Empire of the Primrose poem The city fell in a single night. Holding it would take longer. So the painters were summoned, and the saints on the walls were given his family's eyes. A bloodline was found for him, older than the walls, older than the kings who raised them. Now even the earth must forget it ever belonged to anyone else. The Empire of the Primrose - Station 1 Do you have recurring dreams? Travel Sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett The cycle always resets at dusk, 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 shad...
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A Blue Future
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A Blue Future
Melbourne City comes alive under the night sky, with its streets illuminated by artificial lights. The bridge and glowing buildings cut through the darkness, reaching toward a horizon that offers more of the same. Cars move slowly along the roads, each one a small, isolated world heading to unknown destinations. The city, a symbol of human achievement, buzzes with activity yet remains unaware of the silent voices of the individuals it shelters. Each light in every window tells a story of a life being lived, but from a distance, they merge into a pattern of light and shadow. The scene's beauty, with its twinkling lights and lively energy, is undeniable. Still, it is a cold, distant beauty, reminding us of the vast unknown lurking beneath our constructed realities. Faced with such immensity, one can only embrace the absurdity, find comfort in the struggle, and continue the Sisyphean task of pushing the enormity of life to new heights.
A Blue Future Video
Melbourne City comes alive under the night sky with illuminated streets, bridges, and buildings. Cars move slowly, each one heading to unknown destinations. The city buzzes with activity yet remains unaware of the individuals it shelters. Each light in every window tells a story of a life being lived, but from a distance, they merge into a pattern of light and shadow. The scene's beauty is undeniably a reminder of the vast unknown lurking beneath our constructed realities.
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.
Through the eyes of the Lost Soldier The sky is bleeding into the dirt again, and the old hunger crawls up through my boots. It no longer matters. Time does not march out here. It pools beneath a dry creek bed, stagnant and unseen. But when the moon swells, heavy and bruised with copper rust, the cold in my ribs becomes a scald. The scrub does not burn with heat. It burns with memory. Through the tangled mallee, I see the flash of artillery, the orange-red roar of a barrage that never stopped falling, trapped forever inside the rib cages of these dead gums. I taste copper on my tongue, sharp as rifle oil and dried blood. The black heavens press down, bending the whole world inward until I am trapped inside a glass bead of fire. I pace the boundary where red light cuts into deep shadow, waiting for a relief column that lost its heading eighty years ago. Everything here is parched. I am so thirsty. But I do not want water. I want your nourishment. I want your dawn, your warm pulse, as yo...
AI ART and Meaning What role does an artist play when employing AI? Artist statement by JJFBbennett If we accept that AI can generate vast quantities of statistically “meaningful” content from data and algorithms, then meaningful art may lie not in the output itself, but in its selection and framing. AI functions as a kind of unconscious, producing raw material at scale. The artist’s role shifts from maker to curator: deciding what to extract from the data’s noise, what to present as art, the context in which it appears, and the conversation it enters. The artist as the muddler and meddler in the centre of it all. This shift has an art-historical precedent. In 1917, Marcel Duchamp’s *Fountain* made a decisive claim: the artist had not sculpted the urinal but selected it, titled it, and placed it in a gallery. Meaning arose from the gesture of choice rather than the act of making. Walter Benjamin, too, anticipated this logic in his reflections on montage and editing: meaning can e...
Adelaide River to Daly Waters: through the windscreen Through the windscreen, the drive south from Adelaide River toward Daly Waters reveals the continent’s layered past, unfolding mile by mile. The journey is not merely a passage through space; rather, it is a confrontation with history itself, where the frontier’s rupture transforms the land into a living narrative of loss, power, and the slow, stubborn return of what was once taken. Once you cross that violent threshold, where modern roads carve through the repressed ghosts of the interior, you can never see the Australian outback the same way again. The bitumen transforms: no longer a mere ribbon of asphalt, but an audacious thread of technology stretched tenuously over ancient, dreaming ground. Southward, beyond the iron-stained ridges of Pine Creek and the sun-scorched Barkly plains , the story changes. Here, the land speaks of colonial bravado undone, of cultures and nations ground and reformed by force. Telegraph stat...
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