Dressing Cobwebs

Cobwebs. In my studio.
I watch them as their imagined piercing eyes look back at me through the silver threads, their silky threads. They don’t scare me; they never scared me. I love them as much as I love my needles. Do not call it obsession, please; call it love, call it dedication, because that’s what I’m talking about.

You’ll never know my name and I will never know yours, but something we will have in common. We will share the vision of these cobwebs. They’re made of these spiders’ hard work, but turned into my own creations. And all of these exist because I was born to love these webs.

I’ve always known my parents, but they never knew who I was. They’ve always seen that I had a strange fascination with spiders: how they move, how they’re intriguing, how they’re hard-working tiny animals… how they have many legs and still learn to walk straight, how they have many eyes and still get to see straight, how they have many haters and still manage to live their lives.

I love to think they do it for me, and that’s why I love them so much. They work hard and I try my best to honor them. I’ve always loved the way they work: every day, with an innate style, an innate care. They were never taught to do anything at all; they learned it by watching. They have instinct. They are free.

I love spiders. I love their cobwebs.

I love them so much that I work because of them. The spiders work on their cobwebs and I design my creations from those marvels of Nature. I call them Dressing Cobwebs, because that’s what you do with them. My creations are dresses, female dresses. I am a stylist; an uncanny clothes designer.

Cobwebs. In the runways.
I watch them as their lent legs walk them through the runways so that everyone else in here can appreciate these masterpieces. They’re my creations, but I rarely take the credit for them. The spiders do, their cobwebs do; they’re the real workers, the real business. I’m just the hands and the needles that sew them together; I’m just the messenger that announces the importance of the spiders.

No one knows this though. I keep the origin of my creations to myself. The spiders watch me as I sew their precious work, and they smile at me with their glorious, minuscule eight eyes. They’re the only ones who watch me working, but not at distance; they watch me from their real and royal spots on my desk, sometimes on my shoulder. I adore their tiny touch on my skin.

Yes, on my skin, as I always sew them in the nude. I can’t stand the fabric of fake clothes, and I don’t dare to wear my precious creations when I’m at home. I wear them, though, when I go out. I just want to show them out, to prove to everyone that spiders do an amazing natural job with their remarkable innate style, their innate care. People call me crazy, others call me insane, but I’m neither of those things. I’m pretty sane and capable of thinking for myself. I just love these minute animals with all my heart and they pay me back with their hard work.

I always sew my creations in the nude, and the tiny workers fumble around freely over my desk, over my body, over my skin. And I just adore their petite steps against my stirring human suit.

I don’t wear clothes; I wear my Dressing Cobwebs.