ITEM TYPE: Poster Canvas from Byztee is premium poster canvas. Get wall art that you’ll love printed on premium canvas prints, framed art prints, poster prints, and more, all of which ship quickly and come in custom sizes.
MATERIAL: Poster Information: Edge-to-edge printing with no borders on 200 GSM paper. 36 inches x 24 inches, 24 inches x 16 inches, and 16 inches x 12 inches are the dimensions. American-made printing. This object is not framed. Canvas Information: Please choose between Framed or Unframed Canvas: Unframed canvas: You will only get one roll; they have simply printed images on a canvas that cannot be hung. You must create your bespoke frames and mount them in your manner. Framed canvas: Each image is already framed so that the canvas can be stretched. After receiving the item, all you have to do is hang it up. The already attached hook makes hanging quick and simple. 36 inches x 24 inches, 24 inches x 16 inches, and 16 inches x 12 inches are the dimensions. Symbolic artwork is printed on strong, water-repellent, and wear-resistant materials. 360 gsm woven, artist-quality ultra-thick matte canvas. Long-lasting lightfast canvas prints and UV archival inks that prevent fading. Protective coating that deters spills and scratches. Printing on one side. Customer Satisfaction Guarantee: Please request a REPLACEMENT or REFUND using the email provided with the merchandise if you have any problems. Now that you’ve reached the top, click Add to Cart to start your preferred experience.
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Related Articles: At the moment this Givenchy show was due to start in the Jardin des Plantes—outdoors—it was raining in a concerted and highly depressing manner. Luckily Valentino had started so late, and, thanks to footwear dramas, gone on so long, that the fashion traffic jam was around 30 minutes late squeezing its way to this show. The rain calmed as we crawled onwards. What had seemed an imminent catastrophe was scaled down by the time we arrived to mere potentially preventable disaster. The set-up was a runway and benches made of cork. We wiped them down and sat on our umbrellas to avoid getting soaked unmentionables. You were better off wearing dark pants—that cork stained. By the time the first models emerged there was blue above. A fascinating piece in the New York Times had already created an anticipatory contextualization for what was a radical shift under Matthew Williams. He’d brought in Carine Roitfeld—no longer working with MaxMara—as a stylist and shifted the emphasis of what that newspaper’s writer Jessica Testa inferred was a house with no distinct codes. But was that so? What we got was a sandwich fashioned from couture flavored bread—delicate, feminine, sometimes derivative and a little processed—that was filled with a highly-flavored LA mayonnaise. The ruching on the opening, excellent dresses, was an Hubert staple. The boucle jackets, conversely, did not belong here: this was a brazen sample to drop. During one weird moment the show transitioned to Williams’s home territory of streetwear infused contemporaneousness—great denim, slouchy combats, all of that—just as the soundtrack segued into Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere; the most vanilla track one could ever imagine this highly progressive music-lover choosing. I looked across the runway and noticed that Ye was tapping the toes of his Balenciaga gumboots in time. Things were getting weird. The closing phase was rather magnificent, although the party was often at the back. A red dress featured a gorgeous swooping rear hemline that curved from the shoulder to sacrum. Another dress was tied up at the back in a series of bows: simple but lovely. These, Williams said afterwards, were part of a series of archival looks that he and Roitfeld had dug up from the archives and reworked. So this is a house with codes, after all. Was Willams losing his mind when that storm came in? He feigned calm, saying: “I was thinking that their skin would look beautiful with the water on it. And the liquid in the hair… it would look incredible. And that it would be more dramatic in the rain.” He added of Roitfeld’s involvement: “She understands the house and the Parisian woman. So we built the collection together—it’s a dialogue between us. The beautiful thing about the brand is that it speaks to different women. It’s good to speak to everybody.” Even if the risk in trying to speak to everyone is that you end up connecting with no-one. However Williams, I suspect, could still untie the knotty problem that is Givenchy. As the Times of New York pitched it, he just needs time. But will he get it?
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- Talk about diving in headfirst! Nobody embraces a theme like Jeremy Scott, a fact he’s reinforced throughout his eight-year run at Moschino, but this season he really went for it. “Everybody’s talking about inflation,” he said backstage. “The cost of everything’s going up: housing, food, life. So I took inflation into the collection.” He wasn’t talking about rising hemlines or oversized volumes either. He meant it literally, as we learned from look 1, a little black dress with Franco Moschino’s iconic heart done up as a mini inflatable “with a nozzle and everything.” By this observer’s count, every look save for a small handful had some sort of inflatable detail, be it a heart-shaped collar or hemline or “broken heart” lapels, one half on either side of neatly tailored jackets. There’s precedent for these kinds of antics. The house founder made a life jacket for his 1989 Cruise Me Baby collection that looked a lot like the vests stored under plane seats “in case of emergency.” Riffing on that idea, Scott added a life preserver ring to the jacket hem of a tweed skirt suit, and cut a trench in caution yellow with black raft handles where the epaulets should be. “Sometimes we feel like we’re drowning,” Scott continued, acknowledging the bad news stories clogging our feeds. “I’m sure you do. I know I do. But no matter what is going on, we have to save space for joy, right? The darker it is, the lighter I have to be.” Making good on that promise, he embellished his evening looks with honest-to-goodness pool floaties. The most inspired of the bunch included a strapless purple column cinched at the waist with the deflated ends of a pink raft, its pneumatic ends creating a train, and another strapless number that was accompanied by a Lilo stole. By the end, Imaan Hammam’s look was more of a floatation device than gown, but that was Scott’s point. Anyone who could use a little buoying up, Scott’s your pool boy.
- Talk about diving in headfirst! Nobody embraces a theme like Jeremy Scott, a fact he’s reinforced throughout his eight-year run at Moschino, but this season he really went for it. “Everybody’s talking about inflation,” he said backstage. “The cost of everything’s going up: housing, food, life. So I took inflation into the collection.” He wasn’t talking about rising hemlines or oversized volumes either. He meant it literally, as we learned from look 1, a little black dress with Franco Moschino’s iconic heart done up as a mini inflatable “with a nozzle and everything.” By this observer’s count, every look save for a small handful had some sort of inflatable detail, be it a heart-shaped collar or hemline or “broken heart” lapels, one half on either side of neatly tailored jackets. There’s precedent for these kinds of antics. The house founder made a life jacket for his 1989 Cruise Me Baby collection that looked a lot like the vests stored under plane seats “in case of emergency.” Riffing on that idea, Scott added a life preserver ring to the jacket hem of a tweed skirt suit, and cut a trench in caution yellow with black raft handles where the epaulets should be. “Sometimes we feel like we’re drowning,” Scott continued, acknowledging the bad news stories clogging our feeds. “I’m sure you do. I know I do. But no matter what is going on, we have to save space for joy, right? The darker it is, the lighter I have to be.” Making good on that promise, he embellished his evening looks with honest-to-goodness pool floaties. The most inspired of the bunch included a strapless purple column cinched at the waist with the deflated ends of a pink raft, its pneumatic ends creating a train, and another strapless number that was accompanied by a Lilo stole. By the end, Imaan Hammam’s look was more of a floatation device than gown, but that was Scott’s point. Anyone who could use a little buoying up, Scott’s your pool boy.
- “To me, the body says what words cannot,” Martha Graham, the revered, radical American modern dancer and choreographer, once said. It wouldn’t be crazy to think that’s the kind of statement Anthony Vaccarello of Saint Laurent would concur with. His work for the house has always exalted a corporeal glory; his own view of physicality—strong, celebratory, unapologetic—and the legacy of the house merged to be totally in sync. Graham’s and Vaccarello’s orbits surprisingly spun into each other at his spring 2023 show, which was staged in the almost dreamlike Parisian setting of a grand paved garden replete with a cascading fountain that Marcel Carné would have been thrilled to have filmed upon. (The set was built especially for the show, sweeping staircases, perfectly laid flagstones, and all.) The result: a quietly epic examination of what happens when you both reveal and conceal the body—and the frisson you generate when you make your look long, lean, and loaded with attitude. Backstage, just before the show, Vaccarello mentioned that he’d been looking at the groundbreaking way that Graham dressed her company in tubular dresses for her 1930 production Lamentation, costuming which audaciously emphasized every bit of physical agility from her dancers. Vaccarello first discovered Graham, he said laughing, by being a fan of Madonna’s in the 1990s, when the Material Girl had been busy (rightly) singing Graham’s praises to the sky. But for spring Vaccarello looked back a decade earlier to YSL’s past—the mid-’80s days when models strode those old-school elevated podiums in Monsieur Saint Laurent’s hooded, draped capuche dresses.
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At the moment this Givenchy show was due to start in the Jardin des Plantes—outdoors—it was raining in a concerted and highly depressing manner. Luckily Valentino had started so late, and, thanks to footwear dramas, gone on so long, that the fashion traffic jam was around 30 minutes late squeezing its way to this show. The rain calmed as we crawled onwards. What had seemed an imminent catastrophe was scaled down by the time we arrived to mere potentially preventable disaster. The set-up was a runway and benches made of cork. We wiped them down and sat on our umbrellas to avoid getting soaked unmentionables. You were better off wearing dark pants—that cork stained. By the time the first models emerged there was blue above. A fascinating piece in the New York Times had already created an anticipatory contextualization for what was a radical shift under Matthew Williams. He’d brought in Carine Roitfeld—no longer working with MaxMara—as a stylist and shifted the emphasis of what that newspaper’s writer Jessica Testa inferred was a house with no distinct codes. But was that so? What we got was a sandwich fashioned from couture flavored bread—delicate, feminine, sometimes derivative and a little processed—that was filled with a highly-flavored LA mayonnaise. The ruching on the opening, excellent dresses, was an Hubert staple. The boucle jackets, conversely, did not belong here: this was a brazen sample to drop. During one weird moment the show transitioned to Williams’s home territory of streetwear infused contemporaneousness—great denim, slouchy combats, all of that—just as the soundtrack segued into Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere; the most vanilla track one could ever imagine this highly progressive music-lover choosing. I looked across the runway and noticed that Ye was tapping the toes of his Balenciaga gumboots in time. Things were getting weird. The closing phase was rather magnificent, although the party was often at the back. A red dress featured a gorgeous swooping rear hemline that curved from the shoulder to sacrum. Another dress was tied up at the back in a series of bows: simple but lovely. These, Williams said afterwards, were part of a series of archival looks that he and Roitfeld had dug up from the archives and reworked. So this is a house with codes, after all. Was Willams losing his mind when that storm came in? He feigned calm, saying: “I was thinking that their skin would look beautiful with the water on it. And the liquid in the hair… it would look incredible. And that it would be more dramatic in the rain.” He added of Roitfeld’s involvement: “She understands the house and the Parisian woman. So we built the collection together—it’s a dialogue between us. The beautiful thing about the brand is that it speaks to different women. It’s good to speak to everybody.” Even if the risk in trying to speak to everyone is that you end up connecting with no-one. However Williams, I suspect, could still untie the knotty problem that is Givenchy. As the Times of New York pitched it, he just needs time. But will he get it?
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