Marianne 3.0: The Unfolding Of An Artist Beyond Form

There are artists who perform, and there are artists who transform. Marianne 3.0 belongs emphatically to the latter. Multidisciplinary by nature and necessity, Marianne is not simply building a career — they are sculpting a new territory of expression, where gender, genre, and gesture are freed from the strict lines of categorization. Born and raised in Geneva and based today in Lisbon, Marianne navigates the in-between — of countries, of languages, of identities — with grace, urgency, and an unapologetic artistic voice.

From classical discipline to sonic rebellion

Trained as a classical pianist from the age of six, Marianne’s relationship to music began within the confines of conservatory rigor. But even then, something resisted the script. The patterned world they were born into — socially, musically, physically — never quite fit. This sense of internal friction became fertile ground for creative reinvention. Rather than reject their foundations, Marianne bends them, turns them inside out, and reclaims them as tools for liberation. Their early works like Tirésias (2022) and Mémoires (2023) document a steady departure from the formal to the visceral, the regulated to the improvised.

The music they make is less a product than a process: layered, performative, emotionally coded. Their approach draws from art music, but is reimagined through improvisation, electronic textures, and conceptual performance. Whether in the vulnerable introspection of Lonely, the social critique of Sem noção, or the deconstructed pop of Invertido, Marianne constructs music as both personal archaeology and collective provocation.

Language of the body, language of the image

For Marianne, music is never just audio. It’s visual, physical, political. It’s skin and cloth and silence and scream. Their shows are immersive rituals where fashion, gesture, and sound converge in one continuous act of becoming. Having worked as a stylist, model, and art director, they use clothing and visual composition not as accessories but as carriers of narrative — extensions of identity rather than costumes.

This multidimensional practice finds expression not only in their aesthetics but in their refusal to conform. Marianne does not simply perform non-binary identity; they live and craft through it. Their stage presence is not a persona, but a projection of truth — fragmented, fragile, but fierce.

Naming the unnameable

Marianne's very existence in the public sphere challenges linguistic norms. The use of gender-neutral grammar, the fluid switch between languages, the naming of albums like Tirésias — all speak to a desire to escape the boxes imposed by society. In their words, the feeling of solitude stems not from personal emptiness but from inhabiting a world that lacks the vocabulary to fully see them. And yet, they create their own lexicon — sonic, visual, poetic.

In Invertido, this reaches a new level of clarity. With tracks like Fashion, Bouche, Plástico, and Voar, produced in collaboration with artists such as Filipe Sambado, Diana XL, DrBA, and Sh3therookie, Marianne articulates themes of artifice, visibility, plasticity, and flight. Each song becomes a mirror — sometimes warped, sometimes lucid — in which society’s gaze is questioned and their own image redefined.

Art as liberation

What defines Marianne is not genre or discipline, but the act of liberation itself. From breaking with classical dogma to crafting a visual language of identity, from rejecting binary constraints to building collaborative futures through music and performance, they represent a force that is as political as it is poetic.

Marianne doesn’t ask for space — they claim it. And in doing so, they offer it to others who, too, have felt unseen. Their art does not just reflect the world — it redesigns it. It sings not of loneliness, but of its ending. It doesn’t seek applause; it demands presence.

In an age where representation is too often reduced to tokenism, Marianne 3.0 reminds us that true representation is not about fitting in — it’s about making room for what didn’t exist before.