Discover the contemporary work of MKM

Born in 1958 in Neauphle le Château, Paris region in a working class family, a father busy with his work which involved a lot of
traveling, his commitment as a municipal councilor, his
commitment as president of a football club that I hated.
a mother who was a cleaning lady in large bourgeois houses where I accompanied her when I was not at school, a childminder and a handywoman at home.
in this I say a rather happy childhood protected with a rather healthy maternal love but an anxious mother all the same, a fear of everything. Devaluation of herself, a submission of the time to the man
who decides, who is served, the cliché who was not one at the time.
Arrives, between 8 and 11 years old, the break-in - the brother - who is no longer one.
A huge job but a fairly easy reconstruction all in all because at the time as Jeanne Moreau said
“Homosexual, heterosexual, it doesn't exist, we are sexual or not”
The very young encounter with death and this natural need
for support, my 11 year old nephew died of leukemia, my
friend Stéphane 18 years old died of a motorcycle accident and my brother of the heart
Olivier died at 23 years old of a stroke.
too many abnormal deaths.
I come to culture, the one I knew was the horrible accordion of the musette ball on Sunday mornings, that's where I come from, where I leave.
I leave at sixteen with my French teacher (her first year in education.
I have a relationship with my French teacher at 15
with her I read. I learn Love she makes us work on red
and black, the motorcycle and a very committed feminist book.
it begins.
I meet in the years 1974 1984 this decade
of carelessness so many things.
a totally unbridled sexuality Pasolini's Theorem without
the father for real and a couple that I don't like to call it a
substitution but a saving encounter
my drawing teacher with whom I also have a relationship for
several years and her husband Paul and there I enter an
intellectual environment and a left-wing bourgeoisie and yes!
they take me under their wings, somewhere they are afraid for me
He a great lover of German literature and surroundings
Hesse, Rilke, Goethe, Zweig the list is long, the novels
of apprenticeship like Narcissus and Goldmund, they make me
know the most beautiful of this time, the greatest pianists,
the greatest conductors, the greatest singers, the
painters of the Italian Renaissance up to Bacon ..the greatest choreographers Béjart and Pina Bausch among others and me
with each discovery I cry, I cry in 81 on the ballet Béjart,
on Jessye Norman, on the last four lieder, on the death
of Isolde I discover so many things that are finally me.
for what I am, for what I will become
they take me in the footsteps of Louis 2 of Bavaria, on Visconti
on Fellini, on Bergman …….., there is each time a slightly
deadly trigger linked to I think about what I lost Rilke linked to Visconti and
Death in Venice and this phrase that I made mine from the first
Elegy of Duino
“Because the beautiful is nothing other than the beginning of the
terrible, every angel is terrible
painting begins on the terrible with expressionism which
as a movement attracts me enormously because beyond the
disfigurements there is the story to come …
for me my two natural encounters without interventions that follow me
that are in me are Duras and Barbara, Duras I
met her a lot in Neauphle where she lived when she was not on rue st benoit, I read everything, I love her writing so much, her punctuations, her madness... Barbara is more than 100 concerts and a few very short interviews from 1978 at the Olympia until the last concert in 1993 she died at the age of 67, on a Monday, November 24 at the same time my 67 year old father died in my arms in palliative care I called my mother and told her it was beautiful they were born the same year and died the same day at Barbara's funeral during my father's funeral I
send my best friend
nothing is chance, there are links between all these meetings.
and then there are Naples and Capri two opposite beauties where I live.
I want to open a parenthesis on a magical moment a little
above the villa Malaparte where there was a terrace of extreme
simplicity facing the sea and a former singer and
wonderful pasta and opera arias in this nature too
it makes you cry.
the beauty and death are in art, literature, painting, music, stones, the dilapidation of Naples, just as an example, and the beauty of others and mine is not a highlighting but rather a mise en abyme, the confusion of the dying man in front of Tadzio, beauty can be a handicap, you attract too much, you give in too much, you have to calm down. Cinema before painting was my driving force, I was crazy about cinema, I still am, but creation is no longer such a rendezvous
that from the 50s to the 1980s
I note and I noted each film that I see that I saw
I have the memory of "the intendant sansho", from Fassbinder to
the wings of desire, today we still have Xavier Dolan
and Almodovar and Asian cinema and a few others
expressionism goes away a little to go towards the abstract and I
find myself there too.
then I approach surrealism deep down which does not touch me that much
that until to meet those who become very young my
icons Segal Kienholz, Beuys, Antoni Tapies and Soulages
the Dadaist movement inspires me.
here again we make connections, black the color of light.
I paint quite late in fact only more than 20 years ago
before I had the need to learn to be a spectator, with my eyes
wide open.
Now for a few years I often have my eyes
wide open to find in nature, around a trash can in short
everywhere I look to see the cardboard, the wood, the slate that speaks to me
already, I see because there are such and such tasks, such and such
traits the urgent possibility of creating. I can already see.
it is extremely rare that I start from the blank
Everything is salvaged, never the right format, the framing when it is not
financially possible is Emma's.
you will find unfinished things, badly framed there is next to
a wonderful framer, I must say that I am, when I am
there, in an emergency my workshop is full of things, of
pieces of all materials, of boxes that I dissect, I am not
careful worse I mistreat, I frame before it is
dry, I spend underwater an unfinished painting in the sense that it is not balanced, I tear it up, I redo it until the moment I stop but there is always in my head a possibility of changing sometimes I am told "don't touch it anymore" I often listen. in 2018 I did an exhibition in my garage I had not found myself. no name or defined style, I was searching.
I worked by theme, black lives matter, lighthouses, time and
then I gave up.
I chose to go towards the raw, to brutalize.
two events came to shake all that up, cancer, and it
is not nothing
and I accompanied my mother in her desire to leave, after
three years of reflection and words, we got
to know each other..
 we told each other everything up to the gesture of love.
I wanted to come full circle, no longer bear my brother's name and
pay tribute to this woman who was a victim of her time, not having
even been able to realize her desire to be a hairdresser and only
happy to be a mother.
we chose with my daughters MILAN KAMIL and MICO my mother
First names to Slavic consonance for the first and Arabic for the
second,
MILAN was for me a first name that did not pose any questions
that I tamed and loved totally desperately, Duras would say
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
With my face and my skin color in the street people often speak to me in Arabic so why not and in these bad times I am
proud of this Kamil who I hope will see the birth of a Palestinian state next to
the state of Israel when this democracy which is no longer one will become one again.
I like these first names, I feel good there, very good and then suddenly
the idea of MKM became obvious for the artist name
a friend that I quote in the acknowledgements automatically drew
the logo
I looked for many others and no it was the first one the right one
I have a name, a crazy desire to paint and everything is there in 1958 in Neauphle le Château, Paris region in a working class family, a father busy with his job which involved a lot of travelling, his commitment as a municipal councillor, his commitment as president of a football club that I hated. a mother who was a cleaning lady in large bourgeois houses where I accompanied her when I wasn't at school, a childminder and a handywoman at home. in this I say a rather happy, protected childhood with a rather healthy maternal love but an anxious mother all the same, a fear of everything. Devaluation of herself, a submission of the time to the man who decides, who is served, the cliché who was not one at the time.
Arrives, between 8 and 11 years old, the break-in - the brother - who is no longer one.
A huge job but a fairly easy reconstruction all in all because at the time as Jeanne Moreau said
“Homosexual, heterosexual, it doesn't exist, we are sexual or not”
The very young encounter with death and this natural need
for support, my 11 year old nephew died of leukemia, my
friend Stéphane 18 years old died of a motorcycle accident and my brother of the heart
Olivier died at 23 years old of a stroke.
too many abnormal deaths.
I come to culture, the one I knew was the horrible accordion of the musette ball on Sunday mornings, that's where I come from, where I leave.
I leave at sixteen with my French teacher (her first year in education.
I have a relationship with my French teacher at 15
with her I read. I learn Love she makes us work on red
and black, the motorcycle and a very committed feminist book.
it begins.
I meet in the years 1974 1984 this decade
of carelessness so many things.
a totally unbridled sexuality Pasolini's Theorem without
the father for real and a couple that I I don't like to call it a
substitution but a saving encounter
my drawing teacher with whom I also have a relationship for
several years and her husband Paul and there I enter an
intellectual environment and a left-wing bourgeoisie and yes!
they take me under their wings, somewhere they are afraid for me
He a great lover of German literature and surroundings
Hesse, Rilke, Goethe, Zweig the list is long, the novels
of learning like Narcissus and Goldmund, they make me
know the most beautiful of this time, the greatest pianists,
the greatest conductors, the greatest singers, the
painters of the Italian Renaissance up to Bacon .. the
greatest choreographers Béjart and Pina Bausch among others and me
to every discovery i cry, i cry in 81 on the ballet bejart,
on jessye norman, on the last four lieder, on the death
of isolde i discover so many things that are finally me.
for what i am, for what i will become
they take me in the footsteps of louis 2 of bavaria, on visconti
on fellini, on bergman …….., there is each time a slightly
deadly trigger linked i think of what i lost rilke bound a visconti and
died in venice and this phrase that I made mine from the first
elegy of Duino
“Because the beautiful is nothing other than the beginning of the
terrible, every angel is terrible
painting begins on the terrible with expressionism which
as a movement attracts me enormously because beyond the
disfigurements there is the story to come …
for me my two natural encounters without interventions which follow me
which are in me are Duras and Barbara, Duras I
met her a lot in Neauphle where she lived when she was not on rue st benoit, I read everything, I love her writing so much, her punctuations, her madness... Barbara is more than 100 concerts and a few very short interviews from 1978 at the Olympia until the last concert in 1993 she died at the age of 67, on a Monday, November 24 at the same time my 67 year old father died in my arms in palliative care I called my mother and told her it was beautiful they were born the same year and died the same day at Barbara's funeral during my father's funeral I
send my best friend
nothing is chance, there are links between all these meetings.
and then there are Naples and Capri two opposite beauties where I live.
I want to open a parenthesis on a magical moment a little
above the villa Malaparte where there was a terrace of extreme
simplicity facing the sea and a former singer and
wonderful pasta and opera arias in this nature too
it makes you cry.
the beauty and death are in art, literature, painting, music, stones, the dilapidation of Naples, just as an example, and the beauty of others and mine is not a highlighting but rather a mise en abyme, the confusion of the dying man in front of Tadzio, beauty can be a handicap, you attract too much, you give in too much, you have to calm down. Cinema before painting was my driving force, I was crazy about cinema, I still am, but creation is no longer such a rendezvous
that from the 50s to the 1980s
I note and I noted each film that I see that I saw
I have the memory of "the intendant sansho", from Fassbinder to
the wings of desire, today we still have Xavier Dolan
and Almodovar and Asian cinema and a few others
expressionism goes away a little to go towards the abstract and I
find myself there too.
then I approach surrealism deep down which does not touch me that much
that until to meet those who become very young my
icons Segal Kienholz, Beuys, Antoni Tapies and Soulages
the Dadaist movement inspires me.
here again we make connections, black the color of light.
I paint quite late in fact only more than 20 years ago
before I had the need to learn to be a spectator, with my eyes
wide open.
Now for a few years I often have my eyes
wide open to find in nature, around a trash can in short
everywhere I look to see the cardboard, the wood, the slate that speaks to me
already, I see because there are such and such tasks, such and such
traits the urgent possibility of creating. I can already see.
it is extremely rare that I start from the blank
Everything is salvaged, never the right format, the framing when it is not
financially possible is Emma's.
you will find unfinished things, badly framed there is next to
a wonderful framer, I must say that I am, when I am
there, in an emergency my workshop is full of things, of
pieces of all materials, of boxes that I dissect, I am not
careful worse I mistreat, I frame before it is
dry, I spend underwater an unfinished painting in the sense that it is not balanced, I tear it up, I redo it until the moment I stop but there is always in my head a possibility of changing sometimes I am told "don't touch it anymore" I often listen. in 2018 I did an exhibition in my garage I had not found myself. no name or defined style, I was searching.
I worked by theme, black lives matter, lighthouses, time and
then I gave up.
I chose to go towards the raw, to brutalize.
two events came to shake all that up, cancer, and it
is not nothing
and I accompanied my mother in her desire to leave, after
three years of reflection and words, we got
to know each other..
 we told each other everything up to the gesture of love.
I wanted to come full circle, no longer bear my brother's name and
pay tribute to this woman who was a victim of her time, not having
even been able to realize her desire to be a hairdresser and only
happy to be a mother.
we chose with my daughters MILAN KAMIL and MICO my mother
First names to Slavic consonance for the first and Arabic for the
second,
MILAN was for me a first name that did not pose any questions
that I tamed and loved totally desperately, Duras would say
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
With my face and my skin color in the street people often speak to me in Arabic so why not and in these bad times I am
proud of this Kamil who I hope will see the birth of a Palestinian state next to
the state of Israel when this democracy which is no longer one will become one again.
I like these first names, I feel good there, very good and then suddenly
the idea of MKM became obvious for the artist name
a friend that I quote in the acknowledgements automatically drew
the logo
I looked for many others and no it was the first one the right one
I have a name, a crazy desire to paint and everything is there in 1958 in Neauphle le Château, Paris region in a working class family, a father busy with his job which involved a lot of travelling, his commitment as a municipal councillor, his commitment as president of a football club that I hated. a mother who was a cleaning lady in large bourgeois houses where I accompanied her when I wasn't at school, a childminder and a handywoman at home. in this I say a rather happy, protected childhood with a rather healthy maternal love but an anxious mother all the same, a fear of everything. Devaluation of herself, a submission of the time to the man who decides, who is served, the cliché who was not one at the time.
Arrives, between 8 and 11 years old, the break-in - the brother - who is no longer one.
A huge job but a fairly easy reconstruction all in all because at the time as Jeanne Moreau said
“Homosexual, heterosexual, it doesn't exist, we are sexual or not”
The very young encounter with death and this natural need
for support, my 11 year old nephew died of leukemia, my
friend Stéphane 18 years old died of a motorcycle accident and my brother of the heart
Olivier died at 23 years old of a stroke.
too many abnormal deaths.
I come to culture, the one I knew was the horrible accordion of the musette ball on Sunday mornings, that's where I come from, where I leave.
I leave at sixteen with my French teacher (her first year in education.
I have a relationship with my French teacher at 15
with her I read. I learn Love she makes us work on red
and black, the motorcycle and a very committed feminist book.
it begins.
I meet in the years 1974 1984 this decade
of carelessness so many things.
a totally unbridled sexuality Pasolini's Theorem without
the father for real and a couple that I I don't like to call it a
substitution but a saving encounter
my drawing teacher with whom I also have a relationship for
several years and her husband Paul and there I enter an
intellectual environment and a left-wing bourgeoisie and yes!
they take me under their wings, somewhere they are afraid for me
He a great lover of German literature and surroundings
Hesse, Rilke, Goethe, Zweig the list is long, the novels
of learning like Narcissus and Goldmund, they make me
know the most beautiful of this time, the greatest pianists,
the greatest conductors, the greatest singers, the
painters of the Italian Renaissance up to Bacon .. the
greatest choreographers Béjart and Pina Bausch among others and me
to every discovery i cry, i cry in 81 on the ballet bejart,
on jessye norman, on the last four lieder, on the death
of isolde i discover so many things that are finally me.
for what i am, for what i will become
they take me in the footsteps of louis 2 of bavaria, on visconti
on fellini, on bergman …….., there is each time a slightly
deadly trigger linked i think of what i lost rilke bound a visconti and
died in venice and this phrase that I made mine from the first
elegy of Duino
“Because the beautiful is nothing other than the beginning of the
terrible, every angel is terrible
painting begins on the terrible with expressionism which
as a movement attracts me enormously because beyond the
disfigurements there is the story to come …
for me my two natural encounters without interventions which follow me
which are in me are Duras and Barbara, Duras I
met her a lot in Neauphle where she lived when she was not on rue st benoit, I read everything, I love her writing so much, her punctuations, her madness... Barbara is more than 100 concerts and a few very short interviews from 1978 at the Olympia until the last concert in 1993 she died at the age of 67, on a Monday, November 24 at the same time my 67 year old father died in my arms in palliative care I called my mother and told her it was beautiful they were born the same year and died the same day at Barbara's funeral during my father's funeral I
send my best friend
nothing is chance, there are links between all these meetings.
and then there are Naples and Capri two opposite beauties where I live.
I want to open a parenthesis on a magical moment a little
above the villa Malaparte where there was a terrace of extreme
simplicity facing the sea and a former singer and
wonderful pasta and opera arias in this nature too
it makes you cry.
the beauty and death are in art, literature, painting, music, stones, the dilapidation of Naples, just as an example, and the beauty of others and mine is not a highlighting but rather a mise en abyme, the confusion of the dying man in front of Tadzio, beauty can be a handicap, you attract too much, you give in too much, you have to calm down. Cinema before painting was my driving force, I was crazy about cinema, I still am, but creation is no longer such a rendezvous
that from the 50s to the 1980s
I note and I noted each film that I see that I saw
I have the memory of "the intendant sansho", from Fassbinder to
the wings of desire, today we still have Xavier Dolan
and Almodovar and Asian cinema and a few others
expressionism goes away a little to go towards the abstract and I
find myself there too.
then I approach surrealism deep down which does not touch me that much
that until to meet those who become very young my
icons Segal Kienholz, Beuys, Antoni Tapies and Soulages
the Dadaist movement inspires me.
here again we make connections, black the color of light.
I paint quite late in fact only more than 20 years ago
before I had the need to learn to be a spectator, with my eyes
wide open.
Now for a few years I often have my eyes
wide open to find in nature, around a trash can in short
everywhere I look to see the cardboard, the wood, the slate that speaks to me
already, I see because there are such and such tasks, such and such
traits the urgent possibility of creating. I can already see.
it is extremely rare that I start from the blank
Everything is salvaged, never the right format, the framing when it is not
financially possible is Emma's.
you will find unfinished things, badly framed there is next to
a wonderful framer, I must say that I am, when I am
there, in an emergency my workshop is full of things, of
pieces of all materials, of boxes that I dissect, I am not
careful worse I mistreat, I frame before it is
dry, I spend underwater an unfinished painting in the sense that it is not balanced, I tear it up, I redo it until the moment I stop but there is always in my head a possibility of changing sometimes I am told "don't touch it anymore" I often listen. in 2018 I did an exhibition in my garage I had not found myself. no name or defined style, I was searching.
I worked by theme, black lives matter, lighthouses, time and
then I gave up.
I chose to go towards the raw, to brutalize.
two events came to shake all that up, cancer, and it
is not nothing
and I accompanied my mother in her desire to leave, after
three years of reflection and words, we got
to know each other..
 we told each other everything up to the gesture of love.
I wanted to come full circle, no longer bear my brother's name and
pay tribute to this woman who was a victim of her time, not having
even been able to realize her desire to be a hairdresser and only
happy to be a mother.
we chose with my daughters MILAN KAMIL and MICO my mother
First names to Slavic consonance for the first and Arabic for the
second,
MILAN was for me a first name that did not pose any questions
that I tamed and loved totally desperately, Duras would say
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
With my face and my skin color in the street people often speak to me in Arabic so why not and in these bad times I am
proud of this Kamil who I hope will see the birth of a Palestinian state next to
the state of Israel when this democracy which is no longer one will become one again.
I like these first names, I feel good there, very good and then suddenly
the idea of MKM became obvious for the artist name
a friend that I quote in the acknowledgements automatically drew
the logo
I looked for many others and no it was the first one the right one
I have a name, a crazy desire to paint and everything is there in 1958 in Neauphle le Château, Paris region in a working class family, a father busy with his job which involved a lot of travelling, his commitment as a municipal councillor, his commitment as president of a football club that I hated. a mother who was a cleaning lady in large bourgeois houses where I accompanied her when I wasn't at school, a childminder and a handywoman at home. in this I say a rather happy, protected childhood with a rather healthy maternal love but an anxious mother all the same, a fear of everything. Devaluation of herself, a submission of the time to the man who decides, who is served, the cliché who was not one at the time.
Arrives, between 8 and 11 years old, the break-in - the brother - who is no longer one.
A huge job but a fairly easy reconstruction all in all because at the time as Jeanne Moreau said
“Homosexual, heterosexual, it doesn't exist, we are sexual or not”
The very young encounter with death and this natural need
for support, my 11 year old nephew died of leukemia, my
friend Stéphane 18 years old died of a motorcycle accident and my brother of the heart
Olivier died at 23 years old of a stroke.
too many abnormal deaths.
I come to culture, the one I knew was the horrible accordion of the musette ball on Sunday mornings, that's where I come from, where I leave.
I leave at sixteen with my French teacher (her first year in education.
I have a relationship with my French teacher at 15
with her I read. I learn Love she makes us work on red
and black, the motorcycle and a very committed feminist book.
it begins.
I meet in the years 1974 1984 this decade
of carelessness so many things.
a totally unbridled sexuality Pasolini's Theorem without
the father for real and a couple that I I don't like to call it a
substitution but a saving encounter
my drawing teacher with whom I also have a relationship for
several years and her husband Paul and there I enter an
intellectual environment and a left-wing bourgeoisie and yes!
they take me under their wings, somewhere they are afraid for me
He a great lover of German literature and surroundings
Hesse, Rilke, Goethe, Zweig the list is long, the novels
of learning like Narcissus and Goldmund, they make me
know the most beautiful of this time, the greatest pianists,
the greatest conductors, the greatest singers, the
painters of the Italian Renaissance up to Bacon .. the
greatest choreographers Béjart and Pina Bausch among others and me
to every discovery i cry, i cry in 81 on the ballet bejart,
on jessye norman, on the last four lieder, on the death
of isolde i discover so many things that are finally me.
for what i am, for what i will become
they take me in the footsteps of louis 2 of bavaria, on visconti
on fellini, on bergman …….., there is each time a slightly
deadly trigger linked i think of what i lost rilke bound a visconti and
died in venice and this phrase that I made mine from the first
elegy of Duino
“Because the beautiful is nothing other than the beginning of the
terrible, every angel is terrible
painting begins on the terrible with expressionism which
as a movement attracts me enormously because beyond the
disfigurements there is the story to come …
for me my two natural encounters without interventions which follow me
which are in me are Duras and Barbara, Duras I
met her a lot in Neauphle where she lived when she was not on rue st benoit, I read everything, I love her writing so much, her punctuations, her madness... Barbara is more than 100 concerts and a few very short interviews from 1978 at the Olympia until the last concert in 1993 she died at the age of 67, on a Monday, November 24 at the same time my 67 year old father died in my arms in palliative care I called my mother and told her it was beautiful they were born the same year and died the same day at Barbara's funeral during my father's funeral I
send my best friend
nothing is chance, there are links between all these meetings.
and then there are Naples and Capri two opposite beauties where I live.
I want to open a parenthesis on a magical moment a little
above the villa Malaparte where there was a terrace of extreme
simplicity facing the sea and a former singer and
wonderful pasta and opera arias in this nature too
it makes you cry.
the beauty and death are in art, literature, painting, music, stones, the dilapidation of Naples, just as an example, and the beauty of others and mine is not a highlighting but rather a mise en abyme, the confusion of the dying man in front of Tadzio, beauty can be a handicap, you attract too much, you give in too much, you have to calm down. Cinema before painting was my driving force, I was crazy about cinema, I still am, but creation is no longer such a rendezvous
that from the 50s to the 1980s
I note and I noted each film that I see that I saw
I have the memory of "the intendant sansho", from Fassbinder to
the wings of desire, today we still have Xavier Dolan
and Almodovar and Asian cinema and a few others
expressionism goes away a little to go towards the abstract and I
find myself there too.
then I approach surrealism deep down which does not touch me that much
that until to meet those who become very young my
icons Segal Kienholz, Beuys, Antoni Tapies and Soulages
the Dadaist movement inspires me.
here again we make connections, black the color of light.
I paint quite late in fact only more than 20 years ago
before I had the need to learn to be a spectator, with my eyes
wide open.
Now for a few years I often have my eyes
wide open to find in nature, around a trash can in short
everywhere I look to see the cardboard, the wood, the slate that speaks to me
already, I see because there are such and such tasks, such and such
traits the urgent possibility of creating. I can already see.
it is extremely rare that I start from the blank
Everything is salvaged, never the right format, the framing when it is not
financially possible is Emma's.
you will find unfinished things, badly framed there is next to
a wonderful framer, I must say that I am, when I am
there, in an emergency my workshop is full of things, of
pieces of all materials, of boxes that I dissect, I am not
careful worse I mistreat, I frame before it is
dry, I spend underwater an unfinished painting in the sense that it is not balanced, I tear it up, I redo it until the moment I stop but there is always in my head a possibility of changing sometimes I am told "don't touch it anymore" I often listen. in 2018 I did an exhibition in my garage I had not found myself. no name or defined style, I was searching.
I worked by theme, black lives matter, lighthouses, time and
then I gave up.
I chose to go towards the raw, to brutalize.
two events came to shake all that up, cancer, and it
is not nothing
and I accompanied my mother in her desire to leave, after
three years of reflection and words, we got
to know each other..
 we told each other everything up to the gesture of love.
I wanted to come full circle, no longer bear my brother's name and
pay tribute to this woman who was a victim of her time, not having
even been able to realize her desire to be a hairdresser and only
happy to be a mother.
we chose with my daughters MILAN KAMIL and MICO my mother
First names to Slavic consonance for the first and Arabic for the
second,
MILAN was for me a first name that did not pose any questions
that I tamed and loved totally desperately, Duras would say
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
With my face and my skin color in the street people often speak to me in Arabic so why not and in these bad times I am
proud of this Kamil who I hope will see the birth of a Palestinian state next to
the state of Israel when this democracy which is no longer one will become one again.
I like these first names, I feel good there, very good and then suddenly
the idea of MKM became obvious for the artist name
a friend that I quote in the acknowledgements automatically drew
the logo
I looked for many others and no it was the first one the right one
I have a name, a crazy desire to paint and everything is there in 1958 in Neauphle le Château, Paris region in a working class family, a father busy with his job which involved a lot of travelling, his commitment as a municipal councillor, his commitment as president of a football club that I hated. a mother who was a cleaning lady in large bourgeois houses where I accompanied her when I wasn't at school, a childminder and a handywoman at home. in this I say a rather happy, protected childhood with a rather healthy maternal love but an anxious mother all the same, a fear of everything. Devaluation of herself, a submission of the time to the man who decides, who is served, the cliché who was not one at the time.
Arrives, between 8 and 11 years old, the break-in - the brother - who is no longer one.
A huge job but a fairly easy reconstruction all in all because at the time as Jeanne Moreau said
“Homosexual, heterosexual, it doesn't exist, we are sexual or not”
The very young encounter with death and this natural need
for support, my 11 year old nephew died of leukemia, my
friend Stéphane 18 years old died of a motorcycle accident and my brother of the heart
Olivier died at 23 years old of a stroke.
too many abnormal deaths.
I come to culture, the one I knew was the horrible accordion of the musette ball on Sunday mornings, that's where I come from, where I leave.
I leave at sixteen with my French teacher (her first year in education.
I have a relationship with my French teacher at 15
with her I read. I learn Love she makes us work on red
and black, the motorcycle and a very committed feminist book.
it begins.
I meet in the years 1974 1984 this decade
of carelessness so many things.
a totally unbridled sexuality Pasolini's Theorem without
the father for real and a couple that I I don't like to call it a
substitution but a saving encounter
my drawing teacher with whom I also have a relationship for
several years and her husband Paul and there I enter an
intellectual environment and a left-wing bourgeoisie and yes!
they take me under their wings, somewhere they are afraid for me
He a great lover of German literature and surroundings
Hesse, Rilke, Goethe, Zweig the list is long, the novels
of learning like Narcissus and Goldmund, they make me
know the most beautiful of this time, the greatest pianists,
the greatest conductors, the greatest singers, the
painters of the Italian Renaissance up to Bacon .. the
greatest choreographers Béjart and Pina Bausch among others and me
to every discovery i cry, i cry in 81 on the ballet bejart,
on jessye norman, on the last four lieder, on the death
of isolde i discover so many things that are finally me.
for what i am, for what i will become
they take me in the footsteps of louis 2 of bavaria, on visconti
on fellini, on bergman …….., there is each time a slightly
deadly trigger linked i think of what i lost rilke bound a visconti and
died in venice and this phrase that I made mine from the first
elegy of Duino
“Because the beautiful is nothing other than the beginning of the
terrible, every angel is terrible
painting begins on the terrible with expressionism which
as a movement attracts me enormously because beyond the
disfigurements there is the story to come …
for me my two natural encounters without interventions which follow me
which are in me are Duras and Barbara, Duras I
met her a lot in Neauphle where she lived when she was not on rue st benoit, I read everything, I love her writing so much, her punctuations, her madness... Barbara is more than 100 concerts and a few very short interviews from 1978 at the Olympia until the last concert in 1993 she died at the age of 67, on a Monday, November 24 at the same time my 67 year old father died in my arms in palliative care I called my mother and told her it was beautiful they were born the same year and died the same day at Barbara's funeral during my father's funeral I
send my best friend
nothing is chance, there are links between all these meetings.
and then there are Naples and Capri two opposite beauties where I live.
I want to open a parenthesis on a magical moment a little
above the villa Malaparte where there was a terrace of extreme
simplicity facing the sea and a former singer and
wonderful pasta and opera arias in this nature too
it makes you cry.
the beauty and death are in art, literature, painting, music, stones, the dilapidation of Naples, just as an example, and the beauty of others and mine is not a highlighting but rather a mise en abyme, the confusion of the dying man in front of Tadzio, beauty can be a handicap, you attract too much, you give in too much, you have to calm down. Cinema before painting was my driving force, I was crazy about cinema, I still am, but creation is no longer such a rendezvous
that from the 50s to the 1980s
I note and I noted each film that I see that I saw
I have the memory of "the intendant sansho", from Fassbinder to
the wings of desire, today we still have Xavier Dolan
and Almodovar and Asian cinema and a few others
expressionism goes away a little to go towards the abstract and I
find myself there too.
then I approach surrealism deep down which does not touch me that much
that until to meet those who become very young my
icons Segal Kienholz, Beuys, Antoni Tapies and Soulages
the Dadaist movement inspires me.
here again we make connections, black the color of light.
I paint quite late in fact only more than 20 years ago
before I had the need to learn to be a spectator, with my eyes
wide open.
Now for a few years I often have my eyes
wide open to find in nature, around a trash can in short
everywhere I look to see the cardboard, the wood, the slate that speaks to me
already, I see because there are such and such tasks, such and such
traits the urgent possibility of creating. I can already see.
it is extremely rare that I start from the blank
Everything is salvaged, never the right format, the framing when it is not
financially possible is Emma's.
you will find unfinished things, badly framed there is next to
a wonderful framer, I must say that I am, when I am
there, in an emergency my workshop is full of things, of
pieces of all materials, of boxes that I dissect, I am not
careful worse I mistreat, I frame before it is
dry, I spend underwater an unfinished painting in the sense that it is not balanced, I tear it up, I redo it until the moment I stop but there is always in my head a possibility of changing sometimes I am told "don't touch it anymore" I often listen. in 2018 I did an exhibition in my garage I had not found myself. no name or defined style, I was searching.
I worked by theme, black lives matter, lighthouses, time and
then I gave up.
I chose to go towards the raw, to brutalize.
two events came to shake all that up, cancer, and it
is not nothing
and I accompanied my mother in her desire to leave, after
three years of reflection and words, we got
to know each other..
 we told each other everything up to the gesture of love.
I wanted to come full circle, no longer bear my brother's name and
pay tribute to this woman who was a victim of her time, not having
even been able to realize her desire to be a hairdresser and only
happy to be a mother.
we chose with my daughters MILAN KAMIL and MICO my mother
First names to Slavic consonance for the first and Arabic for the
second,
MILAN was for me a first name that did not pose any questions
that I tamed and loved totally desperately, Duras would say
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
With my face and my skin color in the street people often speak to me in Arabic so why not and in these bad times I am
proud of this Kamil who I hope will see the birth of a Palestinian state next to
the state of Israel when this democracy which is no longer one will become one again.
I like these first names, I feel good there, very good and then suddenly
the idea of MKM became obvious for the artist name
a friend that I quote in the acknowledgements automatically drew
the logo
I looked for many others and no it was the first one the right one
I have a name, a crazy desire to paint and everything is there