BILL GIBB, AN ECLECTIC DESIGNER

An obsession and a rare gift. The artistic contribution to fashion of the eclectic designer Bill Gibb could be summed up in these two words. He came from New Pitsligo, a small village in the north of Scotland, and he moved to London at the age of 19, exactly in 1963. His career was fulminating. It took him just a few years to have his own fashion house and make clothes for celebrities such as Liz Taylor and Twiggy. By 1975 he was in retail. His entire poetry revolved around an incredible inclination to the romantic style and the traditional garments of the close Eastern Europe. Drapery with classical references and wide sleeves with references to the Italian Renaissance are just some of the main elements of his artistic production. The innovative use of many different patterns - from floral designs and geometric patterns through to checked tartans - within a single dress helped creating “the Gibb style” and consecrate him as master of decoration. Incapable of understanding the logic of business, he always refused to make serial productions of his clothes. Designing clothes and seeing them worn on elegant women gave him the greatest pleasure. A dreamer, a free spirit, a poet of the fabric. He died very young, leaving a huge gap in the fashion industry.

CATS: AN IMMENSE POETRY

Dedicated to Lupe: silent and delicate playmate, little wonder with big green eyes.

Small footprints made of dust. Staring eyes . Long spider licorice legs. Continuous vibrations and subtle whispers. Cats always inspire immense poetry.

They are beings from other worlds and they simply exist to teach us the value of silence and respect. The incredible importance of small things. The discovery of the sun as a force capable of bringing you back to life. The revelation of small secrets made of wind and a scent of rain.

I was born in a family of cat lovers. My grandfather was one. My father is one. My mother has become one. I was only two days old when the family cat slid into my bassinet. No scratches, just a gentle warmth. She kept me warm until my parents found her, and yet they didn’t have heart to push her away. I owe my imprinting, the most sensitive part, to her. She was called Pallina and she was the mother and grandmother of generations of cats in the family garden. After her, I loved, collected and attended to hundreds of cats. I have wonderful memories of all of them. Funny, genuine laughter that only clumsy movements and poorly organized ambushes can give you. I grew up with the cat smell. To me that smell takes me back home, to the warmth of my first blankets, to the games in the shade of the pear tree. In any part of the world I am.