I've got a real sense of three-dimensional geometry. I can look

Hear the vision of Vivienne Westwood, who declared: “I've got a real sense of three-dimensional geometry. I can look at a flat piece of fabric and know that if I put a slit in it and make some fabric travel around a square, then when you lift it up it will drape in a certain way, and I can feel how that will happen.” These are not the words of mere craft; they are the words of prophecy, for she speaks of the hidden union between form and spirit, between the seen and the unseen, between flatness and fullness. In her saying lies a truth as old as creation: that vision can transform the simple into the magnificent, the plain into the transcendent.

The fabric is not only cloth, but the symbol of raw potential. All things in life begin as a flat expanse—simple, unshaped, unformed. To most eyes, it is nothing but material, inert and passive. But the visionary sees not what it is, but what it may become. Westwood’s gift of geometry is the power of imagination, the sacred art of perceiving form where none yet exists. This is the gift of the artist, the leader, the creator: to see drapery in the flatness, to see the future in the present.

The act of cutting a slit, of making the fabric travel, is a metaphor for daring to disturb the ordinary. To shape beauty, one must not fear incision, change, or disruption. Just as the sculptor strikes the marble with his chisel, or the gardener prunes the branch for greater fruit, so the designer dares to alter the plain cloth, knowing that in its alteration lies the secret of grace. The cut is not destruction; it is transformation. The wise know that without risk, there is no art, no growth, no glory.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, who could look at the faint lines of a sketch and envision the flight of a machine, or at the gentle folds of a robe and anticipate how they would fall upon the body. His notebooks are filled with the same gift that Westwood describes: the ability to see beyond the surface, to feel the form that has not yet been made manifest. Like her, he did not merely observe the world—he foresaw it, and in foresight, he created.

When Westwood speaks of the drape, she reveals the secret of harmony between structure and freedom. The cloth obeys geometry, yet moves with grace. So too does life: we live bound by laws of nature and time, yet within these laws, the spirit finds its elegance, its dance, its flow. To master this balance is the task of every human soul—to shape one’s destiny with discipline, yet let it fall with beauty, like fabric upon the body.

The origin of her power lies not merely in technical skill, but in intuition sharpened by experience, in love for both art and form. It is the same origin from which all great human creations arise. The pyramids rose from stone because someone first saw in desert rock the possibility of eternal form. The symphony was born because one could hear in silence the music yet unwritten. Westwood’s geometry is but one path of the eternal human gift: to take the flatness of reality and raise from it something that breathes, moves, and inspires.

The lesson for us is clear: learn to see beyond the surface. When faced with the unshaped material of life—be it a day, a problem, or a dream—do not see only the flatness. Dare to cut, to move, to risk, and to imagine the drape that may emerge. Practically, this means training the eye and the heart: cultivate vision through study, cultivate courage through action, and cultivate patience through practice. The masterpiece of life, like the garment, is born not of accident, but of daring foresight.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, take to heart the wisdom of Vivienne Westwood. Do not be content with the flat fabric of existence. Learn the hidden geometry of possibility, and with your cuts and your courage, let your life drape with elegance, freedom, and meaning. For the world awaits not what is, but what can be—shaped by the daring hands of those who can already see it.