Leo Marz’s practice is more than an artistic endeavor; it is an expanded system of visual thought. Drawing, sculpture, painting, installation, video, music, performance, and public interventions converge in his work—not as isolated media, but as porous surfaces through which he investigates time as unstable matter, as interface.



His work stems from a persistent question: how to represent a present in which the body has become fragmented, objects circulate unseen, and images appear and vanish before they can be understood. In this saturated landscape, his work doesn’t propose an answer, but rather an interruption—a pause charged with attention. Marz works with layers, cuts, remnants, and detours. What interests him is what floats, what has yet to be named, what insists without quite fitting in.



More than being defined by a technique, his practice responds to a way of seeing—one that doesn’t try to organize or synthesize, but to stop. Each material decision—using a minimal palette, working on red grounds, letting lines sink under the weight of paint—is tied to a logic of time: a time that settles, folds, doesn’t advance, but accumulates. For Marz, painting is to delay. To move away from the image as mirror. To transform the surface into an archaeological field.



When he draws, he often projects himself two hundred years into the future. He imagines which gestures from the present will survive the algorithm. Which traces will remain legible. In this sense, art is not the production of meaning but a practice of recording: a future archaeology observing the now as if it were already a ruin.



In his pieces, the body appears incomplete—a leg, an eye, a hand—not as symbol but as sensor. He is not looking for total figures but for active fragments. Remainders that still vibrate. There is no center, only layers. No narrative, only interruptions. The body that interests him is not the monumental one, but the one that filters through, functioning as interface between desire, archive, and glitch.



Objects are not there as metaphors either. They come from digital commerce, workspaces, the domestic. Some were made to hold something else: a spoon rest, an office chair mat, a yoga bracket. Marz reproduces them, suspends them, leaves them unfinished. As if they were waiting for another image that never arrives. As if they existed only halfway. They are sculptures, but also placeholders: zones in waiting.



The image, in his work, does not always appear. Sometimes it erases itself before your eyes. Sometimes it rests only on the edge. What he produces are not messages but sensitive zones. Spaces that demand time, that activate slowly, that resist closure.



In video, like in the CHATS series, intimacy is filtered through fiction, archive, and family. Technology doesn’t appear as a subject, but as an inevitable atmosphere. There is no nostalgia or critique: there is record. There is friction.



As his work unfolds, Leo Marz has built a language that transforms the image into an event. Not something to be shown, but something that happens. A sculpture that occupies. A painting that delays. A drawing that observes. A work that does not seek to be at the center, but to endure. It is not the artist’s voice that remains, but the whisper of the work when everything else has fallen silent.


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