Black British Style, the V&A Museum, London
I was disappointed when I heard that the Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A) was going to mount yet another exhibition about the style of black people. The V&A has already offered up, in 2001, the hair and nail styles of black people in Britain. And there have been numerous short-lived displays and events around a carnival theme.
It appears that the museum is comfortable depicting black people in fashion, music or sport; and of course always in the contemporary. But though the Black British Style show only starts in the 1950s, it does go deeper than its predecessors.
Carol Tulloch, who produced the hair and nail show, has co-curated this exhibition with Shaun Cole, a contemporary curator at the V&A. Tulloch is the senior research fellow in black visual culture at the Chelsea College of Art and Design and the V&A. Tulloch and Cole have communicated a sense that the exhibition is by the people for the people.
It has an ample number of diverse perspectives from the African, Caribbean and US arrivals into Britain in the 1950s to the sports and hip-hop-influenced styles of today. At times it shows the crossover of styles to the white community, but it doesn't seek validation from them.
A constant theme is black Britons' struggle for respect and their pride in themselves. When white society turned its back on them, they found expression in their own style: dress, hair and accessories.
This isn't simply an exhibition of pretty dresses and trend-setting threads - it's meant to make you think why looking good was so important. It almost fancies itself as an abridged lesson on black consciousness.
A 'free Angela Davis' T-shirt and a picture of the MP Diane Abbott sporting an afro hairstyle and wearing a Black Section T-shirt (from the campaign of black Labour Party members for representation and influence at higher levels of the party), draw you in to the struggles of their times.
Even when we get further on to the 1980s and 1990s when the battle morphed into the need for designer labels, it shows how it was a statement that the wearer had 'made it'. Eric B and Rakim's (now cheesy) 1986 album cover, Paid in Full, illustrates this.
To get some of these messages across, which become more subtle as we reach the affluent 1980s, the curators rely on the visitor taking the time to read the descriptions. Fashion students who, no doubt, will be a large visiting contingent to Black British Style may be more interested in who made an item and when.
Where the exhibition will succeed is with people from all generations whose memories will be jogged to recall personal stories. When I visited I met a Jamaican man who came to Britain in the 1950s. He was with his daughter and baby granddaughter. He was clearly overjoyed at seeing the suit donated by a fellow settler and embarked on telling me how he could see it was tailored.
This is a good-looking exhibition. Instead of cases and cases of costume, there is plank upon plank of white, wooden bed-base slats. They are either built up or laid low depending on what is placed on them. It reminded me of the shanty-town marketplace shacks of Africa and the Caribbean where sellers display their wares. The designer, architect David Adjaye, has created a fresh and exciting structure.
Minimalism is a high priority in the first half of the exhibition, which includes religious dress and Rastafarianism, but it feels sparse, needing more garments to flesh out its themes. Turning the corner into the second half of the display, the design switches to trendy fashion-store arrangement - 48 pairs of trainers loaned by drum 'n' bass musician Goldie taking centre stage.
A cool soundtrack spanning the relevant decades plays while you view. It sets up the atmosphere along with the dim lights and black-textiled walls and ceilings.
Hanging banners introduce each section and the descriptions of the items are on Perspex-backed card, which are often placed at knee height. These haven't yet been fixed to the exhibition structure although that was the intention, and visitors were picking them up because the text was too small and the light too dim.
A slightly lengthy film (one hour) ends the exhibition with testimonies from ordinary and famous people about what clothes and styling mean to them. Britons from all backgrounds will find it funny and knowing.
Many black Britons feel that an exhibition like this has been a long time coming. As Tulloch takes great pains to reiterate, it is only the start. It succeeds in its aim of giving an insight into black culture. It also bravely aims to overturn stereotypes. Yet by its very nature it panders to the notion of a cliched, one-dimensional black culture.
Tulloch should not be answerable for this. She has put together an accessible and educational experience. It is for the V&A to make sure that subsequent exhibitions show black culture in its full historical depth.
The Black Style book, edited by Carol Tulloch, is available from V&A Publications
I was disappointed when I heard that the Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A) was going to mount yet another exhibition about the style of black people. The V&A has already offered up, in 2001, the hair and nail styles of black people in Britain. And there have been numerous short-lived displays and events around a carnival theme.
It appears that the museum is comfortable depicting black people in fashion, music or sport; and of course always in the contemporary. But though the Black British Style show only starts in the 1950s, it does go deeper than its predecessors.
Carol Tulloch, who produced the hair and nail show, has co-curated this exhibition with Shaun Cole, a contemporary curator at the V&A. Tulloch is the senior research fellow in black visual culture at the Chelsea College of Art and Design and the V&A. Tulloch and Cole have communicated a sense that the exhibition is by the people for the people.
It has an ample number of diverse perspectives from the African, Caribbean and US arrivals into Britain in the 1950s to the sports and hip-hop-influenced styles of today. At times it shows the crossover of styles to the white community, but it doesn't seek validation from them.
A constant theme is black Britons' struggle for respect and their pride in themselves. When white society turned its back on them, they found expression in their own style: dress, hair and accessories.
This isn't simply an exhibition of pretty dresses and trend-setting threads - it's meant to make you think why looking good was so important. It almost fancies itself as an abridged lesson on black consciousness.
A 'free Angela Davis' T-shirt and a picture of the MP Diane Abbott sporting an afro hairstyle and wearing a Black Section T-shirt (from the campaign of black Labour Party members for representation and influence at higher levels of the party), draw you in to the struggles of their times.
Even when we get further on to the 1980s and 1990s when the battle morphed into the need for designer labels, it shows how it was a statement that the wearer had 'made it'. Eric B and Rakim's (now cheesy) 1986 album cover, Paid in Full, illustrates this.
To get some of these messages across, which become more subtle as we reach the affluent 1980s, the curators rely on the visitor taking the time to read the descriptions. Fashion students who, no doubt, will be a large visiting contingent to Black British Style may be more interested in who made an item and when.
Where the exhibition will succeed is with people from all generations whose memories will be jogged to recall personal stories. When I visited I met a Jamaican man who came to Britain in the 1950s. He was with his daughter and baby granddaughter. He was clearly overjoyed at seeing the suit donated by a fellow settler and embarked on telling me how he could see it was tailored.
This is a good-looking exhibition. Instead of cases and cases of costume, there is plank upon plank of white, wooden bed-base slats. They are either built up or laid low depending on what is placed on them. It reminded me of the shanty-town marketplace shacks of Africa and the Caribbean where sellers display their wares. The designer, architect David Adjaye, has created a fresh and exciting structure.
Minimalism is a high priority in the first half of the exhibition, which includes religious dress and Rastafarianism, but it feels sparse, needing more garments to flesh out its themes. Turning the corner into the second half of the display, the design switches to trendy fashion-store arrangement - 48 pairs of trainers loaned by drum 'n' bass musician Goldie taking centre stage.
A cool soundtrack spanning the relevant decades plays while you view. It sets up the atmosphere along with the dim lights and black-textiled walls and ceilings.
Hanging banners introduce each section and the descriptions of the items are on Perspex-backed card, which are often placed at knee height. These haven't yet been fixed to the exhibition structure although that was the intention, and visitors were picking them up because the text was too small and the light too dim.
A slightly lengthy film (one hour) ends the exhibition with testimonies from ordinary and famous people about what clothes and styling mean to them. Britons from all backgrounds will find it funny and knowing.
Many black Britons feel that an exhibition like this has been a long time coming. As Tulloch takes great pains to reiterate, it is only the start. It succeeds in its aim of giving an insight into black culture. It also bravely aims to overturn stereotypes. Yet by its very nature it panders to the notion of a cliched, one-dimensional black culture.
Tulloch should not be answerable for this. She has put together an accessible and educational experience. It is for the V&A to make sure that subsequent exhibitions show black culture in its full historical depth.
The Black Style book, edited by Carol Tulloch, is available from V&A Publications
