Euphoric Intro:

Stick a fork in me I am a Prague Metro advertisement….done.

If you are reading this then you are probably about to receive (or have received) an official invite to the Vernissage of ‘Everything is a Metaphor for Everything Else on the 12th of Feb, 6pm at Galerie Hala C, Prague 9.

Make me euphoric by dropping by for some wines, mimes, rhymes and crimes. Paintings, video, assemblage, music (from George Whistler) and me, in whom you have been invited to stick a fork...metapho-ri-ca-lly.

See you all soon!

The Euphoric Blog Bit


The love the hate the pulchritude, the poultrytude the good the bad and the frowzy.

To stop arting forever is always an option.

To stop arting forever is never an option.

One would regret both of these choices with equal dramatic fervour.

The 'fervour' is the key here.

Fervour is exhausting. Ideally the artist wishes to do nothing. Ever.

There's the rub.

One nothing needs to be paid for and the other nothing is doing anything else except art which must also get paid for.

Some days love of one's own art is all consuming and wraps the artist in a clean, warm, superhero-covered onesie.

And some days the disgust one feels in their stomach for their own insipid daubings or muddled assemblages is all consuming and the very thought of 'working in a shop' is so attractive that the mind just spins at the thought of taking oneself out of the equation.

I personally fantasize about being Dylan Moran's wine addled character in Black Books or else I am the ageing, bachelor Harrison Ford character in Six Days, Seven Nights.

Leave the art to others.

Oh to Sit back. Allow oneself to enjoy other people's creations without feeling that competitive 'fervour'.


You never can tell if the bad days are a punishment or a lesson. "Everybody goes through this. It's tough," they tell you. "But if you keep your head down and work hard you will reap the benefits and the good will outweigh the bad." It won't outnumber it but it will outweigh it...

Or when the rug is pulled from under that lovely consistent pile of good days you were accumulating by some silly little offhand comment or else a full blown well considered attack, man doesn't that suck?

And you ask yourself what the point is. The point should be me feeling great about what I do, no matter what I do, right?

The 'point' should also never come up. But it does. Constantly. And sometimes the point is utterly banal. Then again there is the distant promise that 8 billion people will glom on to your point and all will be well in the world forever.


One thing you try not to do in this situation is discuss it with anyone. I mean no one knows how things are going to turn out, right. So why jinx it. Why look for advice or ask someone else what they would do?

This is your thing. Your mess.

But hey, not talking about it feels worse. What do typically do as soon as someone shows an interest? I splurge.

Putting it into words can help you put perspective on the thing but those you choose to listen to your spiel will consequently become fundamental to your decision making.

The smartest of these recipients will say nothing. Merely sympathise with the awkwardness and keep shtum however, total, blind support can be just as damaging as outright hostility.

And so we are alone.


Well, you can't just stay in the middle so you plan to make a choice. You have to.

'I Don't Know is Dead'.

You have to make up a solution. You have to make it up and you have to make it work.

All the time as unsure of anything as you've probably ever been - since the last painting.

You have been buffering. Shivering and buffering. In limbo. Inventing things to pray to. Busy maintaining your lifeboat, your parachute, your breathing apparatus. You look busy but your progress is zero. You are actively staying still.

This is turning into a permanent trial separation between you

and future you.

Between us

and the answer.

Let go, dude.

You have permission. Go ahead and break up with yourself. Break up with 'the answer'.

Eleanor: There has to be meaning to existence, otherwise the universe is just made of pain and I don't like the thought of that so tell me the answer.

Janet: The more human I become, the less things make sense, but that's part of the fun, right?

Eleanor: What do you mean?

Janet: If there were an answer I gave you to how the universe works it wouldn't be special. It would just be machinery fulfilling it's cosmic design" it would just be a big dumb food processor, but since nothing seems to make sense when you find something or someone that does it's euphoria.

The Good Place - Season Three - Episode 12


Hope you enjoyed all that. Follow me on Instagram, like me on Facebook and feel free to say 'Hi' to me on either one of those or even on the contact page of this very website.

Also follow and like our Alt*Art Society FB page. Also find me at Elpsis Boo Channel on youtube.

I am committed to making this blog as snappy, fun, experimental and accessible as I can. If any of what I post, paint, paste or print resonates with you, please forward to friends and colleagues with wild abandon!

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