We dress ourselves to know who we are, to express things that are left unsaid. It’s a kind of philosophy. Above all though, we dress ourselves because we are. It’s a kind of after-effect of our existence. We’re never naked. Bare skin is a subtle piece of clothing. The interplay of fabric and body is like the interplay of our consciousness and our subconscious, like the realtionship between our instincts and our thoughts.
Nothing is more important than what one drapes over his shoulders and around his legs, nothing as meaningful as what hangs around one’s neck and from his wrists. Articles of clothing are not simply things, they are panthers and serpents, wild animals that grow in our inner-most jungles and oceans. The one true fauna lives in man and woman. The Amazon isn’t in South America, it’s a region of our body. Nature is the sole reflection of our intimacy. These animals made of fabric are violent. One shouldn’t believe their apparent gentleness, their seeming fragility. They are powerful. They protect us and simultaneously brace us for our encounters with the others. This is how we go out into the world, dressed in wild animals.
(translation by Emilie Trice)