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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Seeking a New Way of Seeing
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A political act
To rebalance the inequities
Trust intuition
There is a risk that our story will not be told
Our time doesn't have to be linear
Or by its means of describing us
In the busy work of creating an unfulfilling life
Who is in charge of my simulation?
When I am observed
I behave differently
Fearing my vulnerability
Fearing constant attack
My mind indistinguishable from reality
I step onwards
To self-correct my past errors
As I passively slip through multiple dimensions
With My Judgmental and Righteous Hands
In this game, I have two hands
One is for verity
One is judgment
One is bringing forward truth
One is for corrective measures
One is to bring alignment
One is to teach a lesson
As we transform onwards through this immense virtual space
Night Walking with Weapons
In distant places
Everyone is hacking each other
Everyone is grieving
Everyone overconsuming
There are those trying to reduce socio-economic gaps
Where enforcement is distributed unequally
And I keep searching for signs of what is to come
In my sleepwalks
Whilst I stumble around
Seeking a New Way of Seeing A political act To rebalance the inequities
I step onwards And stealthy transverse multiple dimensions
I have two hands To forge space
In my sleepwalks I hack around The distant places
I am night walking With verity With judgment
Godly Hands
Night walking like an American
Gather your weapons
Forge the intention
Demonstrate your propendency to exert violence
Through intervention
Through approval
Be with the one
Listen to your calling
Walk with purpose
With weapon in hand
Gather in the obedient
Prepare and train
In the presence of victory
God’s hand is with you
Godly Growth
Everything has become digitized
Everything has been even more effortless
Living life exponentially faster
But feeling incomplete
Pushing against the limits of our biosphere
Whilst disregarding the contradictory knowledge
There is only a thin blue line that separates us from the eternal darkness of space
Godly Hands Night Growth
My life has been nothing but a failure - Monet
Each night perfectionism
Each night insomnia
Each night dealing with my thinking difficulties
Dealing with "what ifs”
Dealing with “if onlys"
This way of thinking
This epidemic
It is the sickness, sadness, and self-defeating behavior
Of only seeing failure
Augmenting New Ways of Seeing
There are comparative and competitive winners
Observing human actions in controlled and stimulated surroundings
There is a Disparity in My Light: Navigating the Split Creative Consciousness Introduction - Does Metamodernism Oscillate? Clarity, I've learned, doesn't guarantee a smooth landing. While the core recalibration manages our internal mechanics, we eventually have to look back out the window and confront the final destination. For many creators navigating major life transitions or complex technical boundaries, this shift introduces an unsettling inner divide. The anatomy of disparity in creative practice is the psychological friction of a split being—standing physically present in a new space while your internal pace is still trying to catch up with the velocity of your transition. When we widen our creative intent, we often slice our universe in half: balancing cold, geometric clarity on one side against the messy, vibrant residue of personal regret on the other. Rather than forcing these halves to blend, we must learn to treat this exact contrast as our personalised map. Geom...
What is the Disparity Portal? A Metamodernist Commentary by artist JJFBbennett Portrait of a Metamodernist Artist If you stepped through the glass ring, which version of yourself would look back? A metamodernist discussion by artist JJFBbennett. A calm young man with wavy, dark cerulean-blue hair and a subtle smile stands perfectly centred inside a massive glass ring portal. He wears a simple light blue long-sleeved shirt. Behind his head, an intense golden sunburst radiates sharp, blinding rays. To his left are thick purple impasto swirls; to his right is a serene green valley painting. High-detail digital art, metamodern, surreal masterpiece. The Churn of the Unmade Look at the left side of the canvas. It isn’t just paint; it’s the heavy, exhausting gravity of pure affectation. I applied these deep purples and stark whites with a thick palette knife, wanting you to feel the weight of the medium itself—the messy, chaotic over-saturation of our digital lives, the constant noise. I...
Image to be added - watch this space My Psychological Landscape: A Speculative Ecology of the Stratosphere Introduction What is Terrestrial Control? What is Stratospheric Flow? Image to be added - watch this space The transition from the terrestrial to the atmospheric is rarely just a matter of mechanics; it is a profound undoing of the architectural ego. We board our vessels encased in the comforting math of engineering, believing we are merely shifting a physical mass from one geographical coordinate to another. But at a certain altitude, the boundary between the internal theatre of the mind and the external expanse of the world begins to fray. As the metal hull and the quiet murmurs of the cabin dissolve, I am no longer just travelling through the sky; I am becoming a part of it. Stepping directly into the stratosphere, the heavy, churning clouds of deep teals and bruised indigos cease to be merely a reflection of my psychological landscape—they reveal the fluid, boundle...
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