Mister Marcus

Born in the '70s, I grew up in the suburbs of Paris, guided by three obsessions: rock, comics, and punk posters.
My eye was shaped by the saturated visuals of Jamie Reid, the comic strips of Jano and Margerin, and vinyl records smuggled in under the radar.
The explosion of hip-hop and street art hit me like a graphic punch. What stuck? A taste for stencils, lettering, and slogans.
But today, that raw language—I structure it like a musical score.
I work the way you'd compose a track: with tension, rhythm, and sudden breaks.
My tool? The square. My visual riff.
I stack it, shift it, distort it.
It acts like a memory cell, a pixel of chaos, a fragment of story.
Everything is handmade.
What looks like collage is acrylic. What seems accidental is always intentional.
I build collections like you’d release albums:
• The 27 Club, a pulsing tribute to those the rock scene burned too soon.
• This Is England, a multifaceted portrait of a country obsessed with its own symbols.
• Hors Série, free-form pieces that explore new paths.
I mostly work on paper, in 120 × 80 cm — my ideal stage.
I’m not here to show everything, or to be everywhere.
My painting follows the same logic as my tracks:
coherence, intention, a clear identity.
Call me Mister M...