Oil slicks and seas of plastic, poison gas bombs and aerial attacks, data theft and surveillance – the world is going under as we watch. The future? A bleak scenario. Martin Eder's painting series is positioned in this dystopian overall mood. As a counter-vision to the optimistic but unrealistic no-place of utopia, his dystopia has long since come into being; his pictorial world has taken it in, quietly and subversively. The bleakness does not manifest itself as a black apocalypse, not as destruction or purgatory, but conceals itself in the violet sky, in neon lamps and concrete ruins, in wrecked cars instead of dead nature.
With the stylistic means and motifs of dystopian fiction – whether Orwell's 1984or Matrix– Martin Eder creates a feeling, a light, into which he plunges his pictures. It shifts between isolation and repression, between unsatisfied hopes and frustration, separation, and decay. But where the title leads one to suspect scenes of cruelty, ugliness, and hate, beauty appears in its demise, a brief flash from the murky surface, the flowers of evil.