While December sees London blessed with a nominally pleasant climate, with the glint of sunshine bouncing off urban surfaces and a glittering Thames, the crisp temperament has been accentuated by temperatures hovering around 0°C. Despite these inclement conditions, the weather has provided a good example of why winter dressing is far easier than summer dressing, as long as one is endowed with appropriate clothing. As is often the case, one can always layer clothing or particular materials to fend off the cold, whereas after a certain stage there is only so much that a light linen shirt can do to keep oneself cool in the blazing month of July.
To misquote Jane Austen, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a person must be in need of a good winter coat. No matter how chic or mismatched one’s clothes are, all may be rescued by the presence of a stylish overcoat. This should marry form and function for a quintessential seasonal statement. As ever with menswear, much of these combinations emanate from the armed forces. For example, though decrying its naval roots on Dutch ships in the 1800s, the double-breasted peacoat is perfectly suited to everyday urban use due to its short shape allowing for a full range of movement. Its often navy wool construction lends itself well to keeping warm during those bracing sunrise walks to work, whilst its efficient design is smart without being overbearing. For those readers who enjoy a sprinkling of etymology, the name ‘peacoat’ derives from the Dutch word ‘pijakker’ describing the twilled blue cloth that was initially used in constructing the coat. Though near-ubiquitous in the 21st century, the puffer jacket was pioneered following a particular chilly fishing trip undertaken by the American outdoorsman Eddie Bauer in 1936. After a close brush with hypothermia, Mr Bauer patented down-insulated garments, initially focusing on sleeping bags as well as jackets. For much of the 20th century, the puffer jacket remained the preserve of those intending on outdoors pursuit, including (though not limited to) skiing, hiking and mountaineering. However, the 1990s saw the puffer jacket cross over into the fashion mainstream, vastly increasing its popularity in urban environments and consequently spawning countless varieties. Today, the jacket has managed to maintain these twin heritages with versions ranging from Patagonia incarnations to items straight off the couture catwalks. Yet it is surely the timeless wool overcoat that is the greatest embodiment of a ‘good winter coat’. Endowed with clean lines and classic notes, this is a true staple of the wardrobe. Despite its apparent formality, its status as the final layer for any outfit lends it a perhaps unexpected versatility. This classic garment gained traction in the late 18th century, as popularised by high society and military officers, before rising to greater prominence amongst dandies in the Regency era. Its transition to a coat beloved by all walks of society was complete when it was adopted as a key pillar of the skinhead look in the 1960s. Despite constant attempts at ‘reinventing’ the classic wool overcoat, the broad outlines have remained steadfast, perhaps in itself affirming the genuinely timeless qualities. HM the King, frequently hailed as one of the best-dressed men in the world, has remained famously loyal to two coats, both of which are overcoats. His camel wool overcoat is a staple of Sandringham Christmas lunches and services, whilst his herringbone double-breasted number has been worn faithfully since 1986. If in no other sphere, there is plenty to be admired by this devotion to the value of a high-quality coat. In essence, the requirements of a good winter coat are not dissimilar to the Vitruvian principles of good architecture. Vitruvius, writing in 30-20 BC, stated that the three key attributes of buildings were firmitas, utilitas, and venustas (‘strength’, ‘utility’, and ‘beauty’). These features are also reflected in the desire for form, function and aesthetic pleasure. It is surely the wool overcoat that fulfils these three requirements more effectively than any other coat, and it is for this very reason that it represents the closest ideal for a ‘good winter coat’.
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“The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day” Thomas Hardy, 1914
In a world increasingly tilted in favour of nostalgia at the expense of confronting the intoxicating possibilities offered by the new, artistic works inspired by the past occupy a perilous position. Alice Thomson notes that the word nostalgia originates from nostos meaning 'home' and algos meaning 'pain'. Although nostalgia serves an important purpose in reinforcing the intangible links between our past and present, one should often be wary of allowing this remembrance device to slide into a fog of distraction. At the same time, the benefits afforded by progress in historical recreation should not be disregarded. It is with this thought in mind that I attended a ‘Schubertiade’ evening at Kings Place, courtesy of the seventh edition of the London Piano Festival. The explicit aim of a group of pianists was to evoke (in spirit and performance) was to evoke (in spirit and performance) the Viennese musical gatherings of Franz Schubert’s era. Placed on the stage, behind the piano, were two sofas, a warm-hued lamp, and several cushions. As each combination of pianists played a Schubert duet, the other musicians contributed to the sense of intimacy by observing in the manner of an interested audience. Although this had the potential of diminishing the seriousness of the music on offer, the sheer quality of Schubert’s compositions endured. In fact, as a member of the audience, one felt almost a kinship with each pianist during their individual moment of sofa-relaxing. That said, we were not in a 19th-century salon of a grand apartment or aristocratic dwelling, but in a modern and elegant cube of sorts. Similarly, the furniture was harking after mid-century Swedish design – practical, efficient, certainly not imbued with Habsburg-esque decadence. This presented an interesting possibility: could one separate the visual and aural elements of nostalgia? The answer, I think, lies not solely in this concert, but relates to a series of other cultural experiences this week. Christian Wolmar’s insightful and compelling book, Cathedrals of Steam, charts the development of London’s great railway terminuses from their genesis in the heady, raw capitalism of the Victorian era, through the uncertainty wielded by 1960s cuts through to the present day. In analysing the development of Kings Cross, Wolmar notes the 19th-century urge to clothe its railway stations in an often Italianate style, almost as if to assuage fears of excessive modernity amongst the early passengers of this then-radically new technology. Therefore, the railway architects relied on elements of nostalgia in order to better present modern qualities. Jumping ahead to the 21st-century, the mixed-use concert venue of Kings Place was developed as a result of the gentrification of previously unloved goods areas within the environs of Kings Cross station. The preceding analysis begs the question: can nostalgia be formed of multiple layers? This question brings us to the third and final cultural interaction – the London premiere of Oliver Hermanus’s film Living, starring Bill Nighy as a bureaucrat coming to terms with a terminal illness. Its genesis is the ultimate form of artistic layering; the Nobel-prize winning author Sir Kazuo Ishiguro wrote the screenplay, adapted from Akira Kurosawa’s 1952 film Ikiru, itself inspired by Leo Tolstoy’s 1886 novella The Death of Ivan Ilyich. Although this extensive cultural ‘collaboration’ spanning nearly 150 years could result in a disjointed and excessively intellectual project, the result is spectacular in its thoughtfulness, jewel-like sadness, and dappled cinematography. Set in 1953, the deft employment of old newsreel and artistic interiors anchors the film firmly in its time. Yet its force of anguished personality transports the viewer away from its temporal setting. It has overcome a sense of stasis. Living, by dint of its title, has managed to do, in this column’s opinion, what the Schubertiade and the great railway architects could not do: apply nostalgia to generate invention rather than revival. The latter application is at the heart of Hardy's aforementioned phrase. This cultural achievement makes it worthy of the highest praise whilst setting an example for future artistic projects. When considering the premise of this nascent column, the words of Anton Ego (voiced by Peter O’Toole) in the superlative Pixar film Ratatouille came to mind. Forming part of the climax, Ego, the film’s antagonist as a deeply demanding and acerbic critic, delivers a thoughtful and transformative review of Remy the rat’s cooking. Context aside, it is his opening remarks on the position and value of a critic that has lasting value, and which I wish to quote here:
“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment.” Without necessary denigrating critics, as someone who himself is an artistic performer, there is no wish for this column to be one of criticism. Rather, the core of the writing stems from a particular opera, concert, novel, exhibition, or other such form of culture that the columnist has experienced each week. The art then stimulates a wider, perhaps more philosophical, discussion. In essence, this column seeks to investigate both enduring and new relationships that are generated by one’s interaction with artistic endeavours, whilst linking them to the vagaries of our present existence. Whilst this column does not seek to propagate notions of cultural relativism, thus acknowledging the merits of certain forms of art located in their specific community, contextual creation and suchlike, it is noted from the beginning that the author’s artistic preferences lean towards those of classical music & jazz, literature (fiction & non-fiction), film (cinema & television), and visual art. This list is by no means exhaustive, but merely sets out the broad parameters of the work examined. This column has been inspired by the writings of James Marriott (The Times) and Matthew Syed (The Sunday Times) wherein they seek to draw together external strands of their own personal interests (books in the case of Mr. Marriott, sports & data science in the case of Mr. Syed), and bring this to fruit on a matter that has affected them that particular week in a certain manner. Beyond what has been noted to date, to place any further restrictions on this column’s style, purpose, scope or trajectory would be unduly burdensome. |
ASHLEYA London-based writer, collating artistic experiences and philosophy Archives |
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