Born under the exacting sun of Italy in 1990, Marti Mars Molinari initially pursued the grand, unsettling questions posed by Philosophy. She spent years grappling with meaning and existence in the lecture halls, which, predictably, resulted in precisely zero answers.
After achieving a deep and thorough disappointment with logic, she fled the theoretical and landed on the rugged, rain-soaked coast of Ireland. Here, in the damp clarity of the Atlantic air, she traded syllogisms for graphite and argument for pigment.
Marti M. is a self-taught creative, currently unlearning everything the world assumes about art. Her process is a direct, often frantic, engagement with real substances—pencil on rough cotton, oil on canvas—because, as she insists, "If you can print it, you don't own it." To ensure maximum disruption, she now executes every piece with her non-dominant, left hand, acknowledging that when it comes to orientation, the left has always been her natural dominant.
Her work is populated by slightly unnerved domestic objects—chairs that see things, cups that hold secrets, and tables attempting to contain too much reality. She believes her drawings are not pictures, but evidence of human touch resisting the algorithm. Each piece is a solitary, tangible moment, a deliberate glitch in the digital landscape.
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