Markus catches a face at the moment it betrays itself; too much at once, shine and grain at war, nothing held back for long.  Across these four series the materials do the confessing: resin poured thick enough to catch the overhead light like a wet candy shell, acrylic dragged fast and dry so you can clock the speed of the wrist, glitter and crystal pressed in as literal grit rather than sparkle. Nothing here is polite about being looked at.

What ties the four bodies of work together isn't a subject, it's a nerve.  Like the live wire between wanting to be seen and not wanting to be read. Candyhead splits its glazed faces open to find candy where the wound should be. Staunch Characters scrubs its people down to fast black brushstrokes and dares you to call them a type. Shade lets everyone finally close their eyes against the desert glare. Forecast sends the hair streaming off into the dark like weather coming in. The faces are confident, made-up, sometimes ecstatic; underneath sits the colder thing; the privacy a person keeps even while standing fully lit in front of you.

They reward the close look. Step in and the jellybeans resolve into individual fat dots, the rhinestones turn out to be real, the smoke turns out to be hair. Step back and they read as glamour. Both are true at once, and the gap between them is the work.

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