Glenn Martens’ Maison Margiela Artisanal collection doesn’t just borrow from history, but it fractures it, reassembles it, and wears it like a second skin. Inspired by the Gothic towers and saintly figures of medieval Flanders and the Netherlands, the clothes are architecture in motion. Silhouettes stretch skyward, echoing church spires, while corsetry and draping twist the body into something sculptural, almost sacred.

The Renaissance whispers through the details. Floral motifs from 16th-century Flemish leather wallpapers reappear, printed on flimsy copy paper and layered over fabrics. Dutch still-life paintings of flowers and game are collaged onto plastic or leather, then cut into shapes that defy their flat origins. Nothing stays static: a trompe l’oeil technique turns fabric into a canvas of Gustave Moreau’s brushstrokes, as if the wearer is both art and artist. Lace clings like a tattoo, and veiled draping mimics the wet folds of marble statues, blurring the line between flesh and sculpture.

Martens’ love for the ordinary-turned-extraordinary shines. Discarded linings, vintage jackets, and even crushed metal boxes become face coverings, continuing Margiela’s tradition of anonymity. The masks here aren’t hiding but redirecting attention to the craft.

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