I am of the Primrose Empire It is always dusk when the cycle resets, like waking inside the cold architecture of an unyielding, repetitive dream. I walk the wet, cobbled veins of an ancient European city, passing beneath stone arches hung with heavy, lifeless flags, heraldry drained of colour, damp cloth clinging to wooden poles like dead skin. There is no breath of wind, only the low, humming pressure of an era turning in its sleep. I reach into an iron sconce and tear loose a torch of roaring, ragged fire. The flame casts jittering amber shadows against the masonry as I plunge down the same discrepant corridor, a passage that bends against geometry, narrowing and widening like an inhaling throat. Past the broken gargoyles. Into the moss-eaten ruins of a seated angel whose stone wings have sheared away to jagged stubs. And onwards, deeper into the vaulted hush, drawn by an old, fevered pull toward the temple of the sacred primrose. Here, in the forgotten transept of empire, stands the...
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Lost and Gone
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Lost and Gone
Poem:
Funnelled into this tunnel
We tiptoe on an obscure path, sinking further into acceptable societal norms. Our leaders are the shining stars of opportunity, hope and desperation. We are wearing modernist chains as productivity symbols. We continually inch forward. Bound by their unspoken agendas.
The tunnel shields us from the glimmer of what could be. We carry the burden of shattered aspirations. We forgot them as the junk of continuous acquisition minced us into meta pulp. What drives our reluctance to deviate from this tunnel?
The way towards a post-capitalist society are intertwined with our innermost galaxies. Can we continue waiting for the moment we can see clearly through the fluorescent lights? Years and years? Generations and generations? Lost and gone.
Story:
Our footsteps echo in compliance on a dark path. Every person watching is a unique shadow, a beautiful and intricate figure composed of unfulfilled dreams and values. We carry chains mistaken for rhythm, our procession of self-imposed burden. The tunnel, an artificial cocoon, becomes a womb of obscurity. We are like Sisyphus, carrying the weight of unfulfilled potential, dissipating against the hard surface of routine. We have the power to step out of line, to break free from our invisible shackles. Yet we stay silent in this parade of shadows and echoes. Is it fear or comfort that holds us in this spectral dance? To break free means facing the unknown, the blinding light of possibility. But we created this tunnel, and the map of the stars is etched on its walls, waiting for us to look up.
Description:
Embark on a metaphorical journey through the 'Tunnel of Self-Reflection.' This video art piece captures the essence of walking a path paved with echoes of our choices and the silhouettes of dreams yet to be fulfilled. As you watch, consider the chains of habit and the weight of potential within us all. Are we comfortable in the darkness, or are we ready to step into the light of the unknown? Join us as we explore these profound questions in a hauntingly beautiful setting. #PathToSelfDiscovery #UnfulfilledDreams #MetaphoricalJourney
Keywords:
Metaphorical Journey, Self-Reflection, Unfulfilled Dreams, Life's Path, Philosophical Art, Echoes of Choice, Chains of Habit, Potential and Fear, Comfort in Darkness, Breaking Free, Self-Discovery, Artistic Interpretation
This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
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