“Each donated item is a marker—of memory, an episodic event, a lived experience.” A few shirts and blouses from Van Noten’s 2000 collections, were reworked to make three jeogoris, in the exact dimensions of historical and excavated samples from the late Joseon period from 18th and 19th centuries. While Datta claims to have been only superficially aware of Van Noten’s work before the donation, I point out their similarity. Van Noten also left fashion at the height of his career. In a time of massive commercial gains, Van Noten’s quiet retirement felt like a final act of integrity—something Datta lives by. Take for instance his materials, “While working on the series based on late-Joseon Korea,” he notes, “I was conscious not to use any Japanese textiles because of the trauma of occupation.”
Datta’s work has always demanded you sit with discomfort, not resolve it. From his early fashion collections with radical cuts, bulbous forms, and unorthodox styling—as a challenge to the zeitgeist—to now, he has long challenged the visual codes others avoid. “Since its inception,” he states, “the act of donning cloth has been political. Dominant majorities have used clothing to intimidate, subjugate and control minorities into behaving, assimilating, falling in line.”
Datta’s garments didn’t flatter so much as they resisted; they exposed, reawakened and derided. Now, as he moves further into the realm of textile-based art, that tension remains, but it has grown quieter, deeper and even more unsettling. There’s perhaps an unconscious but nuanced commentary on constriction. Like silkworms escaping their own cocoons or clarity emerging after a cold plunge that almost arrested your heartbeat. Pressure becomes a portal in Datta’s work—not to suffering, but to clarity. The madness is not in the artist, but in the systems built around normalcy. This exhibit doesn’t escape those structures; it mirrors it.
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