Line Maria le Fèvre

Works
Her, Untold.
The Vigil & The Chorus
Animating Materiality
Creatura

Awards
Jaguar Awards at V&A East Storehouse
HIGH Everyday Couture Award

In the studio
2023
2024
2025
2026

About
Contact/CV

Highsnobiety
Interview, 2026

Q: Your installation Her, Untold. reimagines female Norse legends through revisionist mythmaking. What inspired you to revisit these stories, and what new narratives did you want to create through your work?

A: I grew up in Denmark with Norse mythology and sagas — stories told to narrate our historical lineage, in a city with its roots as a Viking settlement, so there’s a real presence of history. Yet I always felt removed from it in terms of relevance to my contemporary life. When I started investigating these stories through my research at the Royal College of Art, I thought I knew them well — and then found the female characters barely had a voice of their own. Not silenced exactly, but authored. Written into the margins of their own stories by hands that weren’t theirs — transcribing them. These powerful, complex figures simplified and reduced to a supporting role for the male protagonist. I wanted to give these feminine figures back their multiplicity. Not to rewrite them, but to unmake the fixed version we hold of them, and let them be what they always were before someone wrote them into a corner — shapeshifting, hybrid figures refusing to be pinned down. I wanted to make work that did the same thing: that refused to arrive at a single resolved form.

Q: Why are shapeshifting figures and transitional states such important ideas within your creative process?

A: Because the female characters in these myths were never meant to be one thing only — they were powerful precisely because they couldn’t be pinned down, and the moment someone tried to write them into a fixed form, something essential was lost. Shapeshifting isn’t just a mythological quirk to me, it’s a way of operating — in the studio where I work with materials, and in my written research where I dissect these narratives. Here nothing is locked in, and everything is still becoming something else. That instability isn’t a problem to solve. The liminal — as a space of transition — is where all interesting things live.

Q: How do different materials help you challenge traditional ideas around strength, softness, permanence, and change?

A: The concrete and steel are there because they represent exactly the kind of rigid, imposing structures that have historically been used to contain and define — and then I place the softest, most yielding materials right up against them, biopolymers and natural fibres that are alive, that breathe with the changing temperature of the room, that decompose, that refuse to stay the same. There's something genuinely confrontational about a moist biopolymer skin draped over a concrete block, or cellulose fibres tangled around a steel rebar — it destabilises both, makes the hard thing look less certain of itself and the soft thing look surprisingly powerful. I'm not interested in materials that behave — I'm interested in what happens when they don't, when they push back against each other and something unexpected emerges in that friction.

Q: Your process is described as “making-as-inquiry,” where the materials themselves influence the final outcome. How does allowing experimentation and uncertainty shape the work you create?

A: I never start with a finished image in my head — if I did, the work would just be manufacturing, and that doesn't interest me at all. I have ideas at the periphery of my vision, but the materials are genuinely in charge of a lot of it; a biopolymer will crack where I didn't expect it to, and a stitch to suture that tear becomes the idea to introduce weaving into the casting process itself. That fragment of the sculpture becomes a more honest answer to my inquiry — than what I could have pre-conceived — and those moments where “the surface cracks” are usually where the most important decisions get made. Uncertainty isn't a risk I tolerate — it's the whole point, because the work is trying to say something about emergence and becoming, and you can't fake that by knowing the ending before you start.

Q: How has being recognised by Jaguar supported your ability to continue taking creative risks and developing ambitious interdisciplinary work?

A: Recognition like this matters because it validates a kind of practice that exists at the periphery of what galleries typically know how to sell or represent — work that is hybrid in its manifestation, materially experimental, and refuses to resolve itself into something easily categorised. But interdisciplinary also means it can be so much more expansive than what a commercial gallery space can hold. I’m aware that the work I make lives in this difficult commercial space. Having Jaguar put their weight behind it, and not just the installation but the methodology and the research as well, signals that although my work resists an easy definition, it’s work that needs to exist. That support amplifies my resolve to trust the process, and to continue developing this work outside the RCA.

Q: How do you hope this platform will help move your practice forward and introduce your work to new conversations and communities?

A: The installation was placed at the V&A East Storehouse for the awards ceremony, which was the first time I saw it outside its academic context of the RCA. It was humbling to observe my sculpted elements in immediate dialogue with a space so rich in cultural relevance — historical and vernacular. Even for that one evening, it showed me something I hadn’t fully understood yet: that this work belongs in those kinds of conversations, in those kinds of rooms, where it can land in right context.

That’s what this platform does. It opens doors into spaces and communities where the work can find its people — the ones who care about material culture, about mythology, about what revisionist practice looks like when it’s not playing it safe. I want the work to travel, to be situated in spaces that have their own histories and tensions and resonances, because that’s when it comes most alive. And I’d like for it to reach communities that don’t necessarily overlap yet — the makers, the researchers, the mythologists, the people who are quietly doing the most interesting things at the edges of their disciplines. Jaguar’s recognition puts my sculptural installation into that conversation in a way I could not have engineered. That’s what I mean when I talk about the unexpected emerging out of unpredictable encounters.