Patch Work: A Life Amongst Clothes

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A beautiful memoir but quite frustrating at times. It is a mixture of the author’s life working at the museum, mainly in Fashion at the V & A, interspersed with short vignettes about her family and life. Some of these were very moving and I must confess I found these more interesting than the museum stories, (though I particularly liked the part about Freda Kahlo which was quite heart-breaking). It’s very strange because I studied Fashion at The London College of Fashion in the 1970s so these extracts should have resonated more with me than they did. As soon as the meditation session is over, I bundle up and head out into the wintery woods, following a vague path. Fresh snow blankets the ground, but there's less than an inch. I move fast, trying to get away from myself.

I had eleven months to produce both the book and the show. My father died at the beginning of 2014 and it was a tough year. However, I realized early on in my career in exhibition work that you cannot do it all on your own and you have to be a team player. And I had a good team. Claire Wilcox has worked as a curator in Fashion at the Victoria & Albert Museum for most of her working life. Down cool, dark corridors and in quiet store rooms, she and her colleagues care for, catalogue and conserve clothes centuries old, the inscrutable remnants of lives long lost to history; the commonplace or remarkable things that survive the bodies they once encircled or adorned.

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I think this is probably a classic example of a book that doesn’t work as an e-book. As a glossy coffee table tome with stunning pictures for somebody to dip in & out of it may work, but it’s not a book to read from. I also think that the “blurb” needs to be amended to reduce the focus on the V&A curator! If she ever writes a book more focussed on the V&A collection, the textiles, preservation, analysis etc I will be very interested as I did like her writing style! Claire talks animatedly about Alexander McQueen, his wildly theatrical fashion shows, so triumphant but which ultimately became a burden because of the crippling search to find new themes and rise to the expected new heights. She says, “ It was from the narrative qualities of these theatrical shows that ideas came that pushed his clothing.” A shy smile lingers on her lips as she looks away. And I want to scream. Because I can see what is about to unfold. As you go through the rest of the evening, take notice of how wanting feels in your body. Is it hot, sharp, pulsing? Is it in your head, belly, or heart? Is it pleasant, aversive, or neutral? Remember, it's not you feeling the desire, it's just desire. Notice it and investigate."

I resign myself to people watching. Thanks to my peripheral vision, I know Jeff's sitting, eating. But I deliberately avoid looking at him - anything to stay anonymous. Patch Work by Claire Wilcox is a collection of ultra-short memoir stories which decribe events in her life, from childhood, to motherhood, to being an art student, to working life, to experiencing the death of her parents. Wilcox is also a curator in Fashion in the Victoria & Albert museum and it was this that I was most interested in. A wide smile graces his face, and I feel good that I did something - useful - for the first time in days. A kind deed for an insecure man.

Reviews

I just loved being able to read about how they did the audit at the V&A. Coming across items labelled '99 for the year 1899, with no thought for future years bearing the date '99!. Reading about the thought process behind organising an exhibition, and that you may pass curators in the corridors transporting precious items, as there are no private tunnels. The day they were sent home while a specialist in a white boiler suit and mask had to be called in to isolate a box of medieval leather shoes, in case they were from a plague pit. Just fascinating. But my brain is fighting me with all that it has. The note is like a little beacon. I can't believe I did it. I wonder when he'll see it. I wonder if I should take it down before he does.