Lucifer Over London

Interview with Martin Eder

On December 2024, the Mandrake Hotel in London became a realm of dark allure as Martin Eder channeled his vampiric essence into a live creation. Inspired by baroque interiors and the tragic Lucy from Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Eder transformed the space into a gothic tableau, inviting visitors to witness a haunting fusion of beauty, darkness, and artistic possession.

Mandrake Inspiration & Goth Culture:

Your work often references what is darker and morbid where the paintings’ narrative and sentiments are equally driven by deep affiliations with gothic culture. Where do you see the connection form between your affinity with The Mandrake and your fascination with this tradition? Could you elaborate on how The Mandrake has been such a powerful source of inspiration within your practice?

The first time I stepped into The Mandrake Hotel in Fitzrovia was about 7 years ago. I was there for an event with my best friend, Jonas Burgert, who introduced me to Rami, the hotel’s owner. I was massively and utterly impressed by the style, unlike any hotel I’d ever seen before. The Mandrake has this distinct sense of obscurity and surrealism. It doesn’t exactly embrace the “dark side,” but there’s a rich connection to goth culture that transcends the 20th-century definition, drawing on centuries of artistic darkness and mystique. From that first visit, I knew this was a space where ideas I’d been carrying for years could come to life. The atmosphere is mysterious, artistic, and deeply inspiring. I was honored and excited to be invited to work here. The hotel’s environment gave me the peace and time I needed to develop a new series of works, something I hadn’t been able to fully explore before, but at the same time, The Mandrake’s unique energy and commitment to the avant-garde made it the perfect setting for my artistic vivacity. It’s not just a place to stay; it’s a place that stimulates creativity and challenges conventional boundaries.

Light & Cinematic Influence:

I’ve noticed a profound emphasis on light in your work, it’s striking, intense, and at times evokes a hallucinatory experience. It reminds me of Nicolas Winding Refn’s films, like The Neon Demon or Only God Forgives, where light elevates even unsettling subjects into something powerful and alluring. Could you share how you use light to transform your subjects? Is cinema an influence in your visual approach? For instance, was Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula on your mind during last month’s shoot? I’m also curious, do you see neon and bold lighting as part of a cinematic influence, or is it something unique to your artistic vision?

Yes, The Neon Demon, as you mentioned, and Nicolas Winding Refn’s work in general, was a revelation for me. I’m a big fan of how traditional gothic elements are used to create something entirely new. I’m not interested in nostalgia. Of course, Dracula and these themes often seem nostalgic, but I’m more focused on the form and how it is rendered in the contemporary experience: where is the modern vampire, or what is ‘sucking’ us today? If we look back, the original Dracula was also a critique of industrialisation. It reflected how the newborn capitalist system was taking over the worker, consuming the lifespan of poor people, squeezing them dry, squeezing the blood out of life itself. So, Dracula wasn’t just a romantic novel; it was also a form of social critique. We still see this today. The Neon Demon, for example, critiques the fashion and modeling industry in a similar systemic way. That’s what interests me: how can I engage with these nostalgic, fundamentally core, gothic elements and reinterpret them in a contemporary context? I use a lot of light because I love drama, yes. I studied old photography extensively, and I was always curious about why photographs from the 1920s, even the early 30s, look so different. They used, of course, hot lights, which are more like flashlights. They also treated the skin with oils or sometimes graphite, which gave the skin a mechanical quality. I’ve always been fascinated by this robotic beauty, like in Metropolis. Then there’s the dramatic use of light, such as backlighting, where the figure stands in contrast against a bright background. You have to be bold to do this, because technically, the face can turn black if you don’t use flash with backlighting. These light games opened up an entirely new universe for me.

“The original Dracula was also a critique of industrialisation. It reflected how the newborn capitalist system was taking over the worker, consuming the lifespan of poor people, squeezing them dry, squeezing the blood out of life itself”

Cultural Commentary & Internet Influence:

So, this is more of a cultural commentary, and correct me if I’m wrong, but in observing your work, I noticed that you’re highlighting and reflecting on your own vision of contemporary culture. I also sense, perhaps, an influence from internet culture, maybe through a satirical framework? For example, the presence of kittens and other playful motifs. There’s a clear tension in your work between cuteness and darker, more radical imagery. How has internet culture, specifically with regards to The Meme and the role of the cat within this space, shaped your art, even in subtle or abstract ways?

Okay, we were speaking about the vampire itself, and I don’t think the modern vampire is capitalism anymore. Today, we willingly give our money to brands, as much as we can, and we even feel better when we do so.
I think the modern vampire, without being overly critical, is social media. It’s the constant urge for the dopamine rush, the doom scrolling, and the fascination with other people’s lives while we’re sitting in bed, rotting away. Our brains trick us into thinking we’ve lived those experiences, like watching skate videos and feeling as though we’ve been skating, even though we’ve never touched a skateboard. I see this in kids, and it’s quite sad. It drains people, especially the more creative minds, the ADHD brains, and those sensitive to dopamine rushes. I know this from my own experience, I sometimes fall into the trap myself. Once I start scrolling, I’m hooked. This is the modern vampire.

I also find that the use of the internet, especially social media, has a distinctly vampiric quality. As you mentioned, it drains your data and essence while simultaneously leaving you in a kind of brain-dead state.

Provocation & Morality:

Your art is known to challenge societal codes of beauty and morality. What role does provocation play in your work, and are there moral questions you intend your viewers to reflect on?

Provocation has its roots in a time when there was a clear enemy in society. Think of the punk rock era from the early 80s to the 90s, back then, the targets were specific references: the bourgeoisie, teachers, parents, the police. In hip-hop culture, it became the sector of authority itself, symbolised by the tilted cap or slogans like ACAB. There was always an individual or an associated demographic to push back against.But today, the dynamic has shifted. The enemy hasn’t disappeared, it’s become more insidious. The ‘enemy’ is among us. We’re no longer judged by older generations or traditional authority figures. Instead, the criticism comes from peers, or even those much younger. For instance, I often find myself being judged or critiqued not by some external authority, but by individuals who occupy the same space I do. Take something like AI bans, for example. I’ve been banned again on Instagram, perhaps that’s part of this new form of control. But beyond that, it’s surprising how much critique, restriction, and judgment now comes from so-called liberal circles. It’s a strange and unsettling shift, provocation doesn’t have the same opposition anymore, yet the resistance is everywhere.

“I want to spark anger against a society that creates the conditions reflected in my work. I believe every society gets the art it deserves.”

Beauty & Fetishism:

By blending fetishism and realism, within surreal environments, your work challenges viewers to question societal norms, beauty standards, and even their own subconscious fears. Beyond mere provocation, your choices, whether conformist or anti-conformist in their approach to beauty, and your subtle use of fetishism, invite a deeper engagement. Your art attracts a diverse audience, but is there a central emotion, message, or reflection you hope people will take away when they encounter it?

Yes, absolutely, 100%. The key word here is anger. I want to provoke anger, but not anger directed at me or the work itself. Rather, I want to spark anger against a society that creates the conditions reflected in my work. I believe every society gets the art it deserves. When you go out on the street and return to your studio, you reflect on what you’ve seen. And for those who come to see my work, they are not my enemies, they are my friends. I want to communicate with them visually, to engage in a conversation. The reaction I hope to provoke is anger at the situations we find ourselves in. It may sound a little revolutionary or aggressive, but I want a soft revolution. I want people to say no to certain things, to stop and reflect on the moments when the system or the world around us is simply bullshitting us, whether it’s the beauty industry or the absurdity of poor models eating cotton balls to stay thin. Long story short, I want to wake people up. Not through words or music, but through vision. I’ll reveal my biggest trick, which isn’t really a secret, and anyone can do it. I didn’t invent it. My biggest trick is beauty. If you want to get people to look at you or listen to you – well, let’s focus on looking, because where music might follow different rules, beauty is key. People get annoyed very quickly, and their attention span is incredibly short. When they open their phones or turn on their TVs, they’re bombarded with disasters and terrible cruelties. If you want to capture their attention, you can’t simply show them more cruelty. In the Renaissance, you could paint a decapitated man, or Jesus in torment, or a saint pierced with arrows. But today, if I were to paint those kinds of provocative subjects, it wouldn’t make much sense, have much effect. Instead, I use beauty as a tool to capture attention. Once I have that attention, then I can say what I need to say.

You often present a radical interpretation of beauty, using the female body in many shapes and forms, from a mature plump constitution to diaphanous elfin-like figures. How do you define beauty, and what role does fetishism play in your exploration of these themes?

Beauty, for me, is not about conforming to a single ideal; it’s about tension, contrast, and the unexpected. I’m drawn to the extremes, whether it’s the mature, fuller body with its rich, physical presence, or the ethereal, almost otherworldly fragility of an elfin-like figure. These variations challenge the rigid norms of beauty and invite viewers to expand their perception of what is considered desirable or meaningful. Fetishism plays a key role in this exploration. True fetishism, in its essence, is deeply personal and secretive, it’s something you keep for yourself, something charged with intimacy and excitement. It originates from ancient traditions where objects held sacred, almost magical significance. But in modern times, particularly in spaces like Berlin’s fetish clubs, fetishism has become communal, almost uniform. Thousands of people might wear latex or harnesses, but when everyone is doing it, it loses the secret power rooted in its heritage. To me, fetishism is far more intriguing when it remains hidden. A piece of latex lingerie, for instance, is far more exciting when no one knows you’re wearing it, when it’s your secret, or perhaps shared with one other person. That tension between what is seen and unseen, what is public and private, mirrors my approach to beauty. I want to explore these contrasts and provoke a deeper reflection on desire, form, and identity

“To me, fetishism is far more intriguing when it remains hidden…that tension between what is seen and unseen, what is public and private, mirrors my approach to beauty”

Religion & Symbolism:

Religious imagery, like the poster of you resembling Christ with satanic elements, appears frequently in your work. How does religion or spiritual symbolism inform your art, and is there a deeper critique at play?

I love the iconography of the Catholic Church, or churches in general, but I don’t approach it as a consumer. I’m simply fascinated by the fact that the biggest ‘company’ in the world has the best logo ever invented. The story behind that logo is unparalleled, compared to the Mercedes or BMW logos, it’s nothing. The Christian cross is a logo that says so much. It’s cruel, it’s terrible, it’s powerful, it’s everything. Without being critical, I’m just fascinated by its impact and the weight it carries.

Lucy:

Your work on Lucy Westenra began with that initial photo shoot in the bedroom, which sparked the development of an entire body of work around her character. To what extent did The Mandrake influence this direction? Was Lucy a concept you were already exploring, or did The Mandrake’s atmosphere provide the ideal setting to bring her to life?

To be perfectly honest, I first read Dracula when I was very young, and I’ve revisited it many times since. I’ve also watched countless adaptations, including Murnau’s Nosferatu from 1922, which left a lasting impression on me. I’m particularly excited about the new adaptation by Robert Eggers that’s coming out soon.The Mandrake’s dark interiors, shadowy hallways, and mysterious vegetation were an immediate source of inspiration. The atmosphere felt perfectly aligned with the essence of Dracula and the character of Lucy Westenra. There’s a richness and a sense of foreboding in the space that allowed this concept to come alive. You simply can’t evoke that same sense of darkness and mystery in a pristine, white, minimalist setting like you might find in Los Angeles. The Mandrake provided the ideal environment for me to fully explore and develop this vision.

I can absolutely see The Mandrake as the perfect interior for Lucy Westenra, it feels like she belongs here, both before and after her transformation. The hotel’s Baroque and Victorian influences create a sense of opulence, but that richness is undercut by a radical, shadowy edge. This duality mirrors Lucy’s descent into vampirism, where beauty and darkness coexist. The hotel’s maze-like design evokes the labyrinthine setting where Lucy is bitten for the first time. The sense of losing yourself within the space, perhaps encountering something primal or sinister along the way, perfectly aligns with that narrative. The Mandrake’s design invites exploration and mystery, making it an ideal backdrop for this kind of gothic tale.

What I really like about the hotel is that you, the whole team around you, and Rami as a curator, made the impossible possible. There has always been counterculture, which has always been underground. We’ve seen it in Berlin, London, all the goth culture, the noise culture, the electronic music, alternative cultures. But these movements very rarely, if ever, collided with luxury or high-priced luxury. And when they did, it was often awkward or a bit embarrassing. It was like two worlds that could never quite come together. What’s remarkable here is that you’re not even trying to force them together, they just merge naturally, without any embarrassing or uncomfortable moments. You have these fantastic performances: the noise performances, the experimental DJs. And on the other hand, you have this almost castle-like environment. It’s not overly luxurious in a traditional sense, it doesn’t feel like the old-style hotels of Rome or the grand palace hotels. Instead, you’ve found this really thin, delicate line between underground culture and beauty. It’s luxurious, of course, but in a way that feels modern, refined, and perfectly balanced.

Yes, well, we must also thank artists like yourself, as you have paved the way for us to introduce this kind of work to a broader audience. Artists play a significant role in shifting societal mindsets, which in turn creates opportunities for enterprises like ours to emerge and thrive. Haunted by the character of Lucy Westenra, you delve into the connections between this vampiric Victorian figure and the modern gothic woman. How can we uncover the echoes between these two female archetypes their shared struggles, their quest for resolution, and their navigation through the complexities of humanity? What might contemporary women find in Lucy’s battle to reconcile personal desires with societal conventions? What empowerment can be drawn from this reflection, and how might the artist’s work contribute to the evolution of this hard-won privilege?

I mean, being a vampire might not have been an option in the story, it’s not presented as an alternative for those people, but it could have been a symbol for self-reflective feminism, or a way to escape the nonsense or the ‘mud’ you’re stuck in. The story is, more or less, this: you revolt, and you get killed. That’s the point. For me, Lucy is almost like a saint, a saint of uprising, a saint of revolt, a saint of anti-nostalgia. She’s a punk.

Lucifer Over London

Credits:
Artist: Martin Eder / @martinederatelier
Venue: The Mandrake Hotel / @themandrakehotel
Photos: Jess Amiahh / @jessamiahh
Interview: Maguelone Marcenac / @scanadully
Editor: Maria Abramenko  / @mariabramenko
Assistant: Annalisa Fabbrucci / @annalisa_fabbrucci

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