In the gaze of the Phantom

looking back over a year of plunder

Voodoo Gong: The Apeman Walking Backwards to Hell

drawings, photographs and collages by Merl Fluin and Paul Cowdell

at Arkitektvägen 44, Stockholm, Sweden

Saturday 24 November, 2pm-6pm

Sunday 25 November, 12-3pm

Other times by appointment: arkitektvagen44[at]gmail.com

or +46 736 17 20 20

The title of this exhibition was suggested through objective chance in a letter to Merl and Paul from our friend John Andersson. The images presented are all the results of investigations into automatism, dreams, objective chance, interpretive delirium and mad love.

In a forest of shadow-trunked trees

National Poetry Day ain't a fit night out for man nor beast

True poetry should always be made with mitts on

The stranger at Innsmouth

'We need an Olympic-style national crusade' - Brendan Barber

Across the bridge and into the mist, following the sound of hooves behind us

Meanwhile, on Mount Paralympos

despair sets in at the patriotic sporting endeavours staged with the casualties of imperialist adventures. At first Griffin cannot choose between hiding and revenge, before realising that his abilities allow him to do both.

The Cabinet of Dr Calamari

Bushmen of the Caligari

The Porcelain Dancer

Burslem

Suspiria (WC1)

The New Adam

The arrival of the Olympic torch

Cheering crowds line the streets

Wenlock

Throbbing with enthusiasm for London 2012

A bat of afternoon

The pride of the Masonic stables

The mechanical man, his hip-eye winking an appeal

The Discovered Country

Now wilt thou be a Magus?

then thou must understand how to change the Night again into the Day

Blood Diamond Jubilee

I stake no claim to the ground that withers

As she comes flying over

With her leathery grasp.

The city streets rot beneath her talons

As she comes riding

With the jaws of the dead.

With the silvered fins of the prowling rippers

She comes sailing

And the perished fish eyes burst with silt.

I live among the scaly decaying

And we glitter with our feathered hate

Nuremburg, W1

Hurry to John Lewis for dubbin for your jackboots! Get a remote controlled Führer from Hamleys! Feeling hungry? Why not visit our official sponsors for a themed meal, the Triumph of the McWill!

Patriotic fervour and commercial advantage for all the family!

Caged, the scorpion is still snarling

The Keys to Liberty

 

A birthday wish for Angye Gaona

Happy birthday

There once was a fellow named Lear
Whose eyes were remarkably clear
He swallowed a farthing
From a bowl you could bath in
And made distant islands appear

And it's o'er the hills I will roll in splendour

It's the Triumph of the fucking Will

She crooned seductively in my ear with a voice like honey

In the bullet

He sneezed beside a dead woman
Who was sat upright in her clothes of bunting.
Moths flew in cascades before the tomb was closed.
A man cried a tear of gunmetal slag that stuck to his cheek,
While around him faces fractured like the sea
And a woman with the face of a sleeper crusted with ice.
The sun turned to pearls at my shoulder
And she curled her lip like a fish.
The woman who was a cat blinked at me more than once.

In the richness of your secret folds

It was a red herring

for Simon Furey

The Samoan

Two old scholars
Argue about the casual sex
They may or may not have shared
As adolescents.
Their frenzied disputes
Are hopeful fantasies
Of memory.
They apply, fail to apply, apply, fail to apply
The scientific method,
While their public defloration
Is stripped from the calendar.
In this land of no today
The Polynesian gifts exchanged
Are a wave of particles on the sand.
Flightless birds run into a yesterday that did not happen
And the bones of the elders
Will burn down a tomorrow
That will never come.