Some Like It Cluttered

1970s, cosmopolitan, david bowie, interior design, interiors, kevin whitney, Lorenz Zatecky, luciana martinez de la rosa
It takes more nerve than money to achieve this level of decorative clutter: Kevin and Luciana at home.

Contessa Luciana Martinez dela Rosa and Kevin Whitney, Esquire don’t sound like your average suburban couple. So it’s not sur-prising that they don’t live like one. And unless you share their passion for flea market decor, feathers around as well as under the bed, lace curtains that make for romantic gloom, and a bed that is bigger and obviously better used than the kitchen, you might not fancy their life-style either. You cannot but admire it, though. This talented couple clearly thrive in the hot-house atmosphere; they are not married, though Kevin couldn’t be more domestic : “He’s the cleaning lady,” says Luciana firmly. Better still, he also does the cooking.

Kevin, a painter, has exhibited in Turin and New York, as well as in London; his pictures are in a vivid, realistic style which fetch approximately £1,500 each. The subject is, as often as not, Luciana; her portrait, ranging from life- to poster-size, is the focal point of every room.

Luciana designs in beads which she makes into shimmering mermaid hats, wigs and exquisite pictures. She also draws in a strong style of her own. “Kevin works in oils, I work in pastels,” she explains. Two people with such a definite life-style clearly have a great deal in common. Kevin says: “We’re each other’s best inspiration.”

Luciana, as the model-in-residence, can pose at a moment’s notice; her walk-in wardrobe of flea market and second-hand clothes is hung in racks with gloves, scarves and hats carefully arranged on top. Black stockings tangle with lace shawls on the testers of the brass bed. “I wear black or red, turquoise in the summer, and when I’m tanned I’ll wear my purple silk Scarlett O’Hara crinoline gown. I like feathers and poppies in my hair, adore hats, and ‘Thirties satin nightgowns, but I don’t bother with underwear.”

Each room is carefully arranged around its use. Luciana’s museum of clothes forms a shifting collage in the blood-red bed-room (Kevin says: “She woke up one morning and said I’m going red—I got up a ladder . . . and we did”). They have a studio each and the materials of their work are laid out in patterns. On one wall is pinned the front page of the Daily Express showing them making a stylish entrance to an Andy Warhol party.

Everywhere there are notes, scraps and photographs of their almost equally decorative friends; David Bowie, for instance, who is a chum as well as patron. A shell on a shelf, the placing of a peacock feather, the way a length of silk is thrown over a lamp makes a statement. Even when claustrophobia sets in, the eye is caught by new ways of presenting objects. The flat has been put together on a modest budget; Woolworth’s kitsch co-exists with arts deco and nouveau. Nothing costs more than a few pounds, except for the bed which cost £50.

Although Luciana explains the enclosed atmosphere (the lace that keeps out the views of West London) with the remark that she doesn’t much like the world outside, there are times when they long to escape the trendy gloom and clutter. Then they go. He to New York or Italy, she to the Seychelles. Says Luciana: “I need some tropicality in my life. When I’m away I love the out-doors, riding a motor-bike, lying in the sun. But I always come home . . .” Home is where the dust is, even for this exotic pair.

Photographed by Lorenz Zatecky.

Scanned from Cosmopolitan, May 1976.

Portrait-in-progress of Luciana dominates Kevin’s studio.
Luciana’s hats double as decoration.
..and her brass bed displays her shawls.
Hot-house living-room with arch, poppies and shawl – all in red.

Was Ophelia Pregnant?

1960s, angela gore, Inspirational Images, John Hedgecoe, queen, Queen magazine, Uncategorized

queen - July 68 -john hedgecoe

Queen cover image with model wearing a nightdress by Angela Gore.

Photographed by John Hedgecoe.

Scanned by Miss Peelpants from Queen, 17th July 1968.

Meet Simon and Marijke – Two of The Beautiful People

1960s, Apple Boutique, Barry Finch, Boutiques, british boutique movement, celebrity boutiques, eric clapton, george harrison, granny takes a trip, Josje Leeger, marianne faithfull, Marijke Koger, mick jagger, Pattie Boyd, Rave, Simon Posthuma, The Beatles, The Fool

the-fool-1The world of pop artists Simon and Marijke is indeed strange—their philosophy is to spread the influence of art over every aspect of civilized society, to produce a world throbbing with colour, light and beautiful things—but are we ready for them and their way of life? Will they make it, or will they disappear into the realms of history? Jeremy Pascall visited them to find out!

Officially the street nameplate says “Montague Square”. Unofficially it says “George Harrison is the best Beatle” in felt-tip pen. Just up the road Patti Harrison’s orange and yellow mini is parked. Beneath the sun-hot pavement of the quiet London square is a cool basement area. Set into the wall is a blue-painted door with gold stars scattered across it. A small sign says “Love, special delivery!”

Behind the door is a large, calm flat, at the centre of which is a big, open room, bright with rainbow paintings, fragrant with incense and flowers, loud with music, and alive with happy, talking, laughing people.

Here two young Dutch painters, Simon and Marijke, hold court. Their boon companions are Barry and Josje. Their courtiers include the Beatles, Mick Jagger, Graham Nash, the Cream and the rest of London’s most beautiful people.

But this is not just a court, it is a painter’s power-house, a beauty factory. Simon, Marijke, Josje and Barry are part of a new generation of artists. Pop artists who are using pop music and stars and fashion to bring their work before us. If you’ve ever seen the Cream, opened the “Sgt. Pepper” cover, or bought the latest Hollies’ album you’ll have seen their work. And you’ll be seeing a lot more of it in the future.

Simon (pronounced Simone) Posthuma is twenty-eight. He was born the year that war broke out, and remembers the Germans being kind to him. “I turned them on”, he said and smiled. This is Simon’s mission, to turn everyone on to beauty and colour.

The son of a policeman (he admits to this with an ironic chuckle; his later life has shown that he and the police don’t always see eye to eye), Simon was an early drop-out, leaving school because “we didn’t under-stand each other”. He then went through every conceivable job. For a time he was an art student, “but they threw me out because they said I had no talent!”

Despite this set-back he continued to paint. “I’ve always painted, experimented, progressed, tried to find what I want to say.” At first his work was conventional landscapes and portraits, but he soon evolved his own highly individual (and now much copied) style of brilliant rainbow colours and patterns.

Four years ago the gently rebellious artist met Marijke (pronounced Marracca) Koger, than a commercial, but not very happy, artist working in an advertising agency. They clicked in every way and started creating happenings with the help of their growing circle of friends consisting of musicians, writers and artists.

Between them Simon and Marijke really stirred up Amsterdam. “We did some crazy, beautiful things, man,” Simon said in his soft, Dutch accent. “We organised evening happenings when we took over a house, and had music and dancing and action painting. One day we went out into the street and painted it gold. Crazy!”

Simon and Marijke were joined in their “rainbow circle” by Josje (pronounced Yosha) Leeger. Josje, an old school friend of Marijke, was already established as a designer in Holland, and her clothes reflect the beautifully bizarre, freely fanciful ideas of the group. The clothes are made of different coloured fabrics and materials. Like styled patchwork quilts and up-dated gypsy costumes, jesters’ motley and troubadours’ shreds and patches.

And so they were three—Simon, Marijke and Josje. They had good things going for them in Amsterdam — a boutique and exhibitions — but they wanted to get out and so Simon and Marijke went to Morocco and Greece and then decided that London was for them.

But at first London wasn’t sure if they were right for it! They weren’t readily accepted. “We got very annoyed about it at first, but then we got to know the people at ‘Granny Takes A Trip’, and through them we met hip P.R. man Barry Finch, who was looking for someone to design the programme for the Saville Theatre.”

Simon and Marijke came, he saw, they conquered, and that was the start! They designed the programme cover for the Saville, started meeting the most influential people in pop, fell under the patronage of the Beatles and never looked back.

Barry became manager of the romantic duo. The Beatles asked them to submit designs for their “Sgt. Pepper” cover. They did the full job, including a fearsome cut-out mask, but only the inner sleeve design was used.

Simon, Marijke, Josje and Barry have created their own little world, a prototype for what they want us all to have. It’s a sprawling, open flat, centred around a long hallway and communal room. Most of the business of living is carried on in this room, where visitors are made welcome. Unlike the classic picture of an artist’s home, the apartment is remarkably clean and tidy.

In the main room, be-decked with samples of their work, Simon and Marijke hold court. A record player in the corner drones Ravi Shankar, “a present from George”. Marijke hands round sweet little Indian cakes—”A present from Ravi”. Somehow the tiny community seems utterly cut off from the bustle of London and it is no surprise when Mick, Marianne and Patti wander in to savour the tranquillity.

Surrounded by the things and the people they love, they gently, persuasively expound their philosophy, and outline their plans.

It is a philosophy based on love. “The essence is love. Love will grow, spread until the whole world is turned on to it. Love will not die. Everybody must turn on.

“There are people who don’t understand and walk away, but the next day they find out a new part of what is happening. To them it appears that it’s all happening at once, but in fact it’s the culmination of years. People react to us; in Paris they shouted rude words at us and we smiled back, but it didn’t happen in London. Anyway we’re in a different society, we mix with people who think like us, we stay in our headquarters all the time, work all the time.

“What is the ultimate? Paradise, living for each other. No dirty cities. We will change back to country communities where money won’t be necessary, we’ll work for each other. Who’ll do all the work? Computers. Eventually computers will show we don’t need computers!

“The old leaders are dying. Soon there will be new leaders. No, not leaders — spiritual mentors. This is the divine plan,” said Simon.

The philosophy sounds muddled and naive but it’s spoken in all sincerity. Simon speaks wonderingly of Eastern mystics who can perform miracles, produce castles out of the air. Charmingly childlike, but they have exciting plans afoot.

There will soon be an exhibition of Simon’s work, followed by the opening of a boutique and a film or theatre venture.

Boutique isn’t quite the word. The shop will be more of an environment. Simon and Marijke think that pop, fashion, art and design have been too separate in the past. They want to bring them all together under one roof. It would be nice to see people walking around in their fabulous clothes, hanging their beautiful paintings on the walls (posters will soon be available) and accepting their philosophy. But are we ready for it yet?

All colour, fun, love, beauty. Gold streets! Why not? That’s how it feels to be one of the beautiful people!

Some wonderful photos of The Fool which I hadn’t seen before. Interesting to read about their plans for their boutique (the-here-unnamed Apple Boutique) which would open only a couple of months after this was published and closed six months later.

Photographer uncredited.

Scanned by Miss Peelpants from Rave Magazine, September 1967.

the-fool-2

Inspirational Images: Secrets of a 1974 Siren

1970s, Hair and make-up, harpers and queen, Inspirational Images, jim lee, mermaids, roxy music, siren

Swooning sailors never knew that seaweed and shark's oil were responsible for their tempresses' looks.

Swooning sailors never knew that seaweed and shark’s oil were responsible for their tempresses’ looks.

A stunning photo, an incidental to illustrate a beauty article, which pre-dates the legendary Roxy Music cover for ‘Siren’ with Jerry Hall.

Photographed by Jim Lee.

Scanned by Miss Peelpants from Harpers and Queen, June 1974.

Inspirational Images: Bryan and Lucy Ferry

1980s, antony price, bryan ferry, Inspirational Images, lucy ferry, paparazzi, richard young, roxy music

bryan lucy ferry paparazzo

Photographed by Richard Young leaving a Mick Jagger party in Chelsea, 1986.

Scanned by Miss Peelpants from Paparazzo! The Photographs of Richard Young, 1989

Bianca Jagger in The Telegraph Magazine, 1979

1970s, bianca jagger, Inspirational Images, mick jagger, pat booth, telegraph magazine, The Sunday Telegraph Magazine, Tina Brown

bianca jagger telegraph magazine may 1979 cover

Words by Tina Brown. Photographs by Pat Booth.

When Bianca Jagger wants to be dismissive her favourite word is “marginal”. Los Angeles is marginal: “Une ville suspendue — no cultural route at all.” Mrs Trudeau is marginal: “Where is her decorum? Her lack of self-composure is amazing.” Fashion is marginal: “lt is woman’s greatest enemy – an industry to produce shirts, shoes and dresses. l have become anti-fashion.” What about rock stars? She shrugs. “l had no intention of marrying one, if that‘s what you mean.” Yes, one feels, definitely marginal.

Bianca Jagger’s divorce is giving her a new bruised energy which becomes her. Gone are the days of late entrances, made in a whirl of impromptu glamour which took five hours to prepare. For lunch at the Connaught in London she arrives punctually, wearing an old, black corduroy jacket over a white shirt and (admittedly) a pair of purple crépe de Chine pantaloons. On her a lapel is a badge labelled “outsider”.

Like a lot of head·turning women, feature by feature she is not a pretty girl, but the confluence is incendiary. Eyes, nose and mouth are all a fraction on the slant, a piquant asymmetry which makes her stillness brooding and her smile foxy. There is also her voice, a lazy Latin American murmur.

“She looks so deliciously mean and ratty,” her friend and fan, shoe designer Manolo Blahnik enthused. “l met her in Paris at a fancy dress party ten years ago, when she was in her extravagant feather boa phase. She was sensational then: but she’s so much better now. She always wears the same thing – a St Laurent blazer she‘s had copied 12 times over and, of course, my shoes. Have you noticed her feet? I find it very hard to like a person with horrible feet. Bianca’s are exquisite, tiny.” Sure enough, beneath the Connaught’s plat du jour the tiny feet teeter in a pair of purple suede stilettos from Manolo’s shop, Zapata.

Mrs Jagger attributes her brave new change of direction to physical discipline. Whether she is in London, New York or California she goes to a gym and works out like a demon for two hours. In London she frequents the Grosvenor House. Here, most aftemoons when she is in town, she changes into a grey plastic pixie suit (for extra weight loss) and joins a trio of sweating, middle-aged men screaming with pain as they do their situps and jacknives on a rubber mattress. No one takes much notice of Bianca. A panting bonhomie prevails. “You training to fight Joe Louis or what?”, asks the trainer, as Bianca hurls herself into a manic press-up routine. “lt’s just,” she growls, “my sexual tension coming out.”

It is also, she admits, a way of blotting out the frustration of her divorce. On the day we met she had heard that her $5,000,000 lawsuit against Mick Jagger might be foiled by the fact that he is no longer domiciled in Califomia. “Now you can see why l need Marvin Mitchelson to be my lawyer,” she says. “I had a decent old-fashioned Englishman acting for me, but I got nowhere.

“Mick is avoiding taxes in every country in the world and he has 13 lawyers helping him to do it. Why should I be denied my freedom and a decent allowance for the sake of his tax situation?

“Then I read in the papers that Marsha Hunt had been awarded the I same sum from Mick in her paternity suit that I, his legal wife, am given to bring up our daughter and run the house. I felt fed up, furious. It was at that point that Mitchelson called me from Los Angeles and offered to help me. He likes women. He has a sense of justice. He made me see that if Mick wants a fight, I must use the same weapons.”

This speech is delivered with an impressive nostril-flaring hauteur. Mrs Jagger is not given to blabbing about her private life. “I’ve always felt that if you tell lots of intimate revelations it’s one more thing you don’t own anymore.” Other sources, however, con- firm that marriage to the rock world’s most notorious tightwad has been no picnic for the “Nicaraguan firecracker”.

“He had this awful working-class chauvinism towards her,” one of Jagger’s old cronies told me. “He pretended to support her acting aspirations, but actually dreaded her being financially independent. He liked to have the whip hand, so that she would always have to beg. She had to keep up the image of being the jet·setting Mrs Jagger on a Marks and Spencers budget. She got over it by developing such style that top designers like Halston rushed to offer her free outfits as a walking advertisement.”

Bianca Perez-Mora de Macias has always been a girl with more cachet than cash. Sceptics say that even the cachet was self-invented: “She could’ve come from Wapping for all l know,” said one of the King’s Road meritocrats with whom she used to knock around in the sixties. “She never would talk about her past. Then, again, there were never any rough edges to her and you don’t just pick up four languages by the age of 18.”

She was born in Nicaragua 32 years ago. Her father, she says, had a coffee plantation. There were three children, Bianca, Carlos – now 25 and living in Paris trying to be a painter – and Indiana, 26, who married a lawyer and stayed in Nicaragua. “My mother was a great classical beauty.” Bianca told me, with the ruefulness of a woman who still privately rates conventional prettiness over her own transcending feats of style. “She was blonde and fair-skinned in a country where most people are brunettes. She overshadowed me completely.”

When Bianca was quite small her parents were divorced for reasons she will not divulge. “Nicaragua is very Catholic. The family was very Catholic. My mother had a hard time as a divorced woman.”

It was, perhaps, the ructions at home and the social opprobrium directed at her mother which made Bianca plot her escape. At 16 she left for Paris with ambitions to become a diplomat. “For Latin Americans at the time Europe was the place for culture. The only other place to go was the United States, but that struck me as a vulgar cliché. I thought of Paris as the sinful city. In fact, it turned out to be quite marginal.” She studied politics at L’Ecole de Science Politique for three years and swiftly penetrated a chic Bohemian set. She put away her diplomatic bag and drifted to London, where she became involved with Michael Caine; then back to Paris. “How did I meet Mick? You know. I always find that an offensive question. If you’re intelligent and pretty you can meet anyone you want. Altematively, if you haven’t got it you can be hanging around the right places for years and not meet anybody interesting at all. Ironically enough, I find it harder to meet new people now than I did when I was that shy little girl from Nicaragua.”

Actually, the shy little girl from Nicaragua was already the girlfriend of the boss of a record company who took her to a Rolling Stones concert in Paris and brought Bianca to the inevitable party afterwards.

Her impact on Mick Jagger was immediate. She pulled out all the stops and beamed her mystery at him.

She would stand him up, appear and disappear. While the other Stones’ wives grouped gratefully around back- stage, Bianca would be doing Big Thinks in a corner, displaying a thumbed copy of a novel by Kafka or Camus. All right, she did not retum to Nicaragua to defeat, as she had vowed to do – “the disgusting oligarchy that prevails there”- but as she brooded behind dark glasses on the flights to New York, Rome or Rio it was clear that she was contemplating it. She even called her preoccupation with clothes “a concern with statics”. Jagger was impressed, particularly when she made it plain that she would not lose herself to the rock·star life, like Marianne Faithfull (a previous Jagger flame), or Anita Pallenberg, Keith Richard‘s longstanding girlfriend.

“If I’d been around Cocteau I might have smoked opium,” she says. “To be around Keith and Anita and have my teeth fall out from shooting smack is not, I think, the same thing.” She recognised that Jagger‘s band was something she could never crack. “The Stones are a secret society. Mick would go through fire and water for Keith. He‘ll forgive him anything. To be one of those wives, involved but not included, is very disturbing. I used to go on gigs with them until I read in an interview with Mick that he hated it when his old lady came along.” By such means do rock stars’ wives discover their husbands‘ feelings.

Today Bianca spends most of her time in her house on the Embankment in Chelsea, “leaming to live alone”. The exterior was recently painted pink, she says, in a sudden expression by Mr Jagger of his rights of ownership. “l said, Mick, why pink? You don‘t live here, I do. He said ‘Because it’s my house and I happen to want it pink’.” Jade her seven-year~old daughter, attends a smart London day school nearby.

“I’m so glad I had her,” she says. “Without her I’d just drift. l’m such a rootless person I wouldn’t care what city I was in, who l was with. I tend to live in a daydream, but Jade is my link with reality, the everyday business of schools and shopping and early bedtime. I try to give her a normal life. I keep her away from photographers because I know from my own experience that publicity should be your own l choice. The problems with her father have drawn us very close. She has great dignity and poise. She knows never to say too much: but, in fact, she sees and senses everything.”

Bianca assured me that she had not forgotten her political aims, That Nicaraguan oligarchy still gets her down. Meanwhile she is pursuing her dreams of being a film star. Thisyear she will be seen at the Cannes Film Festival in Flesh Colour, co-starring with Denis Hopper. “I play the head of the Mafia,” she says. “I interpret her as a woman with ice-cold intelligence and a touch of cruelty, but at the same time romantic and vulnerable.” She also appears with Ned Beatty in an American film, The Ringer, directed by Bill Richart. In it she plays a 1930 courtesan: “a woman who, though highly sensual, is, at the same time…”

She is very aware of the bad publicity which surrounded her abortive film début in Trick or Treat four years ago. Filming stopped midway because Bianca refused to strip. Fortunes were lost in botched rescue jobs and litigation, all due, it was alleged, to Bianca’s prima donnaism. The experience chastened her. “Pressures alter people. Believe me, when you’ve lived through big trouble, you change.”

Some of her old friends refuse to take the new, austere Bianca seriously. As one put it, “She needs a daft earl to bail her out now. I mean, she can’t go on jumping out of Concorde and waiting about with poofs and pavement artists for ever, can she?” They feel that Mitchelson’s lawsuit will make or break Bianca. My own feeling is that even if Bianca does not boogey all the way to the bank, her strange quality will see her through. We have yet to see if she can act. If she can, she might turn out to be a Dietrich; if she cannot, maybe she will be a Nancy Cunard. At any rate, she will not be marginal.

Images scanned and text copied by Miss Peelpants from The Telegraph Magazine, May 13th 1979

bianca jagger telegraph magazine may 1979

Mensday: Donovan at Bodiam

1960s, bravo magazine, donovan, Mensday

bodiam donovan

Earlier in the summer, Mr Brownwindsor and I took a few little day trips around the time of my birthday. One was to Bodiam Castle, over on the other side of East Sussex from us. It was a true fairytale of a ruined castle and a lovely day out. So I was delighted to spot this picture of Donovan on the back cover of one of my odd Bravo magazines, in all his troubadour finery (and oh! how I want that cape…) in the picturesque lake which surrounds it. Sadly, we didn’t get the chance to ponce around in a boat on the lake. Lake poncing should definitely be introduced at Bodiam…

Scanned from Bravo, May 1968

bodiam1

21 Days in Soho

1970s, album covers, Duran Duran, Inspirational Images, interesting record sleeves, Mick Rock, Noelle, Richard Myhill, The Last Resort

21

Richard Myhill – 21 Days in Soho (1975)

With a cover like that, and songs such as “Lazy Lady” (Never operational til the sun has left the sky) and “Backstage Judy” (You look hot but you’re cucumber cool), how could I resist?

Sleeve design, photography etc by Mick Rock. Styling by Sheila. Legs by Noelle. Shot at The Last Resort restaurant, Fulham Road, London. Thanks to Sue Machin for making the kimono with amazing speed.

Scanned by Miss Peelpants.

It Takes Two To Tango (1978) was Myhill’s biggest UK hit, and he later worked with my beloved Durans on some of my favourite songs (including Tel Aviv and My Own Way)

A Musical Break: Bryan Ferry – You Go to My Head

1970s, antony price, bryan ferry, kari ann muller, Music

Because he’s Bryan Ferry and because he always seems to soothe me when I’m frazzled. I also love that Kari-Ann Muller is the girl in this video, seeing as how she’s the original Roxy Girl (note the original album cover framed on the wall behind her)… Schmoooooooth.

The Ringleaders

1960s, Chelita Secunda, Emmerton and Lambert, julie driscoll, lulu, Meriel McCooey, ossie clark, pat booth, sunday times magazine, Suzy Kendall

Suzy Kendall

When popstar Lulu announced her engagement to musician Maurice Gibb a few months ago, most newspapers published pictures of her holding hands with her fiance. Underneath were captions which stated: “Lulu shows off her sapphire and diamond ring.” But in the photos=graohs they were both wearing so many different rings it was impossible to make out which one was the engagement ring – or who, for that matter, was wearing it. Pictures like these show that there is a growing fashion for wearing masses of rings all crammed on at once. It’s a craze that has sprung up as a sort of antidote to the growing uniformity of clothes. Last winter when most people were racing around in pants, long sweaters and clumpy shoes, the only way of looking remotely original was to wear different scarves, unusual belts or jewellery. Actress Suzy Kendall (above), who has been a keen collector for some time, said that she picked up this selection while on location in Yugoslavia and in Rome, and she bought others from a shop in Chelsea called Anschel’s. The rest of the people photographed on these pages acquire their bits and piece in much the same way. This is a craze that doesn’t cost much. Avid collectors say that it wouldn’t work with real stones – they would look too flashy – and they prefer more original bits.

The Sunday Times Magazine, March 23 1969.

By Meriel McCooey. Photos by Malcolm Robertson. Scanned by Miss Peelpants.

Ossie Clark in knuckledusters

Boutique owner/model Pat Booth and Art Nouveau swan ring

Pop star Lulu without husband

Verne Lambert sells them [Lambert was one half of Chelsea Antiques Market’s Emmerton and Lambert]

Chelita Secunda, model agent, collects old enamelled versions

Chelsea girl Judy Szekley

Indian rings for painter Brunner

Julie Driscoll in market bargains