IRIS VAN HERPEN

Interview by Filep Motwary

Dutch designer Iris van Herpen approaches fashion in a singular way. Her work is rooted in an understanding of dress through technology, and it has become a subject of study for museums. Each of her shows at Paris Haute Couture Week could be described as the culmination of a collective process, where garments are treated as postmodern “idols”. They might equally be seen as futuristic vestments, often constructed from multiple layers that embrace or sculpt the body and suggest movement even when still. Although she claims otherwise, they reveal a technique of extraordinary precision, overturning traditional notions of what is handmade.

We met at Atelier Néerlandais, a space for Dutch creatives that on this occasion was dedicated exclusively to her, allowing her to present her summer collection, *Shift Souls*, through private appointments. Given her references, I expect her to confirm she is a child of the metropolis. Wrong. “I grew up in a village called Wamel, in the province of Gelderland, by the river,” she tells me. “It’s a beautiful place. My parents supported my decision to pursue the arts, and my childhood experiences are visible in everything I do.” Through her romantic recollection, it becomes clear where the discipline that defines both her personality and her creations comes from. “As a child I studied classical ballet,” she continues. “For years I thought I had to become a dancer. In the end, I was drawn in by a curiosity about the materials I could use to make things. A gradual transition followed, as I became interested in the identity that can emerge through creativity. That search began when I started going into the city. Along the way, I realised the endless transformations a garment can undergo, and I became aware of my own need for transformation through my body.”

At 34, Van Herpen disarms with her views on the body and the sartorial solutions she proposes. The starting point for her latest collection was an old celestial atlas, which prompted her to create garments that envelop the body and protect it from the unknown—much like earthly heroes in science fiction films. “Each collection takes six months, and inevitably inspiration comes from many sources. This time everything began with a 1660 publication titled *Harmonia Macrocosmica* by the Dutch-German cartographer Andreas Cellarius. I admired the illustrations, but only recently did I feel the moment had come to create something based on them,” she explains, and I am reminded that inspiration ultimately stems from our sensibilities. “It also depicts other intriguing things, such as hybrids between animals and humans that appear entirely natural. That was my starting point,” she admits.

A pioneer in the use of 3D printing, she first applied it in 2011 in collaboration with architect Isaïe Bloch; the same year, Time included her among the 50 most innovative inventors of the year. Since then, her aim has been to evolve couture by combining tradition with technology. “In some of my early 3D prints I encountered limitations with materials, so some of those garments were rigid and didn’t allow the wearer to sit,” she confides. “Now it’s possible. What I produce is the result of moving from one point to another through learning. It was a necessary process, rewarded by the ability to give my work a complete form. I’m interested in science, in how it evolves—like biology. I combine traditional references with elements most of us are barely familiar with. I believe in the power of combinations. Fashion contains history, and within it our identity and perceptions are outlined… I try to move beyond stereotypes and offer my own interpretations.”

From the start of her career she has often operated outside the conventional framework of fashion, collaborating with artists across disciplines. Last year she designed costumes for Pelléas et Mélisande by Claude Debussy alongside Marina Abramović, while earlier collaborations include architects Benthem Crouwel Architects—with whom she created the Water Dress—as well as artists Jolan van der Wiel and Neri Oxman, among others. “This time I worked with Kim Keever, a former NASA engineer who creates works that hover between painting and photography,” she tells me. “The way he builds textures through movement is remarkable.” I ask how easy communication is. “It depends on each person’s character and the distance between us,” she replies. “For instance, with Argentine graphic designer Esteban Diacono it was wonderful, as he came to Amsterdam specifically so we could deepen our research together. At first I sent him some images, which he began shaping on the computer. He brought the garments to life, and the result was astonishing, capturing their precise movement. I don’t know how he did it, but I loved it.”

She takes risks to avoid stagnation. Indeed, one of the greatest dangers facing young designers is their own success, as they are often absorbed by major brands. Such mergers are driven by financial reasons, but they bind designers to develop under constant scrutiny. “If I were interested in making functional clothes, I would be suspending my creative and personal development,” she says. “I try to maintain a balance between what is feasible in my work and my ideals. I invest in new techniques that may not make sense today, but perhaps in three or four years will be understood by everyone.” She acknowledges that choosing to remain independent is difficult. “It makes you vulnerable in relation to the superpowers of corporate groups. On the other hand, independence gives me freedom of movement. The fact that I can still make my own decisions is of great value to me,” she clarifies.

Her honesty is disarming when I ask how she arrives at the creation of a garment. “Every collection is a risk, because I don’t sketch beforehand. My starting point is the materials—or rather, the creation of materials. At first we move experimentally, to see what we keep and what we discard from what we’ve made. It’s a chaotic situation, but unexpected results emerge from it. I’ve found that the more control I exert, the less interesting the process becomes. In that sense I may be more an artist than a designer, because for me the journey matters more than the outcome.”

Since 2007 she has participated in dozens of exhibitions, as her work has been embraced beyond the narrow confines of fashion. Her garments exude intensity, in contrast to her calm personality. “Each collection is a solitary journey. One can trace the entire six-month process leading up to it, as if reading my personal diary,” she says. I note that exhibitions are an undeniable means of communicating a creator’s work and trajectory to the public, opening up a dialogue around it. She agrees. “Shows, although they create an atmosphere, are brief and reach only a few people. We spend six months preparing a collection, and what remains is a ten-minute presentation. Unfortunately, during a show people cannot come close to the garments. In an exhibition, however, I can communicate more deeply with visitors, as they can decide for themselves how much time to spend with each piece. There are guides, screenings, lectures—it’s a democratic experience. Visiting an art space invites the audience to devote time to learning.”

Fashion, I suggest, has all the prerequisites to be exhibited in a gallery or museum, even if interest in this mode of presentation is relatively recent. Until the 1940s, fashion exhibitions were largely commercial, intended to promote craftsmanship, embroidery and embellishment. The first exhibition in the modern sense took place in 1944 at Museum of Modern Art, curated by Bernard Rudofsky. Another reason for their appeal today is that they highlight our evolution through the way we dress, turning us into transmitters of information about our very existence. “Such an experience is powerful, as it connects many layers of society and different generations,” she emphasises. “That struck me strongly in the United States last year. I had never seen such a diverse audience—so many cultures, so many ages… Fashion is a powerful ‘language’. Through an exhibition we can learn about our origins, the history of a place, the importance of identity through nationality, and how all this information connects with the way we dress—above all, how our identity changes over time.”

It is not hard to see why couture won her over. “Over the past ten years I have developed techniques and materials that are truly my own,” she explains. “What I present is the result of hard work in the atelier. It cannot be replicated, as it comes from time-consuming experimentation. It’s natural that what we create carries great value. If I chose prêt-à-porter, I would have to work within market constraints, collaborate with factories under limitations on what is feasible and what is not, what raises costs and what does not. I would see my creativity disappear into compromises. My strength comes from working with my team in the atelier, and I want to protect that. There is a gap between couture and ready-to-wear, but I believe this will change through the techniques being developed. We have already seen expensive pieces adapted for more accessible markets.”

I ask her view on fashion as a daily necessity, and on the dynamics of sustainability. “Today, twice as many products are produced as are bought, which demonstrates the damage done to the planet,” she notes. “Fashion is one of the most polluting industries.” In the luxury sector, however, transparency is essential: clients want to know the process behind a garment, the materials, and so on. In mass production, awareness is looser. “That needs to change from within the fashion houses themselves,” she believes, adding: “I think we are living through a very interesting moment. Fashion will continue to transform, but I don’t think I can say exactly how. It is so closely tied to the economy that precise predictions are difficult.”

Our conversation turns to Greece and her wish to visit. “I’ve never been, but I would love to. I’m interested in its history and architecture. I want to see how it reflects time. The sense of time is very important to me—especially when it comes to collaboration,” she admits, prompting the inevitable question about her next plans. “I’m working on costumes for Björk’s new tour. We’ve been working together for years—she’s a brilliant personality, free and democratic in the way she transforms on stage,” she says, summing up her own philosophy of fashion: “I see it as a moving entity. Many of the things I’ve learned I’ve left behind. I need to feel there is always room for evolution, disruption and intuition.”