Bara Marianne egyedi tervezésű kalapok

Budapest éjféltől éjfélig
2005 - Helikon

Hungarian invitation

22:00 Marianne Bara

To get to know a city better, a good conversation can only be welcome; like that of a Hungarian woman, her hair the colour of straw, the curve of her back that of a reed. She has hidden her small hat workshop on that same bank, in Buda, in a city house close to The Devil's Ditch, Pasarét. The benevolent gaze of the old souls peeping from behind their curtains allow us into the ground floor and its lit windows.

Like everywhere, people like to discuss the present and the future, but more rarely the past. The words uttered over the discreet breathing of the sewing machine are punctuated by the metallic cuts of the scissors in the sound of rustling fabric. The intelligent hands of the milliner fold and unfold swiftly on the kraft patterns pinned to a complex diagram of a human head. A face is so unique: personal, recognisablé, handmade... Hats feed the soul with spirituality, and Budapest, haven for countless hatters, knows that.

Antique dummy heads are the base hats are born on, made of some fabric ends, trimmings and seams. Felt origami, pleated velvet, combinations of gauze, Babel like towers of fur or leather cloche hats; Mariann's thread runs, zigzag, spiral or overcasting, never losing ,itself. To her, making hats equals breathing, as sure as a dot on top of an i. Next door, a bath-tub overflows with coloured fabrics, labelled boxes and collected ribbons: all these entangled items will eventually find the right thread when their time has come. Anyway, the lady in red comes from another world. No stranger to heads, she used to be a neurologist. The thread of her thought led her to this second trade, just to dress up the neurons she used to take care of. On a shelf, one would swear one could recognize the meandering folds of a brain on a cloche hat's entwined brown threads. They are like the puzzling turns and parallels in the life of that young woman fifteen years ago, but governed by new rules, like that of her country's new regime. Today, whether it was thanks to chance or destiny, the lover of faces creates, sews and grows. In any of the mirrors she gazes and forgets herself, making room for her work and customers. Craft and desires will for long be reflected behind the windows of a workshop's last ideas, now falling into a dark evening...