JJFBbennett

  Waiting for Azrael The air in the room doesn't move; it simply presses She has long since stopped looking at the clock, realising that time here isn't a sequence, but a weight. The waiting room has fractured, the mundane reality of plastic chairs and linoleum tiling splintering into a jagged, stained-glass fever dream . High-pitched frequencies of burning red and sickly yellow vibrate against the walls, echoing the frantic noise of a mind that has run out of distractions. She pulls her legs inward and forms a tight knot, dressed in indigo and bruised purple. She tries to find a purpose in her world that refuses to stand still. Every sharp edge of colour feels like a spiritual siege , a sensory reminder that her momentum has been forcibly halted. There is no use in pacing. There is no use in resisting the authoritative hand of the "in-between." To survive this stall, she must stop fighting the current and become part of the stagnant water. She buries her face, lets t...

  I am waiting and maintaining my presence For centuries, artists have shown what it means to wait. Their works capture quiet, tense moments in which every gesture and expression suggests deep emotions just below the surface. One of my favourite artists who explored the theme of waiting is Honoré Daumier. His lithographs and paintings of third-class carriage passengers or people in court waiting rooms are especially insightful. He captures patience, exhaustion, and resignation in their faces and postures, turning waiting into a thoughtful reflection on human life. When I made my digital watercolour, I wanted to capture the feeling of waiting, just as artists before me have done. I used bright oranges and golds to create energy and contrast with the central figure, who appears deep in thought. We have to learn to inhabit the pause rather than just trying to leap over it. I think of it as staying engaged with the 'now,' even when the 'now' feels like a dead end. Instead o...

  Breath Through The Wait The heavy anticipation culminates in a complete surrender, with the oppressive weight of the wait dragging her down. She is a tightly coiled figure, her head hidden, utterly immersed in a flow of deep blues and wounded purples. Around her, the setting has shattered into a jarring, stained-glass mosaic. Shards of burning red and sickly yellow pierce through the waiting room, transforming it into a scene from a fever dream. The wait has transcended a simple social inconvenience, becoming a feeling of spiritual siege. She almost dissolves into the furniture, marked by a particular exhaustion in which all distractions have failed, forcing her into the raw, noisy silence of our own collective minds. The room's colours aren't merely decorative; they resonate like high-pitched emotional frequencies, vibrating against a body of stagnant water. You've succumbed to that awkward in-between space: the momentum of your life has stalled, leaving you with only do...

  The Waiting Room In an instant, the focus shifts from the room's external chaos to the person's internal friction as they wait. Here, the energy isn't just swirling around the figure; it’s soaking into him. He’s caught in that classic hand-to-chin pose, as a signal of a mind that has turned inward because the outside world has nothing left to offer but time. His face is a map of shadows, eyes fixed on a horizon we can’t see, illustrating that specific kind of solitude you find in a crowd. The magenta light returns, bleeding into the white of his shirt and the skin of his hands like a restless heat. It’s a visual pulse that suggests that while he looks bone-still, he’s actually vibrating with an emotional intensity. Behind him, a second figure is submerged in shadow, a reminder that waiting is a shared human sentence, yet we each serve it in our own private silos. The Waiting Room Deep Thoughts This is where the real work happens. These pauses force us to sit with our own ...

  The Silent Riot I see that same heavy air, but it’s electrified—perhaps a visual echo of cognitive resonance where the internal world and the canvas finally meet. The figure on the left isn't just sitting; they are anchored against a storm, much like BK or JB facing the vast, unpredictable reaches of the Space Tourist Chronicles. Their heads are buried in their hands, face half-hidden as if they’re trying to crawl inside their own minds to escape the silence. I stand, seemingly forever. Those thick, aggressive slashes of orange and gold overhead—it’s like a visual scream, capturing that internal riot where my thoughts are racing at a hundred miles an hour while my body is stuck in iron boots. Standing and Waiting music Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via  Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art .  Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private ...

Waiting for inspiration The air in a waiting room carries a specific kind of weight, a density that seems to swallow sound. For centuries, artists have tried to capture this heavy, invisible presence. I think of Honoré Daumier , who portrayed the slumped, weary resignation of third-class travellers. He understood that waiting wasn't just sitting; it was an endurance sport. I see that same heavy air, but my era is electrified. The figure on the left isn't just sitting; they are anchored against a storm of data. Their head is buried in their hands, face half-hidden as if they're trying to crawl inside their own mind to escape the silence. The thick, aggressive slashes of orange and gold overhead resemble a visual scream, capturing that internal chaos where your thoughts race at a hundred miles an hour while your body is stuck in a plastic chair. The green glow on their skin adds a cold, modern tension, making the whole scene feel like a pulse vibrating beneath a still surface...