With the world premiere of Infinity taking place in Melbourne in only a couple of weeks, Anna Sutton spoke to costume designer Jennifer Irwin about her collaborations with Graeme Murphy and Stephen Page for The Narrative of Nothing and Warumuk: in the dark night.

“I love working with both of them and they’re both very different,” Jennifer says of the two choreographic veterans as she shows me the “forbidden fish” costume for Warumuk – an iridescent dress that twinkles in a wave of oxidised metallic sequins.

“The costumes I’ve done for Graeme have always been more abstract and contemporary, and more fashion, stripped back, whereas Stephen’s are always Aboriginal-based – still abstract – but with a story behind it.”

In Stephen Page’s Warumuk – in the dark night, audiences will witness the transient brilliance of Jennifer’s costumes streaking across the stage in a journey through Aboriginal astronomy – a story told in seven vignettes. The Australian Ballet and Bangarra Dance Theatre have collaborated in the past, but this is the first time the two companies have partnered to perform an Indigenous narrative.

Jennifer’s designs for Warumuk are painterly and sculptural. Take the costumes for the Julpan Boys, who evoke dusk. “They wear burnished colours accompanied by sculptural reptilian structures. These are made from a moulding plastic overlayed with a plastic mesh (for flexibility), then painted,” she says. Elsewhere, a calico design, whose patterns were cut away from behind and then painted, give an intricate, coral-like effect. That design will be worn by one of the seven sisters to tell the Aboriginal story of the constellation called Pleiades in Western astronomy.

Jennifer explains that designing for Indigenous dance is unique because of the cultural protocols that must be observed. “Bangarra Dance [has its] own rules, such as use of colour and respecting dancers’ totems.” In Warumuk, nine male dancers in woven skirts will dance among suspended clusters of coiled, feathery rope. The design is inspired by Morning Star poles, which are used ceremonially in Yolngu culture.

Rather than trying to reconcile the classical with Aboriginal elements, Jennifer says she “doesn’t go there”, preferring to delve into abstraction. “The main challenge is following the protocols. It’s collaborative, it’s about putting Stephen’s vision forward and because I’ve worked with him for so long I understand his aesthetic, but I do have to follow rules.”

There are practical considerations, too, that Jennifer has faced in creating the dizzying array of costumes for Warumuk. “With Bangarra it’s always ‘less is better’. Because the dancers always wear so much ochre and the choreography is always very grounded and on the floor, you’ve really got to design around what you can’t use rather than what you can use. The floor becomes very dirty and the costumes get destroyed. They have to be washed after each use. The floor almost becomes part of the costumes or the costume becomes part of the floor.”

The set and lighting design for Warumuk were an integral part of Jennifer’s approach. The elegantly sparse set, which suggests the night sky, formed the backdrop for her costumes. “The set uses Aboriginal images and big dots. I’ve got the possibility of putting the dancers in the most interesting costumes because it’s a big black box filled with beautiful sculptural pieces that Jake [Jacob Nash, the set designer] has designed. If you’re in a big black box it’s great to use materials that reflect light – shiny fabrics that will be pleated and painted into.”

A costume for the Evening Star vignette featuring luminous layers of flesh-coloured net, beaded lace and silk chiffon reflects this approach, as do the costumes for a school of fish that will appear in silver metallic knitted dresses and sequin-and-rope embellished helmets created by The Australian Ballet’s milliners.

For Graeme Murphy’s The Narrative of Nothing, Jennifer journeys further into the unknown. “Graeme’s work is more about the body and abstraction, whereas Stephen is about stories, so they’re totally different. With The Narrative of Nothing the set has a lot of lights, so it’s really about body form and silhouette. There are 15 dancers in Graeme’s piece, and their costumes are individually painted artworks that are all about body and shape.”

Jennifer’s main inspiration came from listening to The Narrative of Nothing’s score, Brett Dean’s Fire Music, a piece dedicated to the victims of Victoria’s Black Saturday Bushfires. However, Jennifer emphasises that The Narrative of Nothing is not about fire. Her illustrations, which formed the basis for the designs, are drawn in bold tubular strokes in a spectrum of cool greys. This artwork, which was scanned and digitised onto fabric, is a study in human anatomy. “The brief was to design bodystockings that are abstract and unique and that would complement the lines of the body in the choreographic vocabulary. I did a lot of drawings and Graeme and I discussed them and which ones he liked. The pieces were then overprinted with a silver dot matrix with a design incorporated into the screen print, which highlights the muscle form.”

Set and lighting are again integral to her choice of reflective costumes: in The Narrative of Nothing we will see dancers aglow in a “vast open space surrounded by intense light boxes”.

Jennifer says that the freedom of designing for abstract ballet is not without its own set of challenges. “What’s great about an abstract ballet is that you can go anywhere, but at the same time it can be restricting because you don’t know where to stop.

“I’m really lucky because I’ve been designing for Graeme for 30 years and Stephen for 20 – which means I have relative artistic freedom in designing for their work.”

You can see Jennifer’s designs as part of the Infinity program, which opens in Melbourne on 24 February and in Sydney on 5 April. Tickets on sale now.

Read more about Infinity

All photography in this post by Lynette Wills

As Alexi shows me his rhythm-laden illustrations for There’s Definitely A Prince Involved, he explains that he set out to create an evocative aesthetic. “In terms of Gideon’s take on producing a ballet work, it never seemed to me like he wanted to do something direct, it was more about an exploration of ballet and Swan Lake in particular. I looked for a motif that suggested birds and flight without being too literal.”

The result is a palm tree-inspired motif which is bold and rich in nuance, while not being so overt as to plunge the audience into a specific setting. These prints, in flesh and black-and-white with bone-like patterns, also reference the human form. Laser-cut, felt headpieces featuring an intricate pattern echo the motif to toweringly dramatic effect.

The costumes tap the dualities of There’s Definitely a Prince Involved, dwelling in the realm of the abstract while addressing themes that Gideon and Alexi had discussed from the outset. “The work is very much about duality. The way Gideon works is he gets the dancers in the studio and it’s an intuitive process. So for me I was trying to design costumes without really knowing what the work was about. [Although I knew there were] themes of good and evil, light and dark, lasciviousness versus purity.” He points to the varying elements that intermingle in his designs. “It’s quite tribal but there’s also a nouveau influence that you can see in the fleur de lis detailing. It’s ambiguous, which I think is appropriate to the piece.”

Alexi explains that traditional Swan Lake score, set, and choreography are interwoven with Gideon’s new material to recontextualise the ballet for a contemporary audience. Traditional ballet costumes pulled from The Australian Ballet’s store will contrast with his own thoroughly modern take on the Swan Lake story.

He has employed black-and-white fringing as part of dynamic costumes which understand and respond to human movement, while conveying the underlying concerns of Gideon’s work.  “As the dancers move, the fringing becomes an extension of the print. It’s quite tattoo-like. Hidden parts of the costume reveal themselves at different times. The fringing can be mixed and interwoven, twisted and tangled; it comes together, then falls apart,”  he says.

The Alexi Freeman brand is synonymous with visually arresting prints, elegantly sporty silhouettes and flattering forms that shoot off on a futuristic tangent, making Alexi’s transition to designing for Gideon a relatively seamless one.

“We do a lot of geometric prints and we work with alot of stretch and mesh. What we usually do is recontextualise – so we might use a sporty fabric to create an evening dress. [With this design] I’m not having to change materials – instead I’m using mesh how it was intended to be used.”

One of the chief practical challenges he has faced has been designing for the spatial elements of a dance production. “Fashion is more about being seen up close and personal whereas in designing for dance the distance between the stage and the back of the theatre plays an important role,” he says.

On designing for dancers Alexi speaks effusively, referring to the transformative effect they have on clothing and the integral part movement plays in the impact of the garment.  “Dancers have incredible bodies. It’s all body-conscious so whether you are seeing the dancers’ actual flesh or not you will be seeing the silhouettes of their bodies. They’re like elite athletes, they move amazingly well so it’s a dream body in a way – different to a model’s body. They make clothes look good because of the way they move.”

And what of the enduring love affair between ballet and fashion? Alexi seems to think they are intrinsically linked. “In many ways, the two are synonymous; fashion drapes the body in cloth whilst ballet drapes it in movement.”

You can see Alexi’s designs for There’s Definitely a Prince Involved as part of the Infinity program, which opens in Melbourne on 24 February and in Sydney on 5 April. Tickets on sale now.

Read more about Infinity

Anna Sutton slips amongst the glamorous shadows of the past. All photography by Joshua Burns.

On a recent trip to Venice I saw a sublime exhibition that explores the contributions of Russian émigrés to fashion and costume design.

Elegance in Exile: Between fashion and costume, Diaghilev’s time is housed in The Museum and Study Centre of the History of Fabrics and Costume at Palazzo Mocenigo, a 17^th-century Gothic building that formerly belonged to one of Venice’s most noble families. It’s a fittingly grand choice of venue for this event.

The exhibition, curated by Francesca Dalla Bernardina, features costumes of the Ballets Russes designed by artists such as Leon Bakst, Andre Derrain and Natalia Goncharova, whose take on colour was as stunningly original as anything achieved by the Fauvist painters, as well as fashion created and informed by the Russian émigrés who scattered all over Europe following the October Revolution.

At the heart of this show is the lasting contribution Sergei Diaghilev made to culture.

The pieces are sourced from the collections of Alexandre Vassiliev, a renowned fashion historian and a designer of costumes and sets, and Toni Candelero, a noted dancer and choreographer.

Elegance in Exile is curated so that the costumes complement the interior design and furnishings of each room. In the Portego (great hall), a collection of dresses introduce the theme of Orientalism. Embellished with hand-sewn glass beads, pearls and lace – some from Venice, a major centre of the glass and lace industries in Italy – an array of 1920s evening dresses are presented in a context of antique opulence. Intricately embroidered and beaded Charleston-style gowns of magenta silk, mustard velvet and silver tulle as fine as gossamer are framed by Renaissance cupids and chandeliers.

Nearby, a French silk cloak encrusted with hundreds of sapphire-blue stones and Venetian-style beads is a shining reminder of the influence the Russian exiles had on haute couture in Paris in the first half of the 20^th century. Designs by Charles Worth, Paul Poiret and Mariano Fortuny are interspersed with those by Russian fashion houses such as Kitmir.

The Contessa’s bedroom and the bathroom reveal a collection of champagne-coloured lace ball and concert dresses laden with exquisitely rendered embroidery and pearl embellishments, some with bold floral painted patterns inspired by the Ballets Russes.

Costume drama is heightened in the Rococo red room, where gilded mirrors, antique Murano glass chandeliers and Louis XV chairs provide a sumptuous setting in which to showcase evening dresses reflecting Oriental influences from Istanbul and China. Heavier fabrics such as brocade silk and exotic detailing like metallic embroidery predominate here.

Further on, an opulent line-up of dresses in fabrics such as crepe and velvet, adorned lavishly with squirrel fur and Russian floral prints, provoked many gasps of admiration from viewers on my visit, while a trio of bell-shaped evening dresses in lace and lamé dating from the 1920s carried through the pronounced ballet theme.

Head pieces and accessories worn by Russian ballerinas are on show in the Count’s library, a display of glittering prizes yielding precious crystals, pearls, marabou feathers, dainty beading and hand-sewn sequins.

The finale of my trip was seeing the more familiar but always wildly original Ballets Russes costumes dating from 1909-1929 . Highlights included Leon Bakst’s ‘Costume for a Slave’ from Le Dieu Bleu (1912) and Natalia Goncharova’s ‘Costumes for a Noble’ from Le Coq  d’Or (1914).

This is curation at its finest: a harmonisation of costume with evocative surroundings which does justice to the bold Russians whose art is so beautiful it stirs the senses and elevates the soul. For further reading see Beauty in Exile: the artists, models, and nobility who fled the Russian Revolution and influenced the world of fashion by Alexandre Vassiliev.

How about Russian ballet in Australia? The Ballet Russes in Australia and Beyond explores the impact of these vital artistic troupes on Australian dance. You can pick up a copy from our online store.

The red shoe: a source of fascination, power and mystery to both its wearer and beholder.

The use of red shoes as a mark of distinction can be seen throughout history across different cultures, but it was particularly pronounced in the French courts. During Louis XIV’s reign, the court was the arbiter of both style and etiquette. Shoes with red ‘Louis-style’ heels were worn by courtiers to distinguish them from other aristocrats. The luxuriously sanguine hue was sourced from the red pigment of the Mexican cochineal beetle. Ironically (and inevitably), aristocrats emulated the look, making it fashionable outside the courts. The style endured until it was scorned by French Revolutionaries in the late 1700s.

Red shoes are fabled, holding a place in both mythology and popular culture. In Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytale “The Red Shoes” (1845), the vain heroine Karen is driven to dance by a pair of bewitched red shoes, which hound her until she escapes into the afterlife. This morality tale has re-emerged most notably in the technicolour film masterpiece The Red Shoes (1948). Flame-haired ballerina Victoria Page (Moira Shearer) dances a ballet based on the fairy tale in a pair of crimson slippers. This story-within-a-story is a parable for the film’s larger themes, which explore the conflict between love and art. Like Karen’s red shoes, Vicky’s slippers never tire: “Time rushes by; love rushes by; life rushes by. But the red shoes…dance on.” In the world of the film, Victoria’s love of dance leads to her destruction.

The ability of red shoes to transform their wearer was given a bewitching spin when Dorothy donned a pair of ruby slippers in MGM’s The Wizard of Oz (1939). Costumier Gilbert Adrian’s glittering creations featured 2,300 sequins hand-sewn onto red silk. The shoes’ surface allure is matched by their depth of meaning; theories abound as to their Freudian and sacred/profane symbolism.

Red shoes have signified power throughout history. They have been worn by superheroes and members of the military, royalty and the papacy. Most recently, Pope Benedict XVI revived the tradition of wearing ruby-red papal shoes, a practice which arose during the Roman Empire – the colour red being associated with the blood of martyrdom. The “Prada Pope”, as he was named by media for his designer tastes, favours red leather loafers. But while the Devil may wear Prada, the Pope’s tastes are more chaste; his shoes are reportedly made by Italian shoemaker Adriano Steffanelli.

In the 21^st century, the most enduring legacy of the red shoe can be seen in Christian Louboutin’s lustworthy heels. Their cherry-red lacquered soles send the world a glossy lipsticked kiss with every stride. These instruments of pleasure are pinnacles of red-shoe brilliance, signifiers of wealth and passion whose towering heels literally elevate women – perhaps to the realm of goddesses. Louboutin is revered as a sculptor rather than a shoemaker, and has collaborated with visionaries like filmmaker David Lynch.

Despite the fact that Louboutin had previously trademarked the red heel, his recent attempt to sue Yves Saint Laurent for emulating the iconic flash of scarlet was overruled in the courts – no red light on red shoes, the judge seemed to say. Perhaps some things are too legendary, too ingrained a part of our psyches, to be controlled by law.

There are, after all, earlier examples of red-bottomed heels, including Elsa Schiaparelli’s ‘shoe hat’ from 1937. This collaboration with Salvador Dali consisted of an upside-down shoe, perched over the wearer’s head like the horn of plenty, courting attention with its raspberry-stained heel. For now, it seems, there can be no copyright on witchery. And so the red shoes dance on.

The legendary label is an enduring tribute to passion and technique. In 1947 Rose Repetto, mother of dancer and choreographer Roland Petit, lovingly created a pair of ballet shoes for him in a humble Parisian atelier. The innovative reverse-stitch technique she used resulted in a flexible, lightweight slipper that became popular amongst dancers, who still flock to Repetto boutiques today.

Brigitte Bardot is often attributed with launching the Repetto into the sartorial stratosphere. The screen siren asked Repetto to adapt the ballet shoe for the cobbled streets of everyday life. The result can be seen in an image of Bardot sensuously draped over a Rouge Simca at the 1956 Cannes Film Festival (above). She transformed the Repetto into an icon of Parisian chic, forever inseparable from that ravishing image. In 1959 Rose opened her first boutique on the Rue de la Paix, a few strides away from the Paris Opera.

In the 1970s, men took up the craze with the Zizi Homme Repetto, a narrow lace-up jazz shoe originally designed for Zizi Jeanmarie. The story of how Serge Gainsbourg came to wear these paragons of pared-down cool is the stuff of rock-n-roll folklore. Writes Karin Nelson in The New York Times, “Unbeknown to many, Serge Gainsbourg, the seminal French singer and style icon, had sensitive feet. Boots hurt him. He hated walking. His only salvation was calfskin jazz shoes made by Repetto …” Gainsbourg’s girlfriend Jane Birkin bought him a pair of white Zizi Hommes, and legend has it that he went through 30 pairs a year until his death in 1991. Numerous other celebrities followed in his footsteps, but none with such captivating style as Gainsbourg.

To mark Repetto’s 60^th Anniversary in 2007, the label invited 20 artists and designers to design shoes and tutus, resulting in a wondrously tangential travelling exhibition. In 2009 Karl Lagerfeld designed his stunning tutu-inspired creation, and the Rodarte-Repetto marbled ballet flat debuted at Colette in Paris. This year Repetto has conspired with designer John Derian to make wearers’ feet look like a spring garden, courtesy of a vibrant floral print.

The most memorable recent collaborations combine classical romance with uniquely 21^st-century sensibilities. Fashion retailer Opening Ceremony marked their Repetto Shop-in-Shop and collaborative line with a swoon-inducing film called Pas de Deux Coda, which they describe as a ‘Valentine to the Ballet’. This cinematic reverie features Joffrey ballerinas in full flight, dancing in practice clothes, Opening Ceremony and Repettos.

I leave you with one of the most magical moments in the Repetto story.  Earlier this year, the Paris Repetto Boutique featured an interactive window installation, where enchanted passersby could orchestrate ballerinas in a transitional 3D landscape – a fairytale for a new generation. In that very same street where Rose began her illustrious career, Repetto’s path continues to illuminate.

Speaking of shoes … we’d like to thank Sambag, our Pointe Shoe Partner, for their support.

Marie Taglioni

When Taglioni danced La Sylphide in 1832, sporting peacock-feather wings above a white corset and a bell-shaped diaphanous tutu, she appeared to float over the stage, as if suspended in the clouds. It was in her role as the Sylph that Taglioni came to exemplify the Romantic era. Using rudimentary foundations made of cardboard and glue, she pioneered the technique of dancing en pointe to create the illusion of an otherworldly, supernatural being. The sylph aesthetic became a popular theme in fashion during this period, accompanied by a Taglioni mania that had a wide-ranging influence on style. After one of her performances in Russia, in 1842, a pair of her ballet slippers were sold for 200 roubles, then cooked in a special sauce for the enjoyment of a ravenous group of fans.

Isadora Duncan

Like the fashion designer Paul Poiret, Isadora Duncan did much to promote the liberation of the female body. Mariano Fortuny designed the Grecian-style Delphos Gown that Duncan immortalised. It was made from exquisitely pleated silk and was simply cut, draping loosely around the shoulders. The Delphos Gown’s silk was dip-dyed numerous times, creating a multi-faceted colour that responded to light and movement – the technique is used in many ballet costumes today. Duncan was well-known for her gypsy-ish style and faux-Grecian fashion preferences. The ecstasy and generous emotion of her dancing embodied the libertarian spirit of the age, influencing designers such as Leon Bakst, who shared her fascination with oriental exoticism.

Suzanne Farrell

When George Balanchine began staging ballets stripped of plot, elaborate costuming and spectacular sets, the essentialist focus was reflected in the shift toward leotards. Black-and-white leotards became so synonymous with Balanchine’s neoclassical style that the ‘black-and-white ballet’ is now its own genre. Suzanne Farrell, the quintessential Balanchine dancer and his most important muse, starred in many of these productions throughout the 1960s. At this time ballet was following man into space, becoming more streamlined, more eclectic, more reported than ever before. In her leotard and chignon Farrell was the prototypical Balanchine ballerina: tall, graceful and dignified but overflowing with passion. Remarking on her personal style, she once said, “I’m thought of as a cool, unemotional dancer, but inside I’m not. As soon as I hear music, something in me starts to vibrate”.

Sylvie Guillem

The Paris Operá étoile turned international-megastar-for-hire Sylvie Guillem is the ‘bad girl’ of the ballet world, and her image reflects a somewhat unorthodox career. She long ago broke with convention by sporting a fringe with long auburn hair, her trademark bangs counterpointing ballet’s traditional chignons.
She has appeared in various guises on stage throughout her career. For her leading role in William Forsythe’s ballet In the middle, somewhat elevated, Guillem mesmerised with a mischievous page-boy haircut, a la Louise Brooks. Starring in Maurice Bejart’s Bolero with The Tokyo Ballet in 2008, she seduced a ritualistic circle of male ballerinas, her interpretation exuding a feminine, pagan energy. Her hair, cascading down her back and whipping the air, was an integral visual component of this performance.
The most daring image of Guillem is the one she created when she photographed herself nude for Paris Vogue. Adorned only by her long mane, her body’s extreme physicality rivals the geometrical shapes formed by her camera tripod.

With their unique styles and fearless innovative spirits, these women gave ballet an injection of oomph that can still be felt today.