Some artists work with materials. Others work with ideas. Atelier Le Govic does both, allowing one to shape the other until the distinction almost disappears. At only twenty six years old, the French artist has built a practice that moves effortlessly between wood sculpture, jacquard weaving and collage, while remaining remarkably consistent in its vision. Regardless of the medium, his work is guided by the same questions about form, transformation and the relationship between the human body and the natural world.
Living between Paris and Brittany has become an essential part of this process. Paris offers movement, encounters and a constant flow of visual references. Brittany provides silence, isolation and the slower rhythm needed for observation. Rather than existing as opposites, these places complement each other. One feeds curiosity, the other allows ideas to settle. This balance is reflected throughout Le Govic’s work, where contemporary minimalism coexists with organic structures inspired by flowers, branches and plant life.
Although he first trained as a wood sculptor, sculpture remains less a discipline than a way of thinking. Every work, whether carved, woven or assembled, is built around volume and spatial relationships. Even his textiles possess a sculptural quality, expanding beyond the flatness of the surface through layered compositions that suggest growth and movement. His forms are reduced to their essentials, yet they never feel cold or detached. Instead, they invite the viewer to look more carefully, revealing subtle connections between geometry and nature.
Botanical elements appear repeatedly throughout his practice, not as decorative motifs but as structural ones. Flowers become extensions of the body, branches resemble skeletal systems and plants evolve into metaphors for transformation. Works such as Agapanthus Man and Artichoke Man blur the boundaries between the human figure and vegetation without suggesting that one becomes the other. They simply remind us that both exist within the same cycles of growth, change and renewal.
This interest in transformation extends to Le Govic’s collages, where vintage Breton postcards are carefully dismantled and reconstructed. By removing context and preserving anonymous figures, familiar images acquire new meanings, suspended somewhere between memory and imagination. The past is not celebrated nostalgically but reactivated through a contemporary perspective that leaves space for interpretation.
Across every medium, there is a sense of restraint that distinguishes Le Govic’s work. Nothing appears excessive and every element seems necessary. Beauty emerges not through ornament but through clarity, balance and careful observation. It is an approach that feels deeply rooted in craftsmanship while remaining unmistakably contemporary.
In this conversation, Atelier Le Govic reflects on his artistic journey, the importance of material knowledge in an increasingly digital age and the visual vocabulary that continues to evolve through wood, thread and paper, always searching for new ways to connect the human experience with the quiet intelligence of nature.
1. You live between the vibrant energy of Paris and the raw silence of Brittany. How do these two poles influence your visual alphabet? Is your work a search for a balance between urban order and wild nature?
Yes, absolutely. The balance developed quite naturally and instinctively over time. In Paris, I spend most of my time outside. I visit exhibitions and galleries, meet people, and constantly absorb new visual experiences. The city provides an intense cultural and social energy. Brittany is the opposite. There, I work in a much quieter environment, often alone, either in my studio or walking through the landscape. It gives me the space to observe and reflect. My work exists somewhere between these two realities. I am interested in creating forms that feel minimal and timeless. Their language is contemporary, but it is deeply rooted in organic structures and the rhythms of nature.
2. Your background is in wood sculpture. In a world that is becoming increasingly digital and flat, why is it still important for you to maintain a physical relationship with the materials you use?
Working with wood taught me to understand volume, proportions and the physical presence of an object. It is a very direct and concrete material. When I work with drawing or textiles, everything initially feels flatter and more distant. You cannot immediately sense how the final form will exist in space. Wood gave me a solid foundation, and that way of thinking continues to shape every medium I work with today.
3. Arborescence almost resembles a coral breathing in the air. When you cut oak with a scroll saw, do you feel you are discovering a form that already exists inside the material, or creating a new geometry?
It is really both. Part of the process is analytical. I begin with a clear intention and try to construct a minimal contemporary form with precise lines and proportions. At the same time, wood has its own logic and limitations. Every piece behaves differently, and those constraints become part of the creative process. The final work emerges through this constant dialogue between intention and material.
4. Your jacquard tapestries are woven from kilometres of recycled cotton thread. Does moving from the solidity of wood to the flexibility of textile change the way you sculpt the human figure?
I try to maintain a strong coherence between every medium I use. Whether I work with wood or textiles, I am interested in forms that expand into space, particularly botanical structures such as umbels that naturally spread outward. The techniques are different, but my approach to composition and space remains the same.
5. Works like Agapanthus Man and Artichoke Man portray a profound transformation where thought seems to become organic growth. Do you believe that, in some way, human beings are simply a more complex form of vegetation?
I would not say that we are vegetation, but I do think we are much closer to it than we often imagine. In these works, plants become structural elements. They can almost function as a spine supporting the human figure. I am also fascinated by the idea of continuous evolution. Plants move through cycles, just as we do. Whether we speak about human life or plant life, there is a shared rhythm, and that is where I try to establish a connection.
6. In your collages, such as Floating Tribute, you work with vintage Breton postcards. What attracts you to these suspended memories? Is it a tribute to the past or a way of giving it a new life?
It is both. First, I feel there is something meaningful about reusing these forgotten images instead of letting them disappear. Then I make them my own. I remove what feels unnecessary and keep only the elements that matter to me. I am particularly drawn to anonymous figures because they allow viewers to project their own stories and interpretations onto the image.
7. In Fragmented Score, you deconstructed the portrait of violinist Jules Boucherit. Is there a musical rhythm behind the way you arrange lines and contrasts?
Yes, very much so. The composition directly incorporates the horizontal lines of a musical score, so music is literally embedded within its structure. At the same time, the portrait gradually dissolves into those lines, almost becoming anonymous. The overall image creates a hypnotic rhythm, something close to the visual equivalent of a sound wave. It was my way of paying tribute to Boucherit’s musical legacy.
8. The skull often appears in your work, surrounded by flowers and botanical forms. Is this your interpretation of the memento mori, or is it more a celebration of life than of death?
There is no intention to create something dark. The upper part of the skull has always carried strong symbolic meaning across many cultures, from the Maya and the Aztecs to Christian iconography. In my work, however, what matters most is that beauty emerges. The flowers are deliberately attractive and visually vibrant. I am not trying to tell a story about what comes after death. I simply hope the image creates an emotional response.
9. Your work constantly moves between figuration and abstraction. How do you know when a form has reached its essential state?
I usually work within a framework of self imposed rules. For textiles, I need enough tonal variation for the weaving to create depth. The flower must occupy space, while the human figure remains anonymous and reduced to its essentials. Within those limits, the decision is intuitive. At a certain point, I simply know the composition is complete.
10. You are twenty six years old and work with techniques such as wood carving and jacquard weaving. Do you see yourself as a contemporary artisan in an era dominated by speed and digital production?
The jacquard technique dates back to the beginning of the nineteenth century, but the tools available today are incredibly advanced. I use automated looms and prepare the weaving files with sophisticated digital software. For me, this is not about nostalgia. These traditional techniques continue to evolve and remain fully contemporary.
11. If you had to choose only one material to tell the story of the human soul, would it be wood, thread or paper?
Textile. It offers an extraordinary range of possibilities, both in terms of volume and materials. At the moment I mainly work with cotton, but I want to experiment with other fibres, such as horsehair, or symbolic materials like recycled fishing nets. Textile is a medium that can continue to evolve, carrying different layers of meaning while remaining deeply connected to the physical world.
