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The artist now considers this childhood to have been his first form of artistic education, and compares the flea market to a museum in ruin.

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This vision also serves as a metaphor and expresses the essential aspects of his work. Influenced by the idea of defunct media and the collapse of the industrial and consumerist society, he develops a conception of the status of the work of art located somewhere between Archive and Archeology. By using materials such as antenna cable, typewriters and VHS tapes, mounir fatmi elaborates an experimental archeology that questions the world and the role of the artist in a society in crisis.

He twists its codes and precepts through the prism of a trinity comprising Architecture, Language and Machine. Thus, he questions the limits of memory, language and communication while reflecting upon these obsolescent materials and their uncertain future. Though they represent key moments in our contemporary history, these technical materials also call into question the transmission of knowledge and the suggestive power of images and criticize the illusory mechanisms that bind us to technology and ideologies.

His work has been presented in numerous personal exhibits, at the Migros Museum, Zurich. AK Bank Foundation, Istanbul. He also participated in several collective exhibits at the Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris. Brooklyn Museum, New York.


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Palais de Tokyo, Paris. Mori Art Museum, Tokyo. A plastic artist exhibited in the world's most prestigious museums, he is a Moroccan who started his career working for an advertising agency. Before he moved on to provocation Mona Lisa with her head flipped upside down, a white sheep eating her hands. How could I ever have become a classic artist after that? If you like watercolors, still lives or marble busts, don't bother with him.

Mounir Fatmi is a video maker, photographer, painter and sculptor and more than anything an elusive artist. Driven by his insatiable curiosity, he bases his work on archives, photographs and even newspaper articles. Most of his work takes the form of ominous installations made of VHS tapes, cables or horse jumping bars. They are disconcerting metaphors of our times.

Le pêcheur à l'ambre jaune - The amber fisher (2003 - french tv movie)

Violent and possessed, they convey a grave and poetic vision of the world. Anti-conformist Mounir Fatmi welcomes us in his studio in a Paris suburb. That's where he works, despite the racket coming from the illegal video game arcade next door. He might have made th in the list of the world's most highly rated artists, with works that sell anywhere between Gallery owners call him from New York and Los Angeles, his work has been awarded prestigious prizes, but he continues to work like a humble artisan.

When he was 4, he already knew we wanted to be a painter. But nothing in his early life as a child destined him to such a vocation. Why is it so dishonorable to be nocturnal? Cannot some prefer the moon to the sun? She was Woman and I was Man. Our bodies lay naked on the bed, panting like two beaten and worn animals. Our bedroom resembled a battlefield. Our passionate combat had lasted two days: forty-hours of straight love-making where we ceased only momentarily every so often to drink the necessary water and to eat, for our sexual exercise exhausted our fuel supplies.

Now, when the sunlight of another morning flooded the room to bake our bodies that were blown, expired and intertwined on the sheets, I thought to leave her to sleep so that I could begin again my work, which I had put off since she and I reunited. Ah, happy I was to be at my desk this day! I kissed her earlobe and tasted the salt left over from our passion; and enjoying the taste infinitely, I kissed it once again, and then one time again; but this renewed affection of mine stirred the tired girl who began to purr with enjoyment, but she needed her sleep. And so, I dragged myself from this most perfect of beings on this holiest of mornings and went to my desk at the windows overlooking the smoky souks and bazaars of Marrakech and set ink to paper.

What to write? Our sensual battle had been so intense—so musical —that this morning commanded poetry instead of prose: verses to honor the divine female sleeping near me. Thus, I drafted out the following lines…. I hesitate on the title. I had wandered the earth for the latter half of my life [1]. Sometimes I lived like a king, money and pleasure in abundance; other times, I was without coin or bread: a pauper and poet living in a garret, although I was always inspired.

There were nights when I held a sweet woman in my arms, limbs woven together like two ancient trees entwined for centuries; other nights, I slept alone—perhaps on a bed, maybe on a floor. I had bad dreams often: another wanderer on his path to nowhere. But whenever I became discouraged, I would tell myself that I am living for literature, and there is nothing in this life holier.

The Fates decided I would be an adventurer in this life: a wanderer. Not a traveler but a wanderer. These discoveries are essential to realizing what it means to be human. To wander is to be alive. All of what one knows of life, growing up and reaching maturity in the Occident—in Europe or America—is meaningless in this hot, sandy black hole of space and time. One feels here living in the 45 th dimension.

He began travelling at age Four of you seven belong to the fair sex, and three to the… sex that is… unfair? The first Muse of the unfair people is the fairest man I know both in giving and generosity, and in stately appearance [as he is a descendant of the poetess Sappho, and there is much evidence that states that he is the reincarnation of Achilles who helped sack the ancient citadel of Troy]. His name is Pietros Maneos. He is a distinguished poet and his kleos already reaches to Heaven.

The second of the less than fair sex is my best friend in the world—has been for the last 18 years. Mich Poe and I met on Belmont Street where he spent his hours in a depressive state, popping Zoloft and playing Mozart on his upright piano. Mich Poe and I were forever friends after those three days, which also cured him for a long time of his depression.

Mich would come down to visit me from time to time, smoke his weed, and try to convince me that the short stories I was writing were better than my song compositions. Mich Poe first planted the idea of me being a novelist, and then my fate was sealed as a novelist when the tip of my picking hand was torn off in the cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris two years later.

Now for the last muse of mine who carries more body-hair and testosterone than pleases my eye, is my best friend east of America; he lives in my city: Marrakech. He lives in my Riad He is, like me, an artistocrat in Morocco, for his blood is Egyptian and his extebded family commissioned the Pyramids. The first beautiful Muse is she I have known the longest: louis Lunderburg of Sweden, who I first saw by peering at her from between my legs.

Sounds odd? I saw her wonderfully tall body, and her emaciated limbs which were very attractive because they made me curious. In short, I went to speak with her, yet given the circumstances of our meeting, I disobeyed all of my masculine urges and rules for advancement, and behaved during each of our rendezvous like a perfect gentleman. And Louise was the perfect lady: sophisticated, cultured, and extremely intelligent.


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  7. Actually, of my four feminine muses, only one is not Swedish. Dear Tara: Charlotte Eriksson is musician, singer, and performer like you. The short-term sensation was euphoric. Anyway, thanks to you Seven Muses, I am writing again. Charlotte Eriksson now figures as one of the four modern novelists whose books I read with pleasure.

    Tara Lee is my musical Muse. The last to be mentioned is probably the most important, Olivia, as she has the ability to supply me with a steady supply of blood, food, and water. My other six Muses can inspire with intellectual nourishment. No… I could not… and I would not want to write this next novel without Olivia in my life.

    Click here for the Billboard page. Why do so many humans invest a considerable portion of their fortunes on, and are so appreciative of, the advancements in neuroscience? In , however, we no longer kid ourselves privately or publicly. Today it is as acceptable to tell a stranger or a new acquaintance that you are on antidepressant drug or other psychotropic substances; or that you perform anything from yoga and meditation, to Catholic rituals or Muslim prayer.

    The true life is one that is both everlasting and happy. For never did I experience a story so hallucinatory as when I embarked upon your sand. Twenty years of traveling has taught me to survive all culture shock, fits of panic, agoraphobia, and other disorders that originate from fear.

    Yet this only applied to the most sophisticated cities in the world. Coming from Paris—arguably the most elegant and polite metropolis on our planet—to a bustling city in Africa where the main square near my riad. Yet now, I am obliged, you understand, to treat you always with profound kindness, replying with courtesy to every message you send me.

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    For I would never forgive myself if a woman started to hate one of her body parts because she found out just how selfish, idle and monstrous the author of her tattoo is in real life. Female initiation tales in novels are much more rare, and when we do see them, they almost never involve solitary travel. Upon the death of her family, she inherits an income which allows her complete independence throughout her teenage years. This income far from consoles her. Like any great novel, there is a great romance. I obviously have no life experience in that role, yet the women who have read the advanced copies are unanimously positive.

    They expressed their delight and say that Saskia is lovable, convincing, and a highly-successful character. He left America in and currently lives in Paris. His novels are highly poetic, romantic and literary. They focus on the lives of dreamers and wanderers who travel usually throughout Europe looking for the meaning of their lives and of the world. The wanderer stops to take respite as he roams about. Payne, your new novel, The Love of Europa , was just partially published — that is, the first 13 chapters were released to give readers a taste for what to expect.

    Do you intend to serial publish more of the book? Or will the next release be the entire book? I have to finish writing it first, though.

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    I like it even more than The Wanderess, which some people believed would be your masterpiece, and perhaps your final work. Or just take up watercolours instead of writing? She lived every kind of life and dreamt every kind of dream. She was wild in her wandering, a drop of free water. She believed only in her life and in her dreams. She called herself Europa, and her god was Beauty. You are like a classical composer who reuses bits of his own melodies in multiple symphonies.

    He punches the table. Let me find something in my manuscript for The Love of Europa that I wrote to explain this. These discoveries, Dear Reader, are essential to realizing what it means to be human. Click the image above to doanload the Kindle novel preview for free from now until Sunday, March 29th See the original interview at www. Maneos, 35, is no less a son of the divine Homer. The two authors and the editor Jean Sitori are sitting in the office of the newspaper Literature Monthly in Paris.

    Jean is entranced as he watches Maneos stand and demonstrate how to properly hurl the discus. After a moment, Jean turns his attention to Payne…. Were you writing well in Greece?


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    8. When I get tricked into leaving France, I almost always regret it afterwards. I initially went to Greece this trip to research my next novel at a place on the beach just outside of Athens. But the weather got bad, the sea turned cold and violent—fault of Poseidon! I can deal with nasty weather. But when the inspiration to write disappears, I lose my mind. Here I was in Greece: the birthplace of the muses, and they had abandoned me. I tried all the tricks to get literary inspiration back: yoga, running, hard alcohol, nothing worked.

      En concert dans toute la France. Si le temps ne le permet pas, exercez-vous sur un tapis ou bien dansez chez vous. Barbara Sturm, sur net-a-porter. Ce blues hivernal peut provoquer un sentiment de grande fatigue et de tristesse. On conseille de le laisser hors de la chambre ou de le mettre en mode avion. Nordurljosavegur 11, Grindavik.

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