Dior parades in Lecce with the Cruise 2021 collection inspired by the beauties of Salento
“The sky is white and golden, where angels with sweet breasts, Saracen warriors and donkeys with rich ruffs run on the ledges.” – After the Moon, Vittorio Bodini, 1956
Golden Lecce, with the scent of warm oven-baked bread in the air, with a fragrant crust, woody noise of looms, of rough cotton threads that flow and intertwine, a phrase in dialect, sung and rhythmic, the lights for the patronal feasts aimed at the heaven of the Saints of Puglia, like the purest of prayers. Maria Grazia Chiuri he returns home to a choral Salento that is a land of tradition, good life and sharing – he does it with the collection Dior Cruise 2021, born from a virtuosity of minds, hands and lives that parade together in the cathedral square. Closed doors for a sublime moment that transforms southern Italy into the center of the world, surprising the fine senses of a rose-scented couture with a true aroma of fresh and genuine tomatoes. Next to her, the ancient masters and trades of Puglia, substituted for overseas tailoring to convey attention to Italian craftsmanship. The square is a burst of fireworks, a silent festival of colors and lights that participate in the baroque style of the cathedral of Santa Maria Assunta: it’s Illuminations of Marinella Senatore, local creator, who embroiders feminist phrases in the metallic and glassy lace of the setting.
“A frenetic game of the soul that is afraid of time, multiplies figures, defends itself from a too clear sky.”
The ancestral anthropology of Ernesto De Martino, tarantism, folklore and the sacredness of the pleasure of the territory are the theoretical background that guides the mind of the creative director in drawing up the outlines of clothes that the maieutics of the weavers of the Le Costantine Foundation leads to life, drawing the matter of Bar Jacket hand-woven simply interpreting his thoughts and visions, like midwives in the act of giving birth to a child. A pinch of tambourines, rattles and poetry starts, black and white dancers still in a primordial fixity, frames of olive branches and ears of wheat go out. The show begins.
The textures are rough and natural, live fibers in the shades of the earth: sand color, concrete burned by centuries of sun and made of gold dust, maritime green of Mediterranean scrub mirrored on the sea, red and still red, veins of magenta, lacquer and cherry as in the flowering of the most beautiful in summers. White, cream, ecru flat as a sky full of the heat of late July. Khaki green and hints of dark old rose such as blushing at a glance too, chocolate brown on the inlaid leather like hagiographic icons.
THE soft cuts of clothes, skirts, trousers and shirts are held on the torso by a bustier with herringbone fastening – not that of the French tailors, but that of the farmers in the scorched fields of Salento. The floral décor is the tribute to Miss Dior, to the tradition of roses and lilies of the valley by monsieur Christian and his gardens in full bloom: no centifoliate but only poppies of Pietro Ruffo that spread the opiate scent of the summer countryside, a phrase from Heinrich Heine floating suspended – “Les Parfums sont les sentiments des fleurs” (“Perfumes are the feelings of flowers”).
The embroidery is intense with shapes that reflect the cathedral’s contrasts, the visual panorama of the village in procession and its illuminations, the outbreaks of confetti, food, colors and constellations of a night in the large square.
Knitting vest to protect the heart, long coats and geometric patterns taken from the archives of an ancient textile art, edges in soft wool are reminiscent of the shaggy and cloudy fur of the flocks. Hair and a bandana, a necklace on tulle and organza, handbags carried by hand Book Tote, the Saddle, the Bobby newborn – inside ears of corn as in the afternoons between women in the family to collect memories. Feet shod by open sandals is soft ballet flats, from one boot of local style, accessory born from the damp earth of rain and seeds and ancestor of today’s linear and squeamish silhouettes. The jewel is minimal is cheeky at the same time, a golden chain around the neck for each lost memory, for each person found, a bunch of coral red grapes as a pendant that incites a toast and a jovial glass of wine, the cameo inherited from the grandmother with a gros ribbon grain which is a knot in the throat of nostalgia.
The orchestra plays, the dramatic dancers in the perfection of an uncontrolled passion and left free to explode, water on the skin between sweat and tears, a cry wrenches the soul and the last dress passes through the gates, a witch dancer, a disturbing sorceress and singer of the past seals the scene with closed eyes, loose hair and hands on the face. Giuliano Sangiorgi goes on stage, it is Lu Rusciu De Lu Mare with the tragedy of love and death, it is Wonderful, the great, ruthless and desperate hymn to that life never as precious as today.
“An air of mild and unhurried gold entertains itself in that realm of unserviceable gears among which the seed of boredom opens its archly witty flowers and as if by chance, a stone carnival simulates infinity in a thousand guises.”
Maria Grazia Chiuri brings to Italy the spectacle of a fashion that is resurrections from the ashes, the cry of hope of a humanity that, after suffering, finds in the origins, in the roots, the strength to rise again. It is the motherhood of the earth that welcomes and heals, the vigor of the family and the memories that support it, the joy of beauty that makes the purpose of being tangible, the power of unstoppable and violent life as a pinch ballad in silence.