"Grub" Promo

Grub from Michael Rowley on Vimeo.

"Grub"

This is a video I shot and edited for Sanctuary, a church in Tulsa, OK.
Creatively, this video took me longer than most I've done, but I am glad I spent the time on it.

"Goetz"

A new piece I recently finished entitled: "Goetz"
Sharpie and India Ink on Canvas


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bernhard_Goetz

Systems Shirt Ideas-Whatchu Think?

Four shirt ideas for my band Systems, click on the picture to see them larger. Feel free to leave feedback on my facebook or somewhere else you choose to leave feedback.





Check out the band at: www.myspace.com/systemssound and keep checking up, we will have new music up towards the end of August.

Sonya, We Need You

Whatever happened to the Pet Psychic? You know the one I am talking about, the Pet Psychic that debuted her abilities a few years ago on Animal Planet or Discovery Channel or some other network that was struggling for interesting programming (maybe it was A&E). Whether you remember her or not most likely does not affect your life in any way whatsoever, but the more interesting thought resides in the question of whose lives did she affect, and how are they now? How is Fluffy doing after she was finally able to communicate her frustrations to her loving owner via the powers of the Pet Psychic? Or, how is Skipper the pony (No, I did not go back and research the names of the animals that were in the episodes.) who just wanted his mane to be brushed more? Is he getting that relaxing rub that he desired so desperately? In the spirit of hope for the betterment of humanity/nature, I hope that Fluffy’s and Skipper’s owners followed through with their pets’ desires and relieved them of their past frustrations.

A bigger question, however, is where the hell is the Pet Psychic now? Her show was cancelled, contrary to everyone’s expectations for tremendous success, and now we have no idea where she could be. What about all of our pet’s issues? Surely she must have an emergency clinic in Buffalo, New York where you can bring your pets to find out what is really going on with their strange urination patterns. Maybe she is trying to revitalize her television career, auditioning for shows like The Real World, Jersey Shore, or Extreme Home Makeover. I feel like Ty and the gang might need the help of a pet psychic so that before they decide on whether the family deserves a new house or not, they could send her to scope out the neighborhood to find the alley-cats and hear the truth about the family.

It just seems sad to me that such a metaphysical and supernatural gifting that the Pet Psychic possesses could be going to such a tragic waste. Forget people like Morgan Freeman to be your narrator for the newest and most elaborate nature film, let’s get someone who can tell me what the dolphin thinks about how his blow-hole looks on camera rather than how he uses it.

Video for Sanctuary Initiative

Backpacks for Kids-Sanctuary Initiative from Michael Rowley on Vimeo.

A Video I did for Sanctuary, a church in Tulsa, Ok.

The Cloud

The cloud

To the scientist, something to be calculated
To the farmer, a premonition of life
To the artist, the canvas for the sun to paint on
To the child, the artist painting
To the shivering, a curse
To the perspiring, a blessing
To those under a clear sky, non-existent
To the defiant, something to jump through
To the meteorologist, a money-maker
To the blood-thirsty, a veil to drop bombs through
To the pre-occupied, irrelevant
To the worn, a reminder

In the end, it is the cloud.

Forget me, please.

Traveling to the place of your rearing is always an interesting endeavor. It stirs up all sorts of feelings, some good, some bad, and some indeterminable.

I was in Amarillo and Portales (Grandma's) over the Thanksgiving Break and it was an interesting, unrestful experience. This visit back stuck out to me in particular for some reason, perhaps due to my expectations. Less speculation, more narration-after all you have no idea what I'm saying.

On Thursday morning, We (my family and I) took the two hour trek over to the barren and forgotten land of East New Mexico. Arriving there around noon, the normal cycle began: carry the bags in, hug Mimi, eat chips with dip, and catch up on the news of the family-Cousin's surprise pregnancy, Aunt's argument with Mimi, and tears of frustration on the soft cheeks of my grandmother. Slowly more and more family start to trickle in, now finished working cattle at "the place."

Dinner begins and I, of course, take my seat at the "kids table." The kid's table is where I belong when I am in Portales. I am stuck in a time decelerrator in the minds of those sitting around "The Adult Table" as they poke fun at my facial hair as if I am a sixteen year old trying to grow out his first beard. I sit there, taking it, feeling as though I am a sixteen year old. The funniest experience, sitting at the kid's table, is getting talked to about your recent engagement and upcoming marriage. I suppose you don't graduate up to the Adult Table until you are old enough in the eyes of your relatives to be getting married.

That night, politics make their way into the discussion. I've never seen so many people avert their eyes to their cell-phones to avoid attempting to take my opinion seriously.


Portales:
Congratulations on the engagement: 1
"You don't need to get married this young" talks: 1
Beard jokes: Plenty


We traveled back to Amarillo on Friday, back to the town that is enigmatically unexplainable. This town you can taste and feel in a way I haven't experienced in many places. When I look around Amarillo, at the streets, the cars and the people, it's as if looking through a gray filter that slows time and progress. As if the spirits of the Native Americans that used to inhabit the land are hunting for those pursuing ingenuity and change and firing a tranquilizing arrow into their necks. A punishment for robbing them of their land. In Amarillo you have two choices: It's either impregnating and drugs or ministries and John Mayer.
It's interesting how seductive those two options seem to be to so many people. I suppose both provide orgasms and money.

I've noticed that the gray filter that slows time and progress disables those under its spell from investigating my personal growth and change, much like what I experienced in Portales. In their filmed eyes I am still the high-school Michael. The "emo" Michael. The "funny" Michael. The Michael that doesn't want to talk, but instead would rather busy himself with old practices.

I wish the tranquilizer could be sucked from the veins of that city, the grayness be erased, and a flower pop up in a sidewalk crack for someone to discover for the first time.

I want, rather than to be remembered, to be forgotten and reintroduced.