it may not have seemed so at the time, but this cruel blow of fate was
the means by which Christian Dior eventually came into his own.
Granted, he lived through some dark years in the meantime, scouring
the small ads for jobs, and as we would say today, ‘of no fixed address’ —
which meant staying with friends and doing a moonlight flit, eating every
second day, and winding up with tuberculosis. But at the end of it all, he
was to recover the abilities he had let slip. One day, when he was in the
depths of despondency after failing to get any of a number of jobs, a friend
working in couture suggested he try sketching some designs. When they
found favour, Dior applied himself further and took lessons, but his drawings
already possessed a strange ability to capture life and movement, so
that you could almost imagine the woman wearing the garment. After selling
his designs all over the place for two years, he was taken on as a designer
by Piguet. At that moment came the outbreak of the Second World War.
This was a new trial to bear, though he was not the only one. Dior sought
safety with his family in Callian, in the Var. When he returned to Paris, he
found that his old job with Piguet had been filled, but was taken on by
Lucien Lelong. There, gradually, the creative artist blossomed, and he
began to chafe at playing a subordinate role. Dior was forty. When he
looked around him, he saw all his friends were successes. Berard was the
toast of Parisian high society, and Pierre Balmain, his fellow disciple at
L e l o n g , had just made a s p l a s h by launching his own c o u t u r e h o u s e . It was
high time to leave the nest.
November 22nd, 2009 by admin | No Comments »