection.

Between the Louis Vuitton collection, the exhibition at Deitch Projects, and The Stephen Sprouse Book, there's a lot of "Sprouse" stuff coming up. I have to admit that, as exciting as it all is, it's frustrating, if not a little depressing, that Stephen isn't here to see it. More importantly, to oversee it. I mean, I'm honored to be designing and curating Stephen's exhibit in his absence. It's an incredible opportunity, and I like to think that the unique working relationship and long-standing friendship we shared put me in a position to actually pull it off, but still, it's hard not to wish he was alive to do it himself.

That being said, everyone is trying to do it right.

Fashion, perhaps more than any other business, is notoriously unrepentant about stealing ideas. After all, when people say that Stephen Sprouse was "influential," all that really means is that many other designers copied his designs. So, it's refreshing to have a bona fide international fashion star like Marc Jacobs willing to give credit where credit is due. Likewise, it's hard to imagine how "The Stephen Sprouse Book" is different from anything Stephen might have done himself. (Of course, it would be different, but exactly how will always be a mystery.) Come January, when the show opens, the book hits the shelves, and the collection arrives in stores, never mind about wishing Stephen was still alive. It's going to be hard not to feel like he is.

December 19, 2008

Louis Vuitton has launched a Stephen Sprouse tribute site, too: We Love Sprouse

I attended a meeting today with the installers and contractors that Deitch has employed for the Sprouse show. Although I don't want to get into "behind the scenes" style posting, I have to admit I'm really excited about the exhibit and can't wait for the actual installation to begin. (Once it does, it's a balls-to-the-wall schedule.)

Although we covered everything that needed to be covered, the meeting was slightly rushed because of the weather. The meeting's coordinator was scheduled to fly home to California later in the afternoon, and the snow stressed her out. She hadn't been able to hire a car to the airport because none of the car services were taking bookings. She'd have to take the train. "Which is fine," she said. "I'd rather take the train and know I won't have to deal with the traffic and everything. It's less about getting to the airport than what happens once I get there. Namely, sitting on a bench for four hours."

LaGuardia and Newark were both closed, and she was counting the snowflakes until her airport, JFK, followed suit.

One of the installers recently bought a house in New Jersey, and he, too, was stressed by the snow, wanting to get home as soon as possible. "I have to pick up my kid in daycare," he said.

He's only been living in the New Jersey suburbs for a short while, and I asked him how he liked it. "It's nice," he said. "But a whole different world. I feel a little like I'm in a witness protection program."

We discussed the businessmen who commute to and from the city, stopping at a deli to pack a couple of beers in their briefcases before hopping on the train for a two-hour ride.

"Some people do that for twenty or thirty years."

"I know," he said, "And now I understand."

The meeting wrapped up by noon. I was supposed to be at the gallery for another meeting at four o'clock, which left me a couple of hours to kill. I stepped into the slippery slushy mess, wondering how best to use my time (that is, where best to go Christmas shopping for Deborah). A half a block up the road, I slipped and saw stars when my head smacked on the sidewalk. Thankfully, I was wearing a hat, and the snow that had started to accumulate helped cushion the blow. But still, I had to take a minute to regroup.

"Fuck this," I said, and called to reschedule my meeting, then ice skated to the subway and rode home, empty-handed.

Actually, Deborah and I agreed not to buy each other anything this year. We decided that, since I'd be busy through the holidays, we would wait until after the show and then do something together, perhaps take a trip. But I know better than to believe a girl when she says, "Don't buy me anything."

I might've fallen, but I didn't fall for that.