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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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Travel Lake Bennett

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It only takes the slightest breeze.
After each sunset.
Before the problems of the day are resolved.

The bludgeoned crawl out.
To reclaim some dignity.
And some semblance of affinity with living.
And their efficacy to feel beautiful.

The opportunity to refract and diverge with their whispers.
If you want to listen to them.


3am in the morning.
When the void sets in.
And all daily grinds transpire.
Stone cold awake.

Then night allows your creativity.
The force denied brilliant struggle.
By stripping away your defenses.

You wake up and feel the affinity.
The moon, stars, and clouds.
Listen to your reptilian cycle.
Before the window closes.
And you have forgotten the introspection.




Quiet conversations.
On whatever breeze chances by.
No longer demanding hardened options.
Or decisive actions.

Just being aware of stillness.
As an uncomplicated opportunity.
When elsewhere else has none.
Claim this moment.
To be within yourself.




Translucent memories.
Whispering for your return.
To childhood when nothing was an option.
Without the graveyard of divisive actions.

Drifting through the stillness.
Lulled.
Without care.
Engrossed at the moment.
As a cloud appears.
And without your permission.
Transfixes your amazement.




Lake Bennett  Water Cloud Branch 
Full Moon Reflections

When the moon finally breaks through.
And the restless breeze wanders between.
Past hatreds and future promises.
And the decisions of others who cut me down.

I just cannot stop.
And I fight with myself for my life.
Knowing others fight harder.
Never to gain even.
But I never wanted to march.
But I did.




When my thoughts don't realize.
I become restless.
I wander between what could have been.
My hatreds and false starts.
And all decisions I could never make.

My sky dreaming.
My glass ceilings.
I as the consumer.
Stoked by the genius.
Those who know better for me.
And the wasted life of never meeting promises.
But still, I follow.







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