Today, thirteen years after Martin Margiela retired from the fashion industry and thirty-three years after he founded his eponymous house, archival material is all that remains of the two decades he spent in the vanguard of the fashion industry — and the clothing itself, lovingly preserved and hungrily hunted down by collectors and aficionados eager to own their own piece of fashion history.
Except of course that the Belgian designer’s influence is everywhere. Traces of his anti-consumerist approach can be found scattered throughout contemporary collections and in homages — spoken or otherwise — paid by creative directors.
Evidence: that coat of white paint applied by Margiela and his team to boots and shoes, instantly updating the previous season’s footwear for the next, has trickled down into our current aesthetic language and is now applied to suits and trainers. Where once Margiela subverted traditional silhouettes, taking apart and piecing back together garments in order to make something entirely novel, whole schools of designers now cut and stitch in his wake. Construction techniques are left exposed; diverse objects inspired by car seat belts, gloves and blindfolds conceal and reveal the body. Margiela’s hand is at once nowhere and everywhere.
These ideas underpinning the iconic designer’s practice have long preoccupied French artist and photographer Marie Valognes. Perhaps it is due in part to her own fashion training that her eye, like his, is obsessive. It sees manifold possibilities in raw materials. Her lens focuses on overlooked objects, giving them the status of symbols. From everyday idiosyncrasies, she composes new narratives.
Therefore it seems unavoidable that her own intimate process of observation found its way to Margiela. In her present body of work, Dear Martin, Valognes interprets the essence of his oeuvre. The resulting series, created out of respect and curiosity, is both a tribute and a dialogue, a punk take on a punk creator.
Occasionally Valognes picks up the same materials Margiela employed, approaching them as she would the elements of a sculpture — wax, wool, white cotton shirting. A plastic carrier bag begs a second, even a third glance. A padlock and key are suited in stockings. Stripped of the three-dimensionality that comes from a human body, these objects find their own.
The Enzo Mari of ready-to-wear, Margiela generously bestowed on the public his recipe for the creation of clothing at home. Valognes takes up his ingredients: socks are slowly dissected and reassembled as a sweater, for example. But mastery of the final dish, she learns — the addition or omission of certain ingredients — is of little consequence.
In an age when fashion waste continues to plague our over-taxed planet, the DIY ethos and punk ideology on which so much of Margiela’s legacy is based is more revolutionary than ever. Under his influence, Valognes reconsiders unassuming matter — fabrics, materials, textiles and everyday objects. When she fosters these with time and attention, they are transformed into wearable artworks.
Perhaps Valognes’ discourse with Margiela will serve as encouragement to others to take up needle and thread the next time a favorite sweater frays; maybe it will encourage us to fashion new from old. But if a modest result is that we think twice while packing our groceries – seeing, for a split second, other possibilities in a humble plastic bag – then the timelessness of Margiela’s concept will be proved.