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Ministero della Bellezza presents Waking Beauty & Walking in Beauty photos by Carrie Schechter 9th – 31th October 2009 at Bauer – Venice

Ministero della Bellezza presents Waking Beauty & Walking in Beauty photos by Carrie Schechter 9th – 31th October 2009 at Bauer – Venice
Carrie Schechter’s free spirited nature has led her on many adventures with her camera in hand. As someone who pushes boundaries in both life and art, she has pushed the concept of photography to a level of hyperrealism. Her work expresses a fusion of seduction and innocence and has been described as beautiful, textural, and haunting. Carrie creates a dynamic environment when she shoots encouraging everyone to check their inhibitions and hang-ups at the door.

Carrie studied at Brooks Institute of Photography where she received a department award for her cutting edge still photography. Previously educated in fine art at the School of Visual Arts, she learned the importance of using light for modeling and developing the complex moods that reside in her work. Her fine arts background explains the painterly and sculptural sense of light that is evident in her photographs.

Carrie’s work has appeared in advertising campaigns and magazine editorials. She has won multiple awards leading her photography to be nationally and internationally recognized and featured in cities such as Dubai, Hong Kong, London, Paris, Barcelona, Los Angeles and New York.

I Love Excess in Beauty


I Love Sex in Beauty è una collettiva che unisce le performance creative dei fotografi più glam e famosi del panorama internazionale della fotografia.

Steve Meisel, Mario Sorrenti, Mert Alas & Marcus Piggot, Bettina Rheims, Mario Testino, Ali Mahadi, Petrus, Ross Kirton, e altri ancora, svelano la Bellezza con accenti sex e glamour.

Le pagine dei Magazine più di tendenza al mondo, V visionaire, Danzed, Wall Paper, Numèro, Ences, French, ecc, hanno utilizzato gli scatti di questi fotografi per attualizzare i nuovi canoni della Bellezza e della Sensualità.

Oggi, il Ministero della Bellezza, in prima assoluta, mette in scena la mostra “ I Love sex in Beauty” in un tour mondiale, Mosca, Parigi, New York, affinché questi scatti di sensualità e bellezza sublime diano un innamoramento inaspettato e uno stordimento dei sensi.

Gilded Pleasures – Confidential scenes of eternal jewels


Gilded Pleasures – Confidential scenes of eternal jewels

“Life can exist only thanks to aesthetic wonders”: thus poets are able, with a single verse, to express the whirlpool of a woman’s regard, caught and then lost among the city throngs, after visiting a jewel exhibition. A jewel exhibition is the highest sublimation of female eroticism. It is Eros and Thanatos, ésprit de la vie: it makes everything possible. It is the beginning of seduction, a rose that does not yet begin to equal l’espace d’un matin, a lily that has not yet reached its icy purity, but is simply diaphanous in its whiteness, the moon that, to divine goldsmiths’ eyes is still indolent. That jewel, oh, that jewel …! The woman is now an apparition: chair froid et pâle où vivent les divinités, and she enthralls time with a cloud of charm; that jewel sublimates her essence, the angels, too, are delirious, and love’s secret obsession slowly unravels. It is the memory of heart jolts, soul quivers, cheek rosiness, will-o’-the-wisps wandering between sinful variations and happy faithfulness. It is an emotion of lights, a paradise regained in a languor. It is luxury, and one that is not new to desire, that sends the blue ray from its heart: gold, charm, splendour, flight. It is the dejà vu of dances, erotic and daring like rock’n roll, “chez l’amour”: the moon is a ballerina. It is a tale of melancholy, of aching languor: my love, that… jewel shall be mine? It is the start of Beauty as a dolled up woman, as fashion wonders suspended on the ecstasy of looks. Leggi il resto dell’articolo

Trench Couture



I trucked across the pebbled grounds of Versailles, slipped past the bulk of the security guards, and snapped on my hospital-style All-Access badge and went into the backstage at Dior. To my left was a table of drinks and small food (many grapes, many cheese cubes) and in front of me, the long tables and mirrors of the makeup and hair teams. I saw Pat McGrath in the thick of models and assistants, and the milliner Stephen Jones. John Galliano at the Dior show on July 2. The place was enormous — in keeping, I suppose, with the general expectations of Chez Dior’s 60th anniversary, where the runway and its lavish gray-and-white set ran more than 300 feet through the Orangerie. John Galliano had been in Spain this spring, after the death of his assistant Steven Robinson, and he had been deeply moved, he told me in June, by the ritual of the bullfights and how the matadors prepared themselves before going into the ring. From the way he described meeting one matador, I got the idea he took the whole thing very seriously. He said the bullfighter wanted to know about Kate Moss. Galliano laughed. Then the bullfighter got himself dressed for the ring. There were going to be flamenco dancers at the show, as well as a choir and an orchestra. Galliano said it was in tribute to Robinson. “We’re going to give it up for Steven,” he told me. I went into the next room of the backstage, stopping to speak to Naomi Campbell, whose hair was up in rollers. The supers — Linda, Shalom, Amber, Gisele, Naomi — had their own dressing room, with security guards out front. Galliano’s dressing room was next door. He’d had a matador’s suit made for himself. The dresses were waiting on the rails, and the dressers next to them. I saw Rafael, the premier at Dior, and he told me the last fitting had been at 4 a.m. that day. Rafael hadn’t gone to bed. The dresses were beautiful, all based on different artists’ interpretations of Dior. One of the simplest dresses was in white silk with an open neckline and a swirling rose hand painted in red, as if hastily drawn by René Gruau. But the more lavish dresses, in pale green, Wedgwood blue, gray, violet, scarlet, were also good, and you could usually recognize the style of the artist. I don’t know that this show was as electrifying, as complete, as Galliano’s January couture show, and I don’t think it matters. This was the show he had to do this season. It represents the changes and conditions in Galliano’s life at the time, as each of his shows does. And I think, in the end, that’s the importance of the artists theme. You can say that it’s a surface thing, and that the clothes are costumes, but that seems one dimensional, closing you off to the whole creative process and the progress of a genius. The next morning I went with my driver Bernard Alloux to a park at Saint Cloud for the Chanel show. If my French was any good, I would have said we were a long way from Kansas, Mr. Alloux. The place was misty with rain and then it really began to pour. I crossed a gravel path to the top of some stone steps. Below, illuminated like a space ship, were the white canopies over two parallel garden paths. They were flanked by white cosmos. I went to the backstage and headed immediately for the “traiteur.” I must say the food at Chanel is better than Dior. I grabbed a handful of walnuts and some dried apricots, and then tucked into a fruit cocktail. I was eating when Lagerfeld arrived. He was in a great mood. He is having a party at his home tonight, maybe the last before he moves into his new place. It’s around the corner. In all the years that Lagerfeld has lived in Paris, more than 50, he has had maybe 20 different addresses, but they’ve all been in the 7th. He hasn’t gone far, but, then, neither did Irving Berlin, as E.B. White pointed out. By the time the show started, the audience was pretty moist from the rain. I loved the clothes — the shapes and details realized from the perspective of a woman’s profile. Sometimes this was very obvious, as with a black coat dress with a grid of gold pailletes down the sides and continuing down the suede boots. Or a gorgeous black silk dress with silvery panels and an asymmetrical hem. But some of the best work was in the cut or drape of a dress or coat, like a creamy white gown that Sasha wore with her black lace cap. It looks simple, but of course it’s not. #mce_temp_url#

Yohji Yamamoto: Listening to Eros


Calm , beauty and – yes – glamour was the feeling at Yohji Yamamoto’s show, although the designer himself, uncharacteristically frisky as he came out on the runway, said just one cryptic word: “Eros.”

There was indeed a subtle sexual charge to these graceful women, stepping out to the plink of Tibetan music, wearing sinuous black coats traced with white stitches and with an occasional glimpse of flesh through a triangle cut out under the arms. They wore sunglasses throughout the show, their hair caught back loosely as they strode on black patent lace-up shoes over the white hill of a runway.

The show was quintessentially Yohji, in that the romantic glamour was spelled out in ankle-length skirts with an occasional sculpted hat. The rigor of Yamamoto – no fuss, no frills but absolute attention to detail – is the essence of his work. The collection was played out in black and white, but the pale colors were a meld of ivory, cream and white for dresses in textured fabrics. It was not “new” in that the designer did not make any radical departure but as the show closed with a handful of sporty pieces, marked with white handprints, these deceptively simple clothes showed the designer in fine form.

Bettina Rheims The Book of Olga



olga Rodianova

olga Rodianova


Olga Rodionova

Olga Rodionova




Bettina Rheims the book of Olga

Bettina Rheims the book of Olga

Fantasy wife


Via Bettina Rheims, a Russian oligarch introduces his lovely wife to the world

French photographer Bettina Rheims’s sexiest book ever: daring portraits of a gorgeous woman commissioned by her millionaire husband. Limited to 1,000 copies worldwide, each numbered and signed by Bettina Rheims.

Femme fatale Olga Rodionova is a well-known beauty who moves in Moscow’s fashion and jet set circles.When her adoring husband, a powerful Russian oligarch, sought to have special portraits made of his wife, he asked none other thanBettina Rheims – an unusual request for a photographer of Rheims’s stature. Rheims was captivated by Olga’s unique aura and felt excited by the challenge of finding aesthetic ways of doing the portraits so that they didn’t feel like run of the mill pornography. The first shoot took place in Rheims’s country home and Olga’s husband was so pleased with the images that he suggested they produce a book with Olga as the star. A second shoot followed, in black and white with a sado-masochistic décor and other men and women playing slightly perverse sex games with Olga. A third, Marie-Antoinetteinspired shoot took place entirely in the studio. Rheims succeeded in finding a variety of ways to depict one subject with a continuous freshness and intrigue; The Book of Olga represents the most delectable fruits of her success. With over one hundred images, as well as an introduction by French author Catherine Millet, this unique book is both a love song and an artistic statement.