Marc Mulders' new solo exhibition, There’s no one here, the gardener is gone, at NQ Gallery revolves around loss, hope and the transformation of nature. Mulders found his inspiration for the title in a line from Bob Dylan's song Ain’t Talkin’, where the absence of the gardener symbolises a lost connection with the divine and with nature. In this exhibition, despite the threatening apocalyptic undertone, Mulders tries to bring beauty back to a world that seems to be stagnating.
We meet a few hours before the opening of the exhibition. The artist and gallery owner are enjoying the moment. A final painting is being hung. One of Mulders’ works is placed next to that of Luca Dal Vignale, creating a dialogue in paint between dark and light, young and old.
Marc, your new exhibition has the particularly intriguing title There’s no one here, the gardener is gone. What do you mean by this?
The title comes from Bob Dylan’s song Ain’t Talkin’ and that one line really struck me: There’s no one here, the gardener is gone. To me, the gardener represents goodness in the world, the order of nature. But something has changed. It feels as if humanity has disrupted the natural rhythms. The gardener is gone and what remains is a garden without care, without a connecting force. I also see this reflected in today’s world—we have, in a sense, put the seasons and natural course of things on hold.
It sounds like there is a sense melancholy and loss behind the title. How is that reflected in your work?
Absolutely. Those feelings of loss and disruption are unmistakably present in my new paintings. In recent years, I’ve noticed that nature, which has always been a source of inspiration for me, is no longer the same. Take, for example, the persistent rain that has ruined my flower fields. Whereas I used to paint vibrant colours and lush gardens, I now see a landscape that is stagnant, where it seems as if the promise of blooming is not being fulfilled. Yet I always want to show hope in my work. Painting flowers, even in times of failure, remains a way for me to find that hope.
How does that relate to the brightly coloured paintings you are exhibiting? There seems to be a certain tension between the apocalyptic theme and the joyful colours.
That’s exactly the point: the contrast. I use colour to ward off the apocalyptic, to counterbalance the dark reality. Considering the current state of the world—climate change, social unrest, political tensions—it would be easy to make gloomy work. But that doesn’t help me. On the contrary, I always turn to colour, to bloom. It’s my way of combatting despair, of bringing back beauty, even when it’s under threat.
The exhibition seems closely connected to your personal experiences in nature. This is not surprising considering how nature almost literally floods your studio.
My home and studio have always been a great source of inspiration for me. In the city, I painted flowers that I bought from the flower shop, but here I can work with what nature offers me. When I first looked at my fields, I didn’t see buckets full of flowers like in my studio in Tilburg, but a completely different space. That spaciousness, from flower to the distant forest edge, is something I have tried to capture in my work. It is no longer a simple study of flowers, but a reflection on the environment, on the distance between us and nature. That change has brought a new abstraction to my work.
It sounds like your paintings have a deeper spiritual layer.
Spirituality has always been a part of my work. The absence of the gardener in the title also refers to that search for something higher, a divine presence that seems to be disappearing. Bob Dylan sings in his song about a paradise that has vanished. For me, that is a metaphor for the world we live in today. We have lost the connection to something greater and that seeps into my work. Still, nature remains a way for me to seek that connection. In my paintings, I try to establish a dialogue, not only with nature, but also with the spiritual. You can see that, for example, in the way I paint the flowers—they are not just decorative, but a symbol of hope, of a possible return to something beautiful.
You talk a lot about hope, but there is also disruption in your work. Why is that?
In this exhibition, I wanted to make that disruption tangible. In the paintings, there is a certain noise, a dislocation. Amidst that lush flower garden, a figure appears. That figure symbolises the question of whether we can ever restore that connection. But what I want to show is that nature and beauty are still present despite the chaos we see all around us.
How hopeful are you about the future of nature and us as humanity?
That’s a good question. I think my work clearly reflects the struggle between hope and despair. On the one hand, I see the destruction of nature and devastation we as humanity are causing. But on the other hand, I also see nature’s resilience. The flowers in my garden are still blooming, despite everything. In this exhibition, I try to find the balance between those two forces. There is still beauty in the world, but we must become aware of the disruption we are causing.
In this exhibition, you also engage in a visual dialogue with a younger generation of painters, such as Lotte Wieringa and Luca Dal Vignale. What is your take on this?
I love hanging alongside young artists like Lotte and Luca. Their work is often abstract and full of energy and that inspires me. It doesn’t matter whether someone is in their early thirties or sixties, as long as a dialogue emerges between the works of art. Together you are stronger, and it is precisely that interaction between different generations and styles that brings an exhibition to life. Luca’s work, for example, has that same dynamic between light and dark, between chaos and order, that you also see in my work. That creates an interesting tension.
Your exhibition seems to be not only a personal journey, but also a reflection of broader societal themes. What do you hope visitors will take with them after visiting your new exhibition?
I hope they are touched by the beauty and colour in my work, but also feel the underlying disruption. The painting should offer something generous, something that does good. But it should also echo the times. It may chafe and disrupt because that is what the current time shows us. The exhibition shows that, despite the chaos and disruption, there is always the possibility to find beauty. That balance between beauty and disruption is important to me. And if people take my work home and let it become part of their lives then I will have achieved my goal.
The exhibition, which runs from 14 September to 3 November 2024, at the NQ Gallery, invites visitors to reflect on the alienation from nature, the absence of the gardener and the hope that always lingers beneath the surface of chaos. With an intriguing mix of vibrant colours and apocalyptic themes, Mulders captures a zeitgeist that is both introspective and socially relevant.