Azzedine Alaïa remembered by Julian Schnabel
There is supposed to be a permanence about death. Not sure what that means. Azzedine left home, left his atelier a lot of times without his cellphone. It was a way not to be bothered, to be free during the day, and we all understood and waited for Mr Alaïa to appear. Everyone waited and knew he would be back soon. In the meantime everything that he touched surrounded everyone he came in contact with; surely all those who worked with him, who he cooked for, who ate with him, his friends and everyone who possessed something that he made, each coveted object, every shoe, every dress, every piece of clothing that he lovingly turned into art for everyone, something to accompany all of us so that we would be more beautifully equipped on this journey.
The permanence of death pales next to the permanence of beauty, which transgresses death, never fleeting, materialising then inhabiting the ether for always.
Azzedine keeps us engaged with his persistent joy of life, from beyond the grave, from a little patch of earth that he will eternally light in his beloved Tunisia.
Mr Alaïa just stepped out the other day and left his cellphone at the studio.
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