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The Metamodern Smudge: Seeing Growth on the Frame

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  The Metamodern Smudge: Seeing Growth on the Frame My use of the phrase "Fingerprint on the frame" functions as a metamodernist artifact. From my perspective, metamodernism oscillates between modernist sincerity and postmodern irony, and this concept sits precisely at that intersection. It recognises that the artwork within the frame is a construction, while also valuing the human touch that created it. More than just recognition, it is the fundamental identifier.  In this space, the smudge is not just an artistic signature; it is a map of personal growth. It reveals the traces of our experiences and the impact of our interactions with the world around us. The transparency of glass symbolises the invisible cultural conditions that shape our perspectives, allowing us to see through to the complex realities that influence our creativity and expression. This interplay creates a deeper understanding of both the art and the artist, acknowledging that every mark left behind tells ...
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Ubud It happens in this time.

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It happens in this time.

Within all of this hassell and bustle, there is peace to be found.
It matters that our approach of founding is addressed.
If we don't walk so fast,  if our minds are rested.
We will have found this, where and whenever we intend understanding.
Time were ritual is small,  place where space is eternal.
There is a pattern to making sense.
Personalised and collective.


Forget the calling of the influential and competitive.
Forget the combatants.
Attempt to day dream.
Fall over the drawn line.
Re-position and let each door open wide.
So much to see in so many small spaces.
A universe in each unearthed cavity.



There are many gods who nonsensically watch us.
All whispering whilst we restrictively rant.
They have privileged loss.
They have fallen from superiority to obscurity.
Their stories are silent whilst we are glorious in distraction.
Fall with them, dream with them,  be at mind with them.



Within each fall, they linger and mutate on.
Through each season, timeless and enduring.
Cyclic they remain unnoticed.
They want to be noticed,  and we can learn from their shimmer.
Their stains against time.
It is possible to see them dance and weave through our space.
Ever-slowly, ever-changing and ever-in-ness.
It happens in this time.
Never in or when convenient.
Busy being,  erodes our capability to make sense.




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