Elpsis Boo 2010 – 2012

(Images)


These paintings were all part of an ongoing conceptual project to fit in with a Dadaist novel trilogy. Paintings were occasionally used as chapters of the novels.
This form of writing and painting is akin to reaching a meditative dream state – recognising forms and images in the same detached way that the mind throws ideas into the maelstrom of ones sleep. 
It helps to reveal oneself to oneself. To rally against the violence of enforced repression; to preempt and undermine judgement from others who can never know what is behind another's eyes; the eyes being less a 'window to the soul' and more a mirror of the viewer's own prejudices. 
It is a non judgemental, pacifistic approach to the objective notions we all experience subjectively. 
"The pen and the images beat my thoughts to it," says Michael of his first novel 'Elpsis Boo'.  "If we have time to think a thought, then it has already been rehearsed and analysed before we go to all the effort of writing it down or painting it; that way we can hide from ourselves; become complicit xenophobes of our own instincts."
Within the writings of the Dada group one could often find scribbles / squiggly lines / and erratic changes of font. This all created a lovely syntax between the word as a representation of a thing or the word as a thing in itself (a picture).
The purpose of painting certain chapters on canvas, as collages, is to produce in the reader (when reading the typed word) a true sense of colour in the text; a sense of urgency, a sense of abstraction, of life, of difference.

Elpsis Boo/Erogements - Michael  J.Rowland (Novel with Painted chapters) 2012

Elpsis Boo 2010 – 2012

Namalovaný román

Tyto obrazy jsou součástí probíhajícího koncepčního projektu, tak aby zapadaly do dadaistické trilogie, kterou píši. Jednotlivé obrazy jsou občas používány jako kapitoly románů.
Tato forma psaní a malování je podobná dosažení stavu meditativního snu - rozpoznání formy a obrazů, stejně odloučených jako mysl, hází myšlenky do víru spánku. 
Pomáhá odhalit sám sebe. Jít proti násilí nuceného útlaku; předejít a oslabit rozsudek od ostatních, kteří nikdy neví, co se skrývá za cizíma očima; přičemž oči jsou menší "okno do duše" a větší zrcadlo vlastních předsudků diváka.
Je to nekriticky pacifistický přístup k objektivním názorům, které všichni prožíváme subjektivně.
Nechci psát ani malovat věci, které se staly, ale věci, které se dosud nestaly. Pero a obrazy jsou rychlejší než mé myšlenky. Pokud budeme mít čas přemýšlet nad myšlenkou, pak je to již nacvičené a analyzované, dříve než vydáme veškerou snahu napsat to nebo namalovat; je to způsob, jak se můžeme schovat sami před sebou; stát se spoluviníky, xenofoby našich vlastních instinktů.
Ve spisech skupiny Dada se často daly najít čmáranice / zakroucené linky / a nevyzpytatelné změny typu písma. To vše vytvořilo krásnou syntaxi mezi slovem jako reprezentací věci nebo slova jako věci sama o sobě (obrázek).
Účelem malování některých kapitol na plátno, jako koláže, je dát čtenáři (při čtení psaného slova) opravdový pocit barvy v textu; pocit naléhavosti, smysl pro abstrakci, cit ze života, z rozdílu.

Colm is Funny. Too Funny.
Colm is Funny. Too Funny.

100cm x 70cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Like This
Like This

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic on Canvas

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To Thine Own Self Be True
To Thine Own Self Be True

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Marx Bratří
Marx Bratří

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic on Canvas

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Peter Pam
Peter Pam

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic on Canvas

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Into the Void
Into the Void

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Borosus
Borosus

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Golden ass - sold/prodáno
Golden ass - sold/prodáno

100cm x 100cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas (SOLD)

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Cock Gold
Cock Gold

110cm x 90cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Last Cigarette
Last Cigarette

135cm x 80cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Blue lagoon
Blue lagoon

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Tit Graves
Tit Graves

110cm x 90cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Kungfu pancake
Kungfu pancake

100cm x 210cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Gambrinus
Gambrinus

110cm x 100cm / Acrylic on Canvas

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Nuffinks changed
Nuffinks changed

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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F.Youth
F.Youth

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Petra
Petra

90cm x 110cm / Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas

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Elpsisboo
Elpsisboo

100cm x 70cm / Acrylic on Board

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That sawesome
That sawesome

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic on Board

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Scary monsters
Scary monsters

100cm x 70cm / Acrylic on Board

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Krtek sold/prodáno
Krtek sold/prodáno
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School bag
School bag

100cm x 70cm / Acrylic on Board

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Minnie
Minnie

90cm x 70cm / Acrylic on Canvas

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Stepanka sold/prodáno
Stepanka sold/prodáno

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic on Canvas (SOLD)

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Son of a Bitch
Son of a Bitch

100cm x 80cm / Acrylic on Canvas

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Excerpt from Elpsis Boo

I was a benevolent spider to come back like this then waste my proffer – To mix that radiant approach with such cynical gesticulations not worthy of my pre-cognitive arachnid.

I wary my wayfarer till trunksome becomes my daily load now loafing for charity of an armful of respite.  I’ll sell the books I gathered and bemoan the literal since I behave so disastrously in the face of your women.

 

Apopologies for ne’er do wells go fine with wine, but practiced over tea and cake, not so easy, not so chummy, not so happy, need your Mummy?

I flag down gurus while I’m making my mind up.  They sit on the side of the road inventing excuses; reasons why they can’t teach tonight.  If only they could put that kind of effort into disappearing, they might not need to bother me with this question of whomso howto.

I climb the walls and I walk through the walls and I’m traversing them; coagulating and mating with room upon room.  Gliding along the smooth surfaces grown soft with age.  

“No roller skating please.  You’ll trip over the paintings.”

Light, I fly across this weightless veneer.  I’m a feather dandy must needs know what’s on the other side of this wall now and this wall now.  I can creep between the cracks and I can fall through your ceilings and land like a mime in your holiest of holies.

“Gerontion!”  You scream.

“Geronimo!”  I reply.

“Gerrim’!” You mumple.

“Gonner,”  I lame.

 

We’ll settle this like adults.  Your dreams are a means.  Your sleep is a gift.  You eat, you love, you drift.  I amplify your heat and you explode at your very own feet.   Pull up a chair and repeat after me,

“I love my ‘my’.  I love my ‘my’.  My my!  I love!”

...and so I look for my dark, cosy little nooks; the fist made into a fort or a den at my face as I breathe the night into my eyes at my pillow.  

A mock death.  A myth-god.  A moth death.  A Mick god.

My eyes adjust.  It is quiet.  I would perform the play but for the fact that I have no players.  Time to act.  To fill my ‘my’.  I read parts of that book and the authority it lacked.  “The book must read me,”  I thought, and scuttled back into the day.

 

Page one of a manifesto foragainst love...save for a bite on the neck and a trip me over if you’ve heard this one before – I believe wholeheartedly  in the sacrosanct bemusement of a pealed loafer.  Gadflies abound  now and her profile like the Duc De Hey Lolly Lolly gratifies the elderly lady patronising her young lover.  At the platform below me people stare up at me.  At the platform below them they are hungry for hair gel.  Less is more, more or less.  Keep It Similar, Stupid.

Page two of a manifesto for new pants...brushing her way through the myriad of demons and succubae she waits patiently, in constant movement; anti-waits – creates her profane Ammonite of drinks and tears like a cocktail of sultry solitaries.  Gather ye rosebuds while you’re gay – ‘No beer with that cake?!’

Sell your pants to me, skinny, and I’ll slave you away to the mission of pulchritudinous Anglicans and Anglican’ts who befuddle your rise to delicious hypocrisy – one pink hand-dryer cannon.

Page ninety two of Mum and Dad’s...she clip clunks to her hubbly ghastly retard buffer like a beard refuses to pay entry to a Dorothy Parker tribute felch.  Grand slams piffle about the floor unnoticed, except by the infant child bleeding from his armpits and glancing out the corner of his beady little brother’s eyes.  Don’t criticize me.  I’ve seen the Devils run and you ran in to fourth all choo choo train, delighted, just like the rest of them.  I saw you skip and dance and high five with the fucker.

Page piss off I’m thinking...that man is reading a book with no words.  Rubbing his stubble – pausing from reading to lower the book – think on what he has just read – didn’t read – and then back he thrusts his hoovered nose.  If he concentrates hard enough is he getting something from it?  Why not?  Maybe he’s only toying with Andre Breton’s unsatisfied, unqualified, unrealised dream of a dream.