The courtyard looks like a wedding cake. Take a pickaxe to all this swept marble and you’d hit yellow sponge made from eggs, milk, and margarine. Perfect triangles of evergreen leap from topiary tubs, fountains make chlorinated arcs into shallow pools emptied of even a single tossed penny. And there in the distance is our misplaced plastic bride, truant from the...

Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s dogs greet me at the entrance gate of his Mediterranean-style manse, their barks reverberating across the sleepy Studio City street. They scamper through the grass of the tidy front yard, wagging their tails with exuberance. Bandit, a feisty Shepherd mutt, hops up on his hind legs and offers me his paw, while Bisou, a thirteen-year-...

  Despite all attempts, fashion has never really been able to crack the art world code. Sure, there are exhibitions set up by fashion labels, collaborations, and name-dropping. And the people who can afford high fashion are the most likely to purchase a piece of contemporary art. But fashion is rarely, if ever, the subject of artistry. For years, Katherine...