Darrell Thorne appears like a glitch in the Matrix. Ornate and mirrored, headdress high, often on prosthetic stilts, body painted, horned, winged, caped, crowned (sometimes all at once), he doesn’t enter so much as materialise. Not quite male or female, not entirely human or alien, he moves through space as something in-between. A guest from another realm, summoned by those who find the visible world insufficient.
Gala committees, fashion houses and private clients seek him out for something that floats beyond the boundaries of reality. Part character designer, part performance artist, pure spectacle, Thorne turns flesh into fantasy. When pop’s grandes dames (Liza, Cher, Madonna) crave something otherworldly, they turn to his singular talents. ‘Sometimes people want more than beauty,’ he says. ‘They want to feel mythic.’
Thorne grew up…
