Inside the Haunted Beauty of 7:42 PM. The Art of Chris Mars: A Conversation Between Chris Mars and S.W. Lauden

Jan 6th 2026

S.W. Lauden: 7:42 P.M. is a truly impressive collection. Can you share a little about how this project came together and how the specific works in this book were selected?

Chris Mars: Thank you! The paintings included in 7:42 P.M. represent a continuation of the chronology of my work. My previous book, Tolerance, featured paintings from about 2000 to 2008. 7:42 continues with paintings from that point until the layout of the book was complete! In each case, there wasn’t much if any editing—I chose to include pretty much every painting I created. I did this because genuine truth is rarely an edited version of the truth. And this work, it’s my truth. So it’s all in there.

In the book you describe life, and by extension your art, as "sedimentary—that everything we have ever been we still are, only with more and more layers..." Do you have a sense of the new layers your artwork has accumulated since Tolerance was published?

While the themes explored in my work—along with the emotional content, technique and aesthetic—continue across the body of work overall, within 7:42 P.M. the layers of life experience, growth and perspective do shift. New “layers” would, to me, include less anger in the work (or maybe less direct, obvious anger), an older human’s perspective on life (my own, and others’, and just the sense and shape of life outside of my own as well). Also, the work in 7:42 P.M. comes perhaps more confidence in technical execution of a painting. I think color itself has become—along with those other new layers—an additional way to lure a viewer into a painting—a painting in which I might be asking them to explore something a viewer may or may not be fully attracted to or comfortable with. The paintings in 7:42 P.M. are overall more colorful. There is personal satisfaction in using color in a different way than say the work embodied in the previous book. I feel braver with color, and probably braver as a painter in general.

The paintings in the book seem to invite narrative; my mind wants to tell itself a story in order to make sense of what I'm seeing. Since you're also a songwriter, I'm curious if you approach painting as a storyteller?

Great question! Yes, there are similarities. With songs, for me, words are a very different process than melody…and it’s melody that is more like painting—there’s a flow to it; it moves from one point to the next nearly unguided. But with painting it comes more naturally and spontaneously for me than words or even melody do. I have to wait for songs to come to me, while with painting I can will it at any time. Multiple stories come along as a painting unfolds; maybe it’s more like filmmaking in that sense. Then as the composition, expression and story of a painting start to cement themselves (into a song of sorts), the title becomes the lyric—the final words of the painting’s story. But it is interesting that beyond my intentions and where a painting lands for me conceptually or narratively, others see different things and maybe have a different story; a different perspective in what they see. And that is great! I love that paintings can do this—mold into a more personal story. Others’ paintings do that for me as well!

Does painting and music come from the same creative well for you? Or do you consider them totally separate vehicles for expression?

They are similar in that I embark on a creative quest in each case, but are separate in that sound for me conjures a different mood or narrative than say color, shape or composition might. I think I do go to a different emotional space with each art form. With painting, my creativity is far more natural, spontaneous and direct than with music making. In terms of writing and recording music, there is far more repetitiveness involved…building a song, going over and playing it and listening to it many times before it's recorded and finished. A painting isn’t like that—it is direct and unique each time, each sitting really. But song or painting, it starts with a feeling…a vision or a mood which can be similar for each, or not. I’d say that overall, in my case, a song is more simple in its concept or emotion that a painting is; a painting seems—in my own case— more dynamic. But the act of creating is, at the very core, just that, and so, at the very core, with painting or music (or writing or filmmaking), is just that—the act of creating. It’s just that the process for each outlet is different.

Are there ways in which your decades in and around the music business prepared you for a fine art career?

Yes, first, I got it (being in a rock band) out of my system—touring, working within a group, the "music business" in general. By the time that ended, I was quite hungry for the solitude of pursing my creative expression, quietly, independently, and in one place. I always loved the creative aspects of songwriting and recording during those music years…touring and performing not so much. Now with advances in technology, I can continue to explore music on my own, and I do—generally as a break between paintings. But sowing those wild oats was a very good thing in retrospect as it made me “ready” for the seclusion it took (and takes) to concentrate, focus and immerse myself in developing my visual technique and expression. Me and my wife are both home bodies. I'm generally geared more toward and get more energy from introversion. This infuses my desire to paint.

I was really struck by the repeated hospital/healthcare theme in your paintings. Can you talk a little about what the red cross symbol means to you and how your relationship with it has evolved over time?

In general, I like how the red cross looks aesthetically. I’ve been known to use them and other letter, numbers or “symbols” as purely graphic elements. But also yes, I have in my work explored medical themes, especially fiscal exploitation and industrial abuses in the field, often connected to themes and causes inspired by my brother Joe, who lived with schizophrenia…the institutionalization of care, medication and over-medication, and social stigmas that presented themselves with his experiences and in his life. I can connect the red cross as a symbol to negative or positive aspects of the medical field; negatively with my painting "Dr. Glaxo", who I see as a sort of greed-forward character, or positively with "Seen Too Much", which depicts an exhausted nurse during the covid years. But again, I just like it as a design element as well!

I kept returning to "The Cure-All" while exploring 7:42 P.M. There's something really gripping about the dying patient at the center of the painting, while everybody else in the room looks away (mostly at the monitor). Was there a specific inspiration for this theme and composition?

This would be another positive inclusion of the red cross symbol and this is another painting directly influenced by the horrors and heroism of the pandemic years. I hope I somehow honored and did justice in any way to the many we lost during that time and the heroes who cared for them. Hard to avoid expressing myself on the subject. It really did come close to all of us.

I was also really drawn to your Hanford series. How did that particular WWII/Cold War environmental catastrophe get on your radar? Why do you think it moved you to create so many works?

Initially I saw a documentary about the Hanford Site, one particularly focused on its impact on the residents of Yakima Valley. From there I took a deep dive. I informed myself about what has been an ongoing environmental catastrophe in and around Hanford, Washington, and the toxic waste that is still buried there. More recently, the government has made effort to contain and abate the contamination. But I was astounded that for literally decades, birth defects and cancer rates among the "Down-winders" who lived near Hanford Site were heartbreakingly high, with residents crying out for help, for acknowledgement. So I wanted to make my own world around the subject, as a document to honor those who suffered.

In that series, and throughout the book, your handling of human eyes carry a lot of emotional resonance. Is that where you start with your paintings (and build outward) or are eyes more often a finishing touch?

Eyes for me and in general say so much. I do like to make them a strong element in my paintings. They can immediately reflect an emotion, connecting directly with a viewer and setting the tone for the story of the painting. And yes, I often do start by painting the eyes and building around them…if not the eyes, then of all things I start with the nose, then build up and out to the eyes. When I was quite young, I drew a horse for my dad—he loved horses. He appreciated it, but he said, “The horse’s eyes look dead.” He was right, too. I evidently took that criticism to heart…I always make sure now that the eyes I paint are fully alive. My dad is partly responsible for them…thanks Dad!

What's next for you?

I will continue to paint, make music, animations and short films. For me, jumping between these different forms of expression becomes an asset to painting, which I love the most and which comes most naturally to me. The other art forms are so laced with technical consideration—tech, software—that when I go back to painting, I'm extra grateful for how direct and organic the painting process is. Not that I need the contrast of these other forms of expression to highlight the wonder and joy of painting—it’s what I’ve always, always wanted to do, from the time I first encountered “P” for “Paintings” in the World Book Encyclopedia. I have this distinct compulsion to create in some way every day. Being able to vary the medium to music or filmmaking is like taking a little trip…it’s nice, but the best part is always coming back home. Painting is home to me.

Rock star, recluse, brother, activist, artist. Chris Mars, darling of the Low-Brow movement and Juxtapoz regular. His work graces the haloed halls of museums throughout America and is tattooed on calves and biceps throughout the world. Mars is often best-known as legendary drummer of The Replacements, Minneapolis pioneers of punk and college rock that adjacently aligned or competed with groups such as Hüsker Dü and R.E.M., but were a notable influence on countless others (Wilco, The Lemonheads, Ryan Adams, Dinosaur Jr., Pavement, etc.). While Mars concentrates mainly on his art career, he still occasionally releases new music, including a new solo album tied to the release of 7:42 P.M., The Average Album.

S. W. Lauden is the editor of Forbidden Beat: Perspectives On Punk Drumming. He's also the co-editor of Go All The Way: A Literary Appreciation of Power Pop and the sequel, Go Further. His Greg Salem punk rock PI series includes Bad Citizen Corporation, Grizzly Season, and Hang Time. Steve's a father, husband, writer and drummer living in Los Angeles. Find him on Substack at Remember The Lightning. Instagram: @swlauden.