January 08, 2014 London
So the clothes absorbed the features of indigenous clothing—the wrapped, voluminous silhouettes; the padding and quilting; the embroidered and mirrored embellishments—and he rendered everything in monochrome. The effect was less black-and-white photograph than icy cold alien. Pejoski duplicated the facial decoration of the sadhus in metal strips that alarmingly appeared like they'd been screwed into the models' skulls. Dressed in shimmeringly spectral all-white or sinisterly glistening black, with heads concealed under huge monkish hoods, the train of ghostly mannequins looked like nothing so much as a death cult long buried in a deep mountain valley—an anti-Shangri-la, perhaps—and now rising to claim its rightful place in the NHL.
Because don't forget, one of the Four Aitches was hockey, and one thing Pejoski has done very successfully is incorporate his eldritch influences into the kind of glamorous, overscale extreme sportswear that drives hip-hoppers and K-poppers into a delirium. They people KTZ's front row like visitors from another dimension, and Pejoski is their shaman.