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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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Godin Defence: Why can't everything just stay the same?

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Life promised so much but little favour came my way.
And over this vista of nothingness I claimed what is mine.
I waited for all of the promises and yet none did come.
Others more fortunate gained splendor, but splendor was not me.
And I gained self respect on other's misfortune.
But your misfortune is not of my concern.
Count your blessings and rot in your tragedy.
Yes it will end in tears should you trespass my den.

I do not travel,  my miracle is here.
I remained close to my heritage.
This colonial might.
This is God's country, he gave it to me.
I will deny you entry.
You are contagion, you are far less than me.

There are trees in my backyard, insects and lizards.
Rodents scamper at my feet and bats by my ears.
My dog is obedient.
In silence we sit.
Impatient and anxious , I do not want change.
In dark moments I tend to my spite.
With bottle in hand I seek like-minded.

A good  man I have been.
I have done no wrong.
My house is clean.
My garden is tendered.
My lawn is mowed.
My animals are fed.
My hatred is strong.

This is my patch, it's where I belong.
This is my home, you are not welcome.
This is my country and I trust no other.
Why can't everything just stay the same?

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