The Met’s Sleeping Beauties: “Time Flowers” in The Garden of Time
Each year, the Met Gala acts as a fundraiser for the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute, and is accompanied with a corresponding fashion exhibit that visitors from all over the world can visit in the coming months. Steven and I were lucky enough to see this 2024 exhibit, “Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion” on its first day open to the public.
This year’s Met Gala theme “The Garden of Time” was inspired by James Graham Ballard’s 1962 short story of the same name. The story is about a Count and Countess who spend their days at their Palladian villa playing music, polishing their bric-a-brac and picking “time flowers” from their once flourishing garden, which stall the angry mob that grows closer and closer to their home. As they pick the last few “time flowers,” they hold onto their denial that the end is near. Among many interpretations, the story is a metaphor for life and society’s inevitable ebb and flow of creation and destruction.
If you have a few minutes, please give this short story some of your time. I have linked a copy of it below.
The Garden theme of the gala corresponded in a very literal way to some of the theming of the exhibition. The element-themed exhibit was categorized into three sections: Earth, Air and Water. The Earth section, contained garments that featured flowers and foliage, the Air section contained garments that featured birds and insects, and the Water section contained garments that featured fish and shells.
However I was still unsure about the significance of this Sleeping Beauty concept throughout much of my visit. The museum was quite crowded on the day that we attended, and with the entire exhibit being a maze of narrow corridors, it was difficult to read as many placards as we prefer. So much of what I learned from the exhibit, I gathered after the fact, especially from this fantastic exhibition tour video with Costume Institute curator Andrew Bolton. I definitely recommend giving it a watch to truly enjoy the theming and reasoning behind some of the artistic choices being made in the curation and presentation of the garments.
The trifecta of seeing the exhibit, researching Bolton’s intentions and assessing The Garden of Time that made me fully realize the greater meaning beyond the garments.
Why are the “Sleeping Beauties” significant, what do they have to do with the elements, and what does it all mean about the passage of time in The Garden of Time?
Sleeping Beauty
Constantin Brancusi, Sleeping Muse, 1909
When the exhibit begins, you are immediately met with a stunning work of early 20th century art: The Constantin Brancusi sculpture, Sleeping Muse. She shares her resting area with the the first “Sleeping Beauty” of the exhibit, an 1887 ballgown by Charles Frederick Worth and the House of Worth.
Charles Frederick Worth, House of Worth, 1887
This exhibit features 15 selected “Sleeping Beauties”, which are fine antique garments that are so fragile, that it’s no longer possible for them to be worn or displayed vertically on mannequins. They must instead be displayed on a flat surface behind glass, so as not to be impacted by the elements - pun not intended.
If you’d like to see the conservation process of these garments and just how fragile they were upon acquiring, see the Vogue video below.
The exhibition utilizes technology to bring some of the garments to life in a Pepper’s ghost hologram, that showcases the movement they possessed when previously worn. I’ve included some footage of the House of Worth Ballgown in motion. As you pass by this particular garment and its corresponding video, the song “Once Upon a Dream” from the 1959 Disney animated film Sleeping Beauty plays in the background.
While only 15 garments are given the distinction of being a Sleeping Beauty, many of the vertically displayed garments are so fragile and customized to a particular wearer’s body that a generic mannequin will not do for display purposes. The form of the modern mannequin might not give off the nuanced look that the garment intended, or could even inform the shape of the garment too much, impacting its shape or integrity. Therefore the mannequins for each of these garments are made custom to perfectly fit and fill the garment. They are molded from the inside, so that each garment is displayed in its most ideal form.
Robe à la Polonaise, 1780s
This technique in molding the mannequins allows the mannequin body to start and stop wherever is ideal to show off the garment. Meaning they can be created with or without heads, necks, chests, hands, etc. This gives the effect of the garment floating, while it maintains its shape.
Robe à la Française, 1740s
Gucci 2017
Mary Katrantzou, 2018
The aforementioned Pepper’s ghost was only the first of many digital experiences throughout the gallery that are meant to give an immersive feel that brings you closer to understanding the garment, and also tantalize the senses. In some sections of the gallery, music and sound effects are played that transition from space to space, while some sections feature scents that have either been pumped into the corridors, or are being wafted through tubing and vials on the walls.
Another example of a garment that was accompanied by its own immersive digital element was a Robe à la Française from the 1750s, made of Chine silk material. This type of silk made a noise they called “scroop,” a portmanteau of the words scrape and whoop. As you walk through this section of the gallery, you can hear a recording being played of the silk Chine scrooping.
Robe à la Française, 1750s
House of Worth Evening dress, 1902
Prada, 2021
Igniting the Senses
When asked by Vogue about the overall concept of the exhibition, Bolton explains:
“The idea is to reawaken garments in our [permanent] collection through the senses...I heard a young girl probably nine or ten asking a security guardian ‘Why can’t I touch this?’, which is a completely normal question for a nine year old in a museum context. The young children try to deconstruct museum etiquette and make it more accessible to a younger audience. ”
This idea of museum etiquette and the lack of direct contact with garments inspired Bolton and his team to add more tactile and experiential elements to the gallery, and have the concept centered around the idea that these Sleeping Beauties can no longer be viewed in the way that they could even a few generations ago; But instead of closing them off from public view, new tactics will have to be invented to give the public a more meaningful relationship with the piece.
An example of this can be seen in the room of miniature Dior gowns in the exhibit. Back in 2014, Dior put on an exhibit entitled Le Petit Théâtre Dior, in which they showcased small 1/3rd scale replicas of classic Dior gowns, made by hand with true Dior craftsmanship and quality. One of these dresses was a white organza evening dress adorned with small faux florals. This piece was remade for the Sleeping Beauties exhibit.
In keeping with this notion of exhibition pieces that the public can interact directly with, a 3-D printed model of the miniature dress is also on display, which allows visitors to reach out and touch its texture and feel its small scale. The black backdrop to the white dress has been made out urethane panels that feature the same texture as the 3-D dress. Steven and I touched the material. I can guarantee that touching a plastic 3-D printed model is not the same at all as touching the small hand-sewn fabric dress a few feet away, but I can see where it may scratch someone’s itch to reach out and feel the small petals against their fingertips.
Another example of a digital experience with a garment, is an intricately beaded and sequined Yves Saint Laurent jacket, the details of which have been magnified and projected onto the ceiling above the garment so that passersby can see the details while maintaining their distance from the jacket, which is covered by a plate of glass. This effect took place in several instances in the gallery.
Roseraie dress by Jeanne Lanvin, 1923
Forensic chemistry was used to bring the next scent-related experience to life. 10 of the same scent molecules were extracted from two garments: One of the Sleeping Beauties, the Rosarie dress by Jeanne Lanvine in 1923, and the 1950s House of Dior Rose Rouge dress.
Those ten scents were then replicated for the exhibit, with the each being pumped through its own tube on the wall. The curators found it important to convey the scent of the garment, as what you’re detecting is not necessarily how the garment was meant to be experienced when it was made, but the history of who wore it/worked on it, where it’s been, and what time has done to affect it.
“What you’re really smelling [when you come in contact with a garment] is…of course the person who wore it, but also people who have handled it over the years. So it really is a sort of life history. A smellscape of a garment or an accessory.”
Some molecules are of scents one could predict would be found on such elegant garments, while others are not so glamorous. For example, the presence of isodragol, which is typically found in high-end skincare products, tells the tale of an owner, model, or conservator who had a very luxurious morning routine; While the presence of undecane, a sex attractant for cockroaches and moths may give away with what the garment may have come in contact with over the years while in storage.
Rose Rouge dress by Yves Saint Laurent for House of Dior, 1958
The Garden of Time
Although every precaution possible is being taken to protect the garments from being destroyed further by their inherent vice (A term used by conservators to describe defects or faults in garments that make the garment unstable or cause it to self-destruct. The inherent vice could be due to the choice in materials, or the treatment or technique put into the garment by its maker,) every time the garment is moved or fidgeted with in order to be placed on display, it’s going to be at risk of incurring more damage.
“It’s a little bit ironic that...we’re creating in these digital representations of the objects to preserve them, but it’s sort of at the cost of preserving the physical object. So that’s something that you really have to think about: What serves the public interest more? Preserving the physical object, or having people have a different or more intimate relationship with the object through some...created experience?”
This concept that a garment has only a finite number of times that it can be moved and displayed before its time is up, calls back to the aforementioned story, The Garden of Time.
One interpretation of the story is to sympathize with the angry mob who is coming to destroy Count and Countess Axel’s villa, and take vengeance on them. Throughout the story, Count Axel picks the magic time flowers to stall the mob and send them further and further away, until finally the last flower has been picked, and he and his love must accept their horrid fate. Never once in the story does he reflect on what he has done to the public to make them despise him so. It can be interpreted that he doesn’t care about the public, that he only cares about holding onto his riches and his lavish lifestyle until the bitter end.
Another interpretation of the story is to be sympathetic to the Count and Countess. Assuming they have done nothing to wrong the public, it’s interpreted by many that the angry mob has come to merely pillage and pilfer. Feeling that if they storm the villa and destroy its inhabitants, perhaps they have diluted the powers that be, and can each take a piece of the riches back with them. Not realizing that everyone having a piece of the wealth doesn’t make everyone wealthy, and that destroying the villa doesn’t add any significance to their life.
This latter interpretation is where one can find a correlation between the story and the Sleeping Beauties. If we continue moving them, stuffing them and photographing them in order to display them to the public, eventually there will be no garment to showcase. Every time a conservator mends the garment, treats it, or attempts to stabilize it, they are merely buying time, or picking time flowers that will eventually run out.
If you were someone who back in the day was able to view these garments on a model or mannequin, and you got to see through a crystal ball that they’d one day have to be viewed laid down flat on a table, would you find it to be sad that it had to be seen in this fashion and prefer it be tucked away so that no further damage could be done? Or would you think to yourself that it’s better for the public to have a relationship with the garment and take advantage of every moment they can with it?
This topic reminds me of when I visited Stonehenge in England. There was a rope between me and the stones, keeping me around 15 yards away. I was hoping to see them from much closer, but was just overall grateful to be there. I then heard complaints from some older guests who had visited the attraction often in their youth, and they recalled that as late as the 1970s, you could go up to the stones and touch them. I even read a review about Stonehenge, where a visitor recalls sitting on one of the stones with a loved one, having a picnic. They expressed that the attraction being roped off was being overly cautious, and that our generation was missing out on a more relaxed and intimate experience with Stonehenge.
I’ll admit that I had mixed feelings about that sentiment. I was sad that I couldn’t just hangout and picnic at Stonehenge with Steven and feel the stones for myself; However, I understand that if that was still possible all these years later, more damage could have been made to the monument, or someone could have even gotten hurt, which could have potentially kicked off stricter precautions for future generations. If one person picks a pinecone from a national forest, very little damage is done. But if every person who walked through took one, that environment would be much worse off.
The next gallery featured a “Rose d’Iribe” dress worn by Paul Poiret’s wife Denise Poiret in 1913, as well as a silk dress from House of Drecoll, the scents of which can be experienced on a nearby wall that beckons you to rub it gently, so that a smell can be emitted. I tried this wall scent, and found the experience very similar to when you try a perfume sample from a magazine. The scent of the paper and the oil of the fragrance combined becomes its own unique scent.
1913 “Rose d’Iribe” dress
Life in the Public Eye
One question remains to be answered up until this point in the exhibition: Considering the operative word “inherent” in the term inherent vice, wouldn’t the material behave the same way over time regardless of if it was being put on display for the public, or being stored in an acid-free box?
At this point in the gallery, viewers approach two almost identical dark brown silk chiffon Charles James “Butterfly” ballgowns, both dated 1955. While the dresses share the same style, material and techniques, there is a marked difference in their appearances. The first gown is in very good condition. Its heart-shaped neckline is prominent, its pleats are all intact and the garment seems to show very little signs of wear. The second gown is in less than an ideal state. Its once heart-shaped neckline is now much more shallow, much of its pleating looks undone and crumpled, and there is notable wear on the front of the gown, and along the side-seaming.
The difference? The first gown was privately owned, only worn a few times by its owner, and stored in their closet for almost 60 years. The second gown was a showpiece used for display by the designer and museums for many years.
Charles James Butterfly gown, Privately owned, 1955
Charles James Butterfly gown, a “Sleeping Beauty” used for museum display over the years, 1955
Sadly, there is a price to pay for any piece in the public view. Sure each garment has a different level of robusticity, a different kind of inherent vice, and a different timeline of how long it car of time it’s being packed, transported, unpacked and handled. Whenever we’re viewing any sort of art piece in a public space, we are causing it to race faster towards the end of its life.
However, one could also argue that once a piece of art or history gets metaphorically tucked away in someone’s closet, it would be guaranteed that public knowledge of it would decrease. That public interest or curiosity about it would eventually decrease. Its ability to inspire people through its artistic integrity or historical value would be severely limited. And it’s possible that as time goes by, pieces that aren’t well documented could be lost, stolen, damaged or discarded due to neglect. If a valuable piece of clothing from the past was sitting in someone’s storage unit, and came into contact with rain water, mold, or moths, would we say that it might as well have been seen and enjoyed all those years? In this case, is longevity king, or notoriety? And does our ability to document pieces, in media, publication and replication mean that we won’t have to choose, because pieces will be able to remain relevant without ever being seen again?
The Mermaid Bride
The final garment of the exhibit was an opulent 1930 wedding gown by French fashion house Callot Soeurs. This garment was worn by New York socialite Natalie Potter at her wedding to William Conkling Ladd. Being that it was created at the dawn of the Great Depression, it doesn’t feature adornment, and was made with both silk and a silk alternative made of cellulose acetate. Yet in its simplicity, it’s still very regal and extravagant.
The sea shell motifs and scalloped edge of its cathedral train made it the perfect note on which to end the Water portion of the exhibit, while the brass-like face of the mannequin acted as a bookend to the Brancusi sculpture that sat at the front of the exhibit.
As you exit the exhibit, you are shown a QR code that leads you to a Met webpage that goes into further detail about Natalie Potter’s wedding day and her beautiful gown. One last example of the exhibit “marrying” a fine work with the concept of experiencing it through technology.
During my tour of the the exhibit, I assumed that the videos, projections, sound effects and scent bottles were just a gimmick to get visitors talking and reacting with one another. But upon reflection of the entire exhibit, considering what we know about The Garden of Time, and the intentions of the Sleeping Beauties, it all begs the question: Were the technological elements of the exhibit from the holograms, videos, projections, sound effects and scent experiences trying to tell us that in the future when physical objects are too precious and worn to be seen and experienced by the public, virtual substitutions will be the way that we experience art? Because as pieces degrade with time, and as our world expands and the demand to view these pieces increases exponentially, experiencing art may have to involve more velvet ropes, more glass plates, and more timed visits. It might even be the case that more and more pieces go into retirement only to be seen by insiders and those who can afford private viewings.
What will it mean when the wear on these garments becomes so great that a conservator runs out of options? What happens when the glass domes and museum light bulbs are no longer enough to protect them from the elements?
What will it mean for art when these time flowers run out?
Until we meet again!
