Sunday Night Trick
Marije Langelaar
from: 'Several Drawings on Top of Each Other', ROMA Publications, Arnhem 2001

Where the poet puts words, Manders places images. His drawings can frequently be read like poems. While the poet is dependent on the reader's power of imagination and the aspect of time plays a role - since, naturally, a poem must be read and the image constructed and strengthened by a gradual succession of verses - the artist can present an entire poem in perhaps as little as a second. Explaining the creation of this poetry after the fact remains a difficult task. It is an elusive interrelationship of images, difficult to capture in words, but this, too, is related to poetry. After all, the power lies not in the placing of the words but in the voltage curve that lies hidden beneath the images.
In Manders's drawings, which clearly occur on a two-dimensional plane, a complex world is constructed. Certain elements continually resurface in different forms. In this way, he invests these individual elements with a visual past. Manders's technical style is diverse. The drawings seem to have been created quickly and directly, sometimes with only a few lines that encompass interior spaces. Depth is created with simple methods of perspective; these never deny the two-dimensional surface of the drawing paper, however.
In his drawings, Mark Manders plays with the spectator's perception and seems to be able to anticipate how one thought follows the next; his images direct the thought process.

Karin (p. 87)
The drawing Karin is a good example of poetry that occurs more in image than in language. It portrays a scene immediately after an accident. A car has been smashed to bits, a girl screams, a boy stares into the void. The contrast between the detailed insides of the car and the empty casings of the bodies is disquieting. The people have not been given an identity, but rather the car wreck, which has been thickly outlined and framed by rough scratches. Two places have been marked with crosses as if the world has been divided into two spheres: one inside the accident and one outside. In this way, the thick outline around the car is like a heavy membrane separating the accident from the world.
The archetypal depiction of an accident is transformed into a personal moment by the title. Despite the bare forms of the fictional girl and the fact that she consists merely of an outline and several lines above her neck, she is given a face and a history.

Drawing with Singing Sailors (p. 85)
This drawing shows the head of a man from which the skin has been peeled off; one sees only the joined muscles and the sockets and cavities where the eyes and nose once were. The muscles turn into waves, underneath which a port appears that looks like a copy of the eye socket. Rather than the continuous stream of information that enters the eye, the last ships are sailing off - with flags in the masts.
A verbal description of the drawing is lengthy, but the image is powerful and can immediately be interpreted. The marks of the pencil are fluid and have purposefully been put in the right places - dark where it should be darker, lighter where possible. The title Drawing with Singing Sailors completes the image, whereby poetry and amazement instantly penetrate the black lines; the drawing produces sound and comes to life. The face, on the other hand, becomes emptier and dies.

Falling Earring / Written Horror Vacui (p. 47)
These two titles have been given to a drawing in which two opposing forces exert their influence on things. On the left, an earring falls, drawn by gravity, from the ear of a seated woman. On the other side, a text rises like smoke from a bottle. The woman sits like a motionless spectator between the movements, her head raised in a slightly arrogant way, her legs chastely crossed.
If you imagine that these movements actually take place simultaneously, each of them somewhat slightly delayed in time, it creates a magnificent cinematic perception. The text that rises from the bottle and states that everything in nature wants to be filled and abhors a vacuum seems, tragically enough, to leave behind an empty space.

Several Drawings on Top of Each Other (p. 6)
In a long, straight line, approximately fifteen stacks of thousands of blank, loose-leaf sheets of paper lie in a row. Only in the three foremost stacks have the sheets been turned into drawings, with which a large space could easily be filled. A dog, which lies on the floor in a concentrated manner, has raised its head a bit, and a stack of drawings supports it, holding it in place. The skin of the black, bronze animal has been treated so that on the outside, it looks like it was made of the lead of a drawing pencil.
In a striking way, this work depicts the promising future of the material and, at the same time, an ever-present nightmare of the artist. After all, despite his high levels of production, the artist and his work will always lag behind the gigantic, available void in the world. Despite the thousands of drawings, this work portrays a certain deficiency.

Frozen Moment (p. 118)
In the drawing Frozen Moment, a scene consisting of four solitary elements has been constructed within the empty plain of the paper. In the distance, far from this vast landscape, is an inoperative factory. In the foreground, we see how an armless female figure bends forward to examine a mutant 'pi'-symbol more closely which seems to have sprung from the earth like a plant. Above this figure is a falling cube. The way the spectator views the drawing is guided by the small numbers assigned to each of the fragments; the spectator tries to link the elements logically within this succession. Accustomed to the linked images of commercials, film, and comic strips, the viewer expects a final climax at the last second. Consequently, the use of the infinite number 'pi' is all the more striking and paradoxical. When the last moment of the drawing has been reached, the numbers occur endlessly in space. In addition to determining the succession of the images, the numbers seem to suggest that descriptions are given outside the drawing.
Within this forever static drawing - all drawn objects being doomed, after all, to perpetual motionlessness - Manders has succeeded in creating a drawing that continues to move through time; he has captured a future moment in the drawing by using both the 'pi' and the falling cube.

Eye with Silver Ornament (p. 36)
An eyeball has been freed from its place in the skull and is portrayed with a large, ornate silver ornament, which has either been laid on the lens or is projected from the pupil. This ornament is similar in form to a set of antlers, blood vessels, rivers, branches, and plants.
I see this drawing as an ode to sensory observation and to the brain, which lends color to observation. Our eyes, through which the 'uncoloured' world passes, are forever in contact with everything outside us. Only in the brain is meaning assigned. This work must have been created in a burst of positivism. In this drawing, the ornament colors the world that enters it as it passes through the thin lines, while simultaneously seeming to represent the entire world.

Straight Sky (p. 127)
In the drawing Straight Sky, a less positive view of the world is portrayed. It seems as if we are zooming in on the world from a great distance and that we have focused in on this representation. The image depicts what one can do in a burst of negativism. In this innocent, negative act, the negativity is transformed into a continuous structure.
Three figures and a big mouse stand on top of and against one another to form a closed system. It seems important that they are touching each other. For example, the vomit of the uppermost person just manages to touch the crown of the figure beside him, after which it veers off, curving gently like a decoration. Another figure has divided the vomit in two streams to be able to reach both the mouse and the lowermost stooping figure. Strangely enough, the mouse has no support but seems to cling to the lowermost person as if by a magnetic force. This despairing, triumphant balancing act takes place under a sky that has been reduced to a single straight line.

Drawing with Vanishing Point (p. 77)
This is a good example of a drawing that adheres to a consistent pattern. In an obsessive manner, each point at which a decision has taken place in a thought process - the point at which a line begins, bends, or ends, for instance - has been connected to a vanishing point with a thin, straight line. The likeness seems to shoot into it forcefully. This vanishing point functions simultaneously as a point of projection. From this single point, the precise image of a disconcerting female figure is projected and placed beside a black, scratched-in space. Her scream seems to move to the right and then forms the ground on which she stands. The woman resembles an aged figure from a child's drawing. Her body consists of a single line, to which two concave lines are attached - hollow as bowls - that form her breasts. Her feet resemble rakes. Because of the absence of any frame, all of the lines that have been drawn on her face seem to disperse or float away. In addition to the many wrinkles on her forehead, she has numerous bags under her eyes. Her hair, long and greasy, falls down toward the ground. This pulsating portrait, activated by the interaction between the vanishing point and the point of projection, is a direct and powerful depiction of fear.
Two other drawings by Manders employ this same principle. Consequently, they share the same title. An earlier version of the above drawing shows the same hysterical figure but in a slightly different setting (p. 62), while Drawing with Vanishing Point with the addition of the title Drawing with Cemetery Horse (p. 72) shows a horse balancing on four balls in a landscape composed merely of scratches. Manders once said of this horse: 'An image arose of a horse balancing in an elegant way with its legs on four soft balls. This made me think of an image that you might see at a funeral off in the distance. Imagining being a horse and constantly having to walk and balance on balls, knowing that the ground carries a heavy electrical charge, gives me the same feeling as when I think about death.'
For me, this drawing portrays the essence of consciousness in a complex way. The activities of the brain are made visible, and it is as if the viewer witnesses the birth of the drawing. A fleeting reality bursts open from the single point from which, theoretically, any imaginable image could be projected. The elements that make up the image - a wild horse restlessly balancing on four balls in a projected, floating landscape of lines - are captured for a very brief moment in a state of equilibrium. This is similar to the intangibility of consciousness.

Rope Study (pp. 60, 61)
In addition to drawings on paper, Manders sometimes does wall drawings. One of these consists of two consecutive moments, which have been drawn next to each other. A doll made of pieces of rope tied together is suspended a short distance above the ground.
In addition to ropes, the lines in the net-like body also seem to contain a system of interconnected nerves or blood vessels. The hands and feet are like small, round buttons, where the ends of the rope meet. Circles have been placed around the two points that must serve as hands, transforming them into radio towers or quickly driven propellers. The elements that make up the face, which appears angry, are strange: a tuft of hair sprouts from one of the ears and the left eye consists of a tangle of highways, which run through and on top of one another. The gaping mouth seems to contain a kind of mechanical construction that closely resembles wheels which are continuously spun by rubber driving belts. In the following successive moment of this drawing, the roads in the left eye exhibit even wilder behavior in relation to one another. An accident appears to have occurred at the point where the roads intersect. The result is an even more panicked look. The entire surface of the mouth has been transformed into a dark, scratched-out area. A small explosion or short circuit has taken place here. The monotonous sound of the mechanical construction has been interrupted by a loud, protracted scream.
With these two drawings, Manders has analyzed a continuing change within the being of a fictional figure which he has captured in two brief, static frames. The metaphor that occurs within the figure, the net-like construction of the body, the roller coasters that whirl within the eye, the machine-like construction inside the mouth, is effective. It provides us with information and with the illusion of psychological insight into this figure, whose life is only two moments long. Manders later stretched these moments out by projecting both drawings next to each other on 16 mm film.

Machine Study (p. 153)
Manders has also made many drawings as studies for his spatial works. These are sometimes sketches that seek forms, relationships, and sizes; other times, he elevates the study to an independent work. In Machine Study (1990), for example, we see the layout of the sculpture Moment Machine, which he completed that same year. A row of interlinking flames runs between the carefully placed objects through the middle. The fire, which burns on both sides, closes like folded hands. The objects express a deep longing to be joined together. Instead of constituting a destructive factor, the fire is a binding, unctuous, and unifying element in this drawing. The flames, which also function as a decorative border, spread out to the right. Again, I do not wish to classify this fire as devastating but as a glowing force that lies hidden under the material and emerges when the right combination of objects converge.

Drawing with Moss-clad Persons (p. 65)
In this drawing, we see a group of strangely formed, aggressive figures engaged in a fight against bulging growths that protrude from their bodies and seem to have turned against them. The expression on their faces is bellicose and desperate at the same time. The growths lie against their chests like extended, meaty punching bags; because of the paddle-like form of the arms and hands, we almost hear the drumming of the heavy blows, which nonetheless also strike the figures. It is a distressing situation. One figure already lies defeated on the ground, its mouth gaping, its arms lifeless on the floor, and the growth stuck to its body like a flaccid, hopeless punching bag. The figures have been placed in the middle of a thinly drawn line, which forms a circle. This intensifies the feeling that they are depicted in an intimate arena, in which we observe them. In Drawing with Moss-clad Person (p. 64), we see only one such figure together with a body-like form without limbs or head. This form stands on small iron pins. Despite the simplicity of the figure, it possesses something of a human quality. The boxing figure seems to have just become aware of the growth on its chest. It is visibly shocked and wants to enter into the confrontation.
A new, believable being has been created in these works; it seems to have been preoccupied its entire life with the frustrating activity of fighting a body part that has turned against it. This is all the more interesting because it would appear that the two opposing halves are constantly engaged in sexual intercourse. This is also the only actual point of attachment shared by the figures and the growths. In the end, the title provides the figures with a color and a texture and evokes an association with primitive camouflage.

Sunday Night Trick (p. 88)
Manders has worked out the subject of this drawing in several different versions. The basic principle is always the same: an elephant toils to form a closed circuit with a geometric shape. It is an unsteady balance. The elephant's limbs are contorted and positioned in ways reminiscent of classical ballet. In Sunday Night Trick, the elephant, together with a trapezoid, forms a circle. We can almost hear the humming of an electrical system activated by this uninterrupted contact. It is a melancholy scene from which a great longing is expressed and which also seems to deal with the creation of the drawing itself.
The artist has countless means at his disposal when drawing lines in relation to each other. Within only a small percentage of these possibilities can poetry be created, however. A drawing is an extremely fragile network of elements that have converged on a piece of paper to create a small electric spark in our heads again and again.