Sunday, 5 July 2009

Dover Street Market

A market is renowned as a regular gathering of people for the purchase and sale of provisions, livestock, and other commodities in an open space or covered building where vendors convene to sell their goods. The average person including you and I instinctively direct our train of thought to the likes of farmers markets, the ‘East End’ and cheap commercial dealings. Remove all presence in such thoughts, visualise a contemporary warehouse infused with tranquility, the rails dressed with the likes of Lanvin, Comme Des Garcons and hand picked designer vintage. And yes such a place exists: Dover Street Market, a haven of style in the depths of Mayfair. The department’s floors each separate influences of varying continents. A late visit excelled my fondness for their ethnic floor, a floor expressing cultural traditions through the gorilla motifs used in Christopher Kane’s designs and the consistent tribal prints used throughout many of the collections this season.

I have always been fond of costume jewellery, browsing through the excitement at Dover Street Market I was thrilled to find the label Atelier and a late jewellery collection of theirs presented in an unambiguous manner on a rustic glass stand in the corner of the room. There were only six articles of jewellery presented, a small range of contrasting hand-carved wooden pieces. I was instantly attracted to the distinctive carvings each presented to create their own organic appearance.

Their origin and creator intrigued me, plus it was fantastic to hear a sales assistant who, when approached, was elated to offer his wisdom on the subject in hand. The Atelier jewellery had been designed and hand-carved by a Russian architect, who had focused his aesthetically appealing articles on Ukrainian art history.

In infant school I vividly recall desiring a piece of bark that our class had been fighting over since the morning break. Bark that resembled a wrist cuff, or possibly a belt buckle. I had always wondered how it would have appeared on me if it wasn’t for Anthony Drewings throwing it in the passing stream shortly after 3.30pm. Now although the Atelier bangle may not have resembled a curved tearing of bark, there was some inner-child compulsion as I slid the delicately sanded edges over my narrowed fist and raised my wrist out of the shadowed corner. Perfection.