Marine Penvern: A renaissance woman to be revered

By Lindsay Comstock
Photography by Shayna Lohmann

Arriving at Marine Penvern’s “humble little abode,” her eponymous clothing atelier on Hudson’s Warren Street, is like being welcomed into a jewel box. Handmade garments beckon: boiled wool jackets with red zippers running down one side, her signature; playful capes and silk chiffon skirts in shiny metallic; “protective gear” made of aluminum-coated wool sheathed in polyurethane, a sardonic take on 5G conspiracy theories; and a striking floral house dress in soft, fine wool, her version of pandemic loungewear.

 It becomes clear that Penvern’s outer appearance is a fluid expression of her inner world. A lifelong painter, her eye for color and texture is evident in what she wears. She seamlessly merges floral, animal, and geometric patterns with rich fabrics, gold jewelry, and a felt hat threaded with a quill. Penvern approaches all of her passions, including painting and playing the saxophone, in a similar manner: without expectation for the outcome. She improvises; she abstracts; she is carried by the creative flow, allowing the media to speak through her.

Penvern grew up in rural Brittany, France, where fashion was not a priority among the farmers. Still, her home, a 12th Century manor restored by her parents, was infused with the legends and myths of gilded eras. She took an early interest in art and began to style herself in whatever she could find. Her brother’s denim pants and her skirts became hats. A short haircut was a way to buck convention. She longed for life beyond her small town and collected small clues to the outside world: pictures of famous paintings on chocolate bars featuring women in elegant patterns and textures, and stories of jazz musicians in New York City detailed on the back of her father’s records. She was forever changed after her father, also an artist, took her to Paris to see the paintings she'd collected in pictures. When she turned 18, Penvern moved to New York City with only $200 in her pocket. “That’s when my life began,” she says. “It was the great adventure.” 

She spent her early adulthood in jazz clubs, learning English and the language of all-night jam sessions, falling in love with the music and the people. “It was a higher spiritual ground. It enriched my life to levels I didn’t think possible,” she says. During those years, Penvern befriended lauded drummer Denis Charles while hanging out nightly at the West Village jazz club, Smalls. “Denis would tell me, ‘there are no mistakes, there are no wrong notes.’ I interpreted it as one note would open a door into a new experience,” she says. Those words would continue to ring in her ears decades later and inspire her to pick up a saxophone and play it daily, bringing into being another layer of art through sound.

Penvern would come into fashion in the same way she came to most things: welcoming new opportunities as they come and then learning as she goes. In 2000, she made her first coat at her Manhattan painting studio. It was winter, and she didn’t have heat, but she did have a roll of wool. She asked a friend to come over and draw her contour against a wall. “I thought I could use the drawing to fashion a piece of clothing, which is so ridiculous,” she says with a laugh. “I was trying to make a two-dimensional plane into a three-dimensional one.” The resulting piece, similar to a North African djellaba, became her signature studio ware. A few years later, upon encouragement from friends, she debuted her clothing line at a small atelier she opened on the Lower East Side.

Through freelance work, painting sets and backdrops for music videos, theater, and fashion shoots, Penvern was introduced to the world of fashion and dance. These connections would soon blossom into her present atelier’s loyal clients in Hudson—primo ballerinas, artistic directors, and, recently, producer and choreographer Lucinda Childs, whom she dressed for a video element appearing in the opera, “Akhnaten,” a collaboration with composer Philip Glass. “I’m blessed with what I do and the people I meet,” she says. 

Penvern first laid eyes on Hudson, New York, 20 years ago, when she stopped into town with a friend on the way elsewhere. There wasn’t much in town at the time, she says, but she was taken with the area’s natural beauty. At John Doe Records, a beloved Hudson institution, she bought some jazz records and held the town in her heart. It was love at first sight.

“Flashing a $50,000 bag is not success. It’s vulgar, especially when so many people can’t feed themselves.”

After having her son, Raoul, in 2006, she began spending more time upstate and decided to rent an apartment outside Hudson. Motherhood, it seemed, was too great a job for her as an artist. “I couldn’t divide my energy between my child and my art. I’m not that great of a multitasker,” she says. 

Then came a period of ten years when she didn’t produce much at all; instead, she worked on her greatest “masterpiece”— Raoul. “Motherhood is one of the most remarkable things. To love another person as I love him — it’s not just me anymore. It’s humbling.” But after spending five years commuting between Hudson and the LES, Penvern decided to move back to the city full-time so that her son could attend school. 

By 2016, after witnessing commercial developers take hold of her once beloved city and struggling to find investors for her fashion business, Penvern had a vision. “I thought, ‘fuck it.’ I’m going to do what I know how to do best and have my own thing.” She decided to move to Hudson permanently and has never looked back. 

In Hudson, she found solace in finally having a business she can afford, in a town that fosters a creative community. “I realize it feels like the old days on the Lower East Side. Every walk of life from everywhere in the world is here,” she says. The landscape is a bonus. “As a painter, I’m completely drawn to it. I feel very lucky every day to wake up here.”

It’s nearing the election at the time of our interview, and Penvern’s sidewalk sign reads, “Style Against Fashism.” According to Penvern, style is a primary tool for projecting one’s identity into the world, and personal identity and style are inextricably linked to politics. “Style is important. It teaches us who we are,” she says. “And if we know ourselves in depth, we can fight against all kinds of oppression.”

She revolts against the crassness of the fashion industry, asserting that having money doesn’t equal having style. “Everyone wants that one bag or that one pair of shoes. To think that’s success is so misleading,” she says. “Flashing a $50,000 bag is not success. It’s vulgar, especially when so many people can’t feed themselves.”

Preferring a bohemian lifestyle, Penvern is at once unpretentious and sophisticated. Although her clothing is priced to account for her labor, couture craftsmanship, and expensive fabrics, she makes just enough money to remain independent and comfortable. She is satisfied with what she has. 

This sentiment is reiterated the second time I speak to her over the phone. Penvern, who was once married in her twenties, and co-parents with Raoul’s father, whom she never married, is content as a single woman. “I love relationships and having lovers, but often relationships veer into codependency, and I don’t want that,” she says. “Though I wouldn’t oppose being struck by someone who is also content within himself and respects my autonomy.” 

Penvern, who turned 50 this year, draws strength from this deep, internal connection to herself. “Becoming older is an asset,” she says. “In half a century, I have developed many skills, and I have had some friendships for thirty years. I think success comes from the relationships we make throughout our life.”

 She references a Parisian artist that she grew up admiring, Louise Bourgeois, who made art up until her last week of life, at 98, as an example of a life well lived. “Her face may have looked like the bark of an old tree, but every line on her skin told a story,” Penvern says. “When the beauty industry encourages women to erase their story, it’s problematic. It’s denial. How can we deny our lives as women? Every day I’m learning how to accept the lines in my face and the white in my hair. It’s a process of living in grace.”