Along with the rest of the world, we went to see the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Met last Thursday.
The lines were absurdly long, the space was impossibly crowded, and it was still totally worth it.
I'm embarrassed to say I knew almost nothing about McQueen's work going in, so while I had been told by a number of people that it was a great show, and had seen a few postcards that mother had, I was totally unprepared for what was in store.
To me, this exhibition was a master class in form and material. Mr. McQueen's clearly possessed a tremendous material intelligence, which he managed to combine with quicksilver creativity, visual rigor, technical grace, and a consistent vision. The overall vision was, I thought, quite severe, but it was distinctly feminine severity. Over and over, soft lines exploded out of hard form, or vice versa. It was the best of everything I hope for in sculpture. Well done, Mr. McQueen, wherever you are.