The Empire of the Primrose The city fell in a single night Holding it would take longer So the painters were summoned in the gloom And the saints on the stone walls... Were given his family's eyes A bloodline was found for him Older than the walls Older than the kings who raised them Now even the iron earth must forget It ever belonged to anyone else... I am the vessel, I am the decree The apex of empire, the false purity Holding the pale coronal into the glare Chartered to conquer the silence out there A seed of cold fences, an ark of damp clay Bending the void to the shape of decay The cycle resets in the dusk of the dream Cobblestone alleys and banners unseen Down the discrepant and tapering throat Past broken angels where gargoyles float Into the wood of the rot and the mould Smelling of Devon and iron gone cold One yellow petal, immaculate bloom Crushing the soul with the weight of its doom Touch the cold stem—and the spires bend back Cobbles turn red on the furnace-h...
Jonus: scene 1 slide 1
Jonus works in an office. He has worked in this office for 20 years. He wants more but he doesn't know how to get more. Jonus feels anxious and threatened.
Jonus: scene 1 slide 2
Jonus would dwell on detail. The detail would observe him. For hours Jonus would stare and ponder. Stance could feel the coldness. It worried her. It took her concentration. She new things were visualizing and as they appeared to become real Jonus looked more and more dangerous. Jonus was now disappearing into himself daily. Stance could hear water, feel heat and feel weight. She knew it was anxiety. She had to take action.
Jonus: scene 1 slide 3
Into his mind did Jonus leap. His rock was safe. The river flowed strong. The flames were growing. Impending doom. Impending fear. Anxiety glassed his lungs. There was nothing to do but fall. The time is now. It was to happen. Jonus was lost from control. He needed to sleep. As long as the river flowed he could sleep. Sleep Jonus demanded of himself.
Jonus: scene 1 slide 4
Get out of my head. I want you out of my head. Sure you want to belong but I do not feel safe. There is some beauty in this fear but I still want you out of my head.
Jonus: scene 1 slide 5
Jonus felt the heat of each flame. He rested for a moment and perched within contemplation he waited for something to happen. And happening did pass him by. Jonus couldn't tell if it was an angle, spirit or memory but it knew him. In a fleeting moment the happening reflected a transcendental understanding. “You will be confronted and you will become frustrated, angry and full of hate. It will happen and you will gain control through revenge. In a short moment you will understand me and through misadventure become me.” Jonus understood a contract was made but couldn't be sure consent occurred. Motionless Jonus contemplate fate and reflected on his many missed opportunities.
Jonus and the 3 sisters
Jonus: scene 1 slide 6
And then the three sisters motioned towards Jonus. They were beautiful in threat, size and power. Veiled with petals of flame their beauty radiated. Jonus was in want. Wake up Jonus the sisters giggled. You have much to do. Your journey to enlightenment is to begin. We have waited so long for you to be with us.
Through the eyes of the Lost Soldier The sky is bleeding into the dirt again, and the old hunger crawls up through my boots. It no longer matters. Time does not march out here. It pools beneath a dry creek bed, stagnant and unseen. But when the moon swells, heavy and bruised with copper rust, the cold in my ribs becomes a scald. The scrub does not burn with heat. It burns with memory. Through the tangled mallee, I see the flash of artillery, the orange-red roar of a barrage that never stopped falling, trapped forever inside the rib cages of these dead gums. I taste copper on my tongue, sharp as rifle oil and dried blood. The black heavens press down, bending the whole world inward until I am trapped inside a glass bead of fire. I pace the boundary where red light cuts into deep shadow, waiting for a relief column that lost its heading eighty years ago. Everything here is parched. I am so thirsty. But I do not want water. I want your nourishment. I want your dawn, your warm pulse, as yo...
Adelaide River to Daly Waters: through the windscreen Through the windscreen, the drive south from Adelaide River toward Daly Waters reveals the continent’s layered past, unfolding mile by mile. The journey is not merely a passage through space; rather, it is a confrontation with history itself, where the frontier’s rupture transforms the land into a living narrative of loss, power, and the slow, stubborn return of what was once taken. Once you cross that violent threshold, where modern roads carve through the repressed ghosts of the interior, you can never see the Australian outback the same way again. The bitumen transforms: no longer a mere ribbon of asphalt, but an audacious thread of technology stretched tenuously over ancient, dreaming ground. Southward, beyond the iron-stained ridges of Pine Creek and the sun-scorched Barkly plains , the story changes. Here, the land speaks of colonial bravado undone, of cultures and nations ground and reformed by force. Telegraph stat...
AI ART and Meaning What role does an artist play when employing AI? Artist statement by JJFBbennett If we accept that AI can generate vast quantities of statistically “meaningful” content from data and algorithms, then meaningful art may lie not in the output itself, but in its selection and framing. AI functions as a kind of unconscious, producing raw material at scale. The artist’s role shifts from maker to curator: deciding what to extract from the data’s noise, what to present as art, the context in which it appears, and the conversation it enters. The artist as the muddler and meddler in the centre of it all. This shift has an art-historical precedent. In 1917, Marcel Duchamp’s *Fountain* made a decisive claim: the artist had not sculpted the urinal but selected it, titled it, and placed it in a gallery. Meaning arose from the gesture of choice rather than the act of making. Walter Benjamin, too, anticipated this logic in his reflections on montage and editing: meaning can e...
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