We chose it above all for its setting. It's surrounded by beautiful trees, alive with birdsong. You catch sight of it at the end of a shaded path, almost as if it were hidden in the woods, before this little white cabin suddenly appears in a clearing. That's what I love most about it. It's a typical 70-square-metre Maison Girolle, characteristic of the Lège-Cap Ferret Peninsula. I adore this architecture, these timber houses designed to open generously onto the outdoors. When we moved in not so long ago, every room had white floor tiles. All I did was lay down my rugs and, suddenly, the house felt like ours. I love its studio-like atmosphere. Christopher is making music, I'm drawing, the children are running around and playing; there are leaves, paintbrushes and guitars everywhere. Everything blends together. It's not a house where everything is perfectly tidy – it's a house that's truly lived in. I'm not much of a collector, either. What I love are objects that have a purpose. My latest obsession is a gravity-fed water filter. I refill it constantly and I'm convinced it gives us the best drinking water in Cap Ferret!

Absolutely. At heart, I'm a draughtswoman and a painter. A painter can explore colour endlessly, while a draughtswoman works with figures and storytelling. I've always been deeply drawn to both. Rugs allow me to move towards something much more abstract. I no longer need to tell a story through characters, as I do on a shirt. They're almost like paintings laid on the floor. What fascinates me is finding a dialogue between the abstract and the figurative. I believe deeply in colour and in the vibrations it creates. Some people analyse a work of art; others feel it instinctively. To me, painting, drawing and music all speak the same language.

That's exactly it. I start by drawing on A3 sheets, then I scan the images. From there, I can move them around, layer them and sample them. In a way, I'm like a music producer, bringing different elements together to build a composition. I used to make a lot of music and, at one point, I almost pursued it seriously. But eventually I had to choose—I couldn't juggle the children, G.Kero and music, and still find time to sleep! At home, Chris, the children and I often play music together. Marlow is brilliant at beatboxing and already dreams of having a drum kit. What I'm always looking for in my work is a sense of harmony, the kind that emerges when different voices respond to one another in a piece of music. I love colour, expression and storytelling. Everything at G.Kero is built around those ideas, which is probably why I still haven't grown tired of it after nearly twenty years.

Almost by accident. I studied animation between the ages of 19 and 21 and spent every spare minute drawing—some weekends, I'd produce close to two thousand sketches. After a while, your hand takes over. The line becomes instinctive; you stop second-guessing it. I'd created this little wild woman who danced. Looking back, she was probably an unconscious self-portrait. I even made an animated film featuring Karl Lagerfeld. She would steal his sunglasses, and they would instantly grow back! I composed the soundtrack myself. At some point, I grew tired of spending my days behind a computer screen. I wanted to bring this character into the real world. So I started painting her by hand onto off-white T-shirts I'd bought from supermarkets. I sold them after gigs by Hangar, my brother Antonin's rock band. I thought they'd appeal to boys, but it was the girls who came to buy them. I could paint around ten T-shirts a day. Then my brother Philippe joined me. He's the one who convinced me to turn this little handmade adventure into a proper brand. At first, I was convinced printing would never work—that people would only ever want one-of-a-kind pieces. In fact, it gave me incredible creative freedom. I could spend much longer on each drawing, introduce more characters and create far more ambitious compositions. That's when G.Kero truly came into being.

I think so. There were seven of us—Marie, Philippe, Martin, Adrien, Antonin, me and Marion—and we grew up with an extraordinary amount of freedom. Looking back, I realise what an extraordinary childhood we had. We were always outdoors. We'd come home covered in bruises, sometimes with a chipped tooth, sometimes needing stitches… But what I remember most are the drawings. My mother kept every single one her children ever made. The walls of an entire bedroom were covered with them—there was barely a patch of wallpaper left. I suppose, without even realising it, that taught me that drawing mattered. My sister Marie, who's eleven years older than I am, was incredibly gifted. She used to draw each of her brothers and sisters as little characters, capturing our expressions, our mischief and even our names. I could spend hours looking at them. I think that's where my love of drawing began. My brothers, meanwhile, were more interested in drawing boxers fighting each other. There was something wonderfully raw about our childhood, almost like an Ettore Scola film. Every now and then, I still recognise that same energy in the characters I create today.

I think of him as an artist. At the age of forty, he left Paris to buy a stretch of dune at La Pointe where all that remained were two yucca trees, the ruins of a collapsed house and an endless view over the Bay of Arcachon. He turned it into his life's work. Over the years, he shored up the coastline before building a series of cabins inspired by the local fishermen's huts, with elegant timber frames, generous glazing and wide openings onto the landscape. He wasn't an architect, but he drew everything freehand, from the houses themselves to the furniture inside. The first cabins were rather makeshift, simply because they were designed as summer houses. I remember revising for my baccalauréat wrapped in a down jacket, before warming up by the huge fireplace in the living room! But what left the deepest impression on me was the way he told stories. He's an extraordinary storyteller. He always encouraged us to pursue what we loved, especially anything creative. My mother, meanwhile, was the one who made it all possible.

It almost always begins outdoors. Either in the garden or, on Wednesdays, at the sailing club with Marlow. The children spend as much time outside as we did when we were growing up. Marlow is obsessed with fishing—he heads straight for the jetty whenever he gets the chance and has become an excellent fisherman. At the moment, he's catching cuttlefish. We freeze them before cooking because it makes the texture much better. Christopher prepares them very simply, with raw garlic added at the last minute and a few slow-cooked tomatoes. It's the perfect summer meal. We usually round it off with a coffee from Miche Coffee, our friends' roastery in Cap Ferret. Then we all hop on our bikes, with the children in the trailer, and set off along the forest and coastal cycle paths. Whenever I get the chance, I go surfing at Truc Vert Beach. That life outdoors feeds everything I create. The horses, the waves, the characters, the movement… I never have to look very far for inspiration. It's all around me.

I'd start with Pain Paulin, Petit Piquey's wonderfully committed bakery. During the day, no matter how many times I've been, I never tire of taking a boat out to the Banc d'Arguin—it's an absolute must. In the evening, after a surf, I'd either head to the Lou Bar at Maison Mayzou for one of their excellent cocktails or to Le Mirador to watch the sunset. I've known that place since I was a child. Back then, it was a closed restaurant that barely made the most of its extraordinary setting overlooking the Dune du Pilat. When I was six, we used to sneak in to steal Magic Balls, those giant round sweets. A few seasons ago, my brothers took it over and built a large cabin inspired by the oyster farmers' huts. They're absolute stars when it comes to building. Today, Le Mirador opens generously onto the landscape. You can arrive barefoot, enjoy tapas while the children play in the sand, and watch the sun go down over the bay. There are also live concerts and DJ sets—my brother Antonin performs there regularly. It's become a wonderfully lively, joyful place where people gather, dance and celebrate summer.