The Louvre is the biggest museum in the world. For most people, a visit means rushing through the crowds to see the Mona Lisa. But this time, I walked past her and headed somewhere else — into the Department of Decorative Arts, one of the Louvre’s best-kept secrets.

Here, the exhibition Louvre Couture — Objets d’art, objets de mode reveals a story not often told: how art and fashion have always been in conversation, across centuries, cultures, and empires.

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.

Cézanne once called the Louvre “the book in which we learn to read.” This exhibition shows how designers, as much as painters and sculptors, have been reading and rewriting that book for centuries.

The setting itself is striking. Instead of white walls, the show unfolds among medieval ivories, Renaissance jewelry, royal tapestries, and the opulent Napoleon III Apartments. Inside these velvet-red rooms, Dior gowns stand before gilded mirrors, Chanel details echo Renaissance enamel, and a Balenciaga silhouette floats beneath painted ceilings.

Fashion doesn’t compete with decorative art here — it blends, flirts, and reflects it.

As a Myanmar artist, this struck a chord with me. In my culture, fabric is never just fabric. A htamein or acheik pattern carries class, region, and memory.

Seeing couture gowns next to Byzantine art made me imagine our own textiles — longyis, handwoven patterns — displayed alongside our temples, manuscripts, and crafts. But in Myanmar, much of this history has been neglected, hidden, or erased. No museum is putting it in dialogue with masterpieces. One day, I hope that will change.

I often travel with fabrics, scraps, and patterns that later resurface in my paintings. Walking through Louvre Couture, I realized that this habit isn’t unique — it’s exactly how couture has always worked. Designers from Chanel to Balenciaga were collectors, remixers, recyclers of history.

Perhaps that is what all artists do: carry fragments of the past, stitch them into the present, and hope they survive into the future.

Yes, I did stop to greet the Mona Lisa on my way out — a quick smile and a quick selfie. But the real story of the day was elsewhere, in the silent conversation between a Dior gown and a 17th-century tapestry.

Louvre Couture isn’t just an exhibition of dresses. It is a reminder that art and fashion have always mirrored each other — through wealth, politics, beauty, and power.

And it leaves us with a question worth carrying:
When future generations look at our fabrics, our art, and our clothes, what stories will they see in them?

👉 Watch my full video reflection here:

👉 For the roots of couture, see my article on the Worth exhibition at Petit Palais.

 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.