“The photo was taken in 1981, I am 3 years old and I am in the arms of my father, Xabier Arzalluz. I find him at Bilbao airport after a month of separation. He has just landed from the United States, where he had gone on a political trip. In 1977, he was elected deputy, during the first free elections in Spain since February 1936, participating in the democratic transition of the country.
A fervent militant of Basque culture repressed by Francoism, a supporter of peace, he left Parliament to become president of the Basque Nationalist Party in 1980, a position he held for more than twenty years. Born into a modest, very religious family, my father was a Jesuit before entering politics. He was a cultured man, a graduate in law and philosophy, deeply human. He referred to him as a “domesticated anarchist”.
“When I decided to turn to fashion history after studying international politics, (…) my father was delighted and he supported me ardently. » Miren Arzalluz
That day, I was so happy to find him that I ran like crazy to him. I grab his face to get his attention, I wanted to keep him to myself, but he still had to greet people. He smiles at the situation with the two men seen from behind, a party colleague and an American diplomat. He had this natural elegance, paying particular attention to his appearance, which was always impeccable.
His mother was a seamstress, she perfectly recut clothes that were passed from father to son and between brothers. The quality of the cut and the materials mattered a lot to him, I remember he wore a beautiful loden wool broadcloth coat, a khaki Burberry trench coat, Irish sweaters, in a classic but not conservative style. Even today, I dress in her clothes.
When I first wore his 1980s leather Loewe jacket, I discovered in an inside pocket political documents marked with a “highly confidential”. It was a report dated 1989 from an anonymous informant on secret talks that took place in Algeria between the Spanish government and the Basque armed organization ETA. These meetings resulted in a temporary ceasefire. I carefully left the papers in their place.
I never saw my father being afraid. His political combat had taught him serenity; despite all the personal attacks he may have suffered, he always placed the Basque cause above all else. Vanity was foreign to him, his intellectual passions were worth more than his ego.
When I decided to turn to fashion history after studying international politics, my colleagues did not understand my choice, but my father was delighted and he supported me ardently. When we visited exhibitions, he was always interested in everyday objects, the sociological angle in history fascinated him. He had time to see me arrive at the Palais Galliera, I think he was proud of me. »
Galliera Palace10, avenue Pierre 1er-of-serbia, Paris 16and.