As a Myanmar artist living in Paris, I often wander into museums searching for more than just paintings. I look for the hidden stories — the invisible threads that connect art, identity, and resilience. At the Musée d’Art Moderne de Paris, I discovered Matisse et Marguerite — an exhibition not just about Henri Matisse, but about the woman who shaped his life and legacy: his daughter, Marguerite.

For me, this exhibition was also about another question: how do we remember the women behind art history, and how often do we forget them?

Henri Matisse was born on New Year’s Eve 1869 in a modest family in northern France. At 20, while recovering from appendicitis in the hospital, his mother gave him art supplies to pass the time. That accident of fate turned into his life’s direction. He later described art as his “paradise.”

I feel this deeply. Sometimes we don’t choose art — it chooses us, often in moments of pain. For me, I began painting women after experiencing sexual harassment on the streets of Myanmar. It was my way to give voice to something silenced in society.

Matisse shocked the art world with Fauvism — explosive color, unapologetic brushstrokes, paintings that demanded to be felt, not just seen. His palette was radical, bold, even brutal at times. He wasn’t polite with color; he made it roar.

But this exhibition is not about Fauvism alone. It centers on Marguerite, his eldest daughter, who appears in over 110 of his works. Born in 1894, she was more than a model. After a childhood illness left her with a scar on her neck, she often wore scarves or ribbons in portraits. Through her father’s eyes, she radiates calm, loyalty, and depth.

Her story is what fascinated me most — not as muse, but as witness, archivist, and resistance fighter.

Marguerite stopped posing after her marriage in 1923, but she never disappeared. Instead, she became her father’s organizer, agent, and archivist — making it possible for him to work in peace.

During World War II, she joined the French Resistance, was arrested, tortured, and nearly deported to Ravensbrück. She escaped when an Allied air raid stopped her train. After the war, she returned to her father, who drew two final portraits of her in charcoal. They carry a quiet, almost unbearable weight.

Marguerite also painted in her youth, some works collected by the Cone sisters in Baltimore, and later explored fashion design. But her true legacy lies in safeguarding her father’s career and ensuring that Matisse’s art lives on. She died in 1982, yet her fingerprints remain on his legacy.

Matisse et Marguerite is not just a father-and-daughter exhibition. It is a story about resilience, devotion, and the hidden labor behind great names. It reminds us that art is never created alone — it carries the presence of those who stand beside us, often unseen.

For me, this exhibition also deepened my gratitude toward those who support my own path — the ones who encourage me, collaborate with me, and even those who watch these reflections on my YouTube channel.

And perhaps, if we look closer, we may also begin to recover the missing names of women — in Myanmar, in France, and everywhere else history forgot to write them down.

 You can watch my video reflection on this exhibition here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4pfqm3Wqx0

And if you know anything about Myanmar women artists before World War II, I would love to hear from you. Together, maybe we can start uncovering this history.