8 7 At that time, there were no computers, and all the images I found were in library books. The writing I printed below the Star of David — Tarbut Agada (תרבות אגדה) — according to the Hebrew script meant “Culturally Iconic,” but of course, Hebrew is largely phonetic, and I believe the translation is slightly incorrect. I was 22 years old and sincerely believed my silkscreen prints were an intercultural means of communication. The idea now seems naïve. Today, I wouldn’t print something so emotive. But even if I shone a tiny ray of light onto the ignorance of people’s beliefs at that time and risked my career, then I am happy for that, hoping, at the same time, that I haven’t offended anyone. I’d love to hear more about your friendship with Boy George and Culture Club. George and Jon used to come to my studio, or we met in a pizzeria up the road from my flat, to discuss ideas for outfits. Culture Club had just formed, and New Romantic black satin and frilly lace was so dead, thank bloody god! Nobody wanted prints at The Blitz. We were full of new ideas, and I was excited to get back into colourful silkscreen print again. A guy named Peter Small had opened The Foundry, and George styled the shop and windows with my printed vests and ties to go with Zoot suits also on sale. I think everyone already knew George in London at that time, so it didn’t take long for the shop to get packed out. I was hardly ever in the shop myself. I don’t think anyone realised how time-consuming it is developing designs for screens, printing, drying, cutting and sewing. George came to the studio to bring me stuff to be printed or for himself to be measured for a gig. We’d travel on the tube back to The Foundry. He’d be dressed in the full-on Foundry look with dreadlocks and a hat, and I would be covered in print dye like I had been in a paintball fight. I was amazed at how many men shouted at George and how rapidly he responded with really witty quips that got them laughing. He was and is a born showman. I remember being a total Prima donna once about money. I said something like, “Oh money doesn’t matter to me … it’s the ART that matters,” or some such crap. George said, “Really? Wouldn’t you like to buy your mum and dad a nice house?” Blimey, I thought, not in my wildest dreams had it even crossed my mind to buy my parents a house. They gave me fuck all when I was struggling. I had to work my way through college, juggling three different jobs. But George said it so earnestly that I felt really guilty. It truly wasn’t a thought that I had ever pondered on. An exhibition called Collecting Sue Clowes was at Winchester Gallery from 15 November 2024 until 18 January 2025. Mikey Bean, a private collector with an extensive archive, loaned pieces for the show. Boy George made a short film of his visit to the exhibition. It’s called Too Much Baking Powder and is on YouTube. In 1987, when I moved to Florence, I began working for Italian companies. I sadly lost contact with my friends, especially when my best friend died of AIDS. It was a wonderful period in London, but many talented individuals didn’t make it. I feel lucky I survived such a unique and turbulent decade. What did you work on in Italy? I had many interesting jobs there. My favourite was wearable technology or “Smart Clothing.” I was involved in research and development with a team of Italian engineers and scientists called Grado Zero Espace. The team had to scout the space world to identify technologies with a potential for non-space applications and create garments with this technology to improve the quality of life. The most exciting project was to produce 55 mechanics’ overalls for the McLaren Formula 1 team for the British Grand Prix. The garments featured a special cooling system to help mechanics in extreme heat. A unique collaboration was formed between the European Space Agency (ESA), Italian fashion manufacturer Karada and designer Hugo Boss. Fifty 27
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