the clothes i treasure most are the ones i have found - in piles on the side of the road in Melbourne, in grandparents wardrobes, given to me by mum or her friends. These clothes are always beautifully disheveled, musty from long years in cupboards, delicately chewed by the tiny mouths of moths, stained relics. Their imperfections speak of a lifetime of wear, of contact with the body, i like the way luxurious silk becomes tattered, faded, it reminds me of all that utopian modernist architecture, exquisite - stark white buildings becoming stained and leaky, worn out over time.
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