Most recent post

The art of authenticity

-
Image
  The Struggle for Authenticity in Art I want to speak today about authenticity . And about what we quietly give up to be accepted. We’re told that contemporary political art values autonomy . That artists are free. That inquiry sits at the centre of practice. But autonomy, in reality, is often something we *perform*— not something we’re allowed to exercise. Freedom is celebrated rhetorically, while legitimacy is granted only when work conforms to approved languages , approved theories , approved causes . Autonomy isn’t denied outright. It’s curated. This system doesn’t fail artists by accident. It functions mechanically. It rewards work that aligns with predetermined frameworks and filters out work that doesn’t speak the sanctioned dialect. Many voices are excluded not because they lack skill or meaning, but because they refuse to translate their experience into institutionally legible language. I’m not saying all excluded work is good. I am saying much of it is never heard. And ...
Post a Comment

Echoes of Tomorrow

-

 


Echoes of Tomorrow 

Intro:
The machines hum quietly in the night,
A soft pulse beneath the stars,
Invisible hands weaving through our dreams,
What will we become when the lines are blurred?
Between belonging and not belonging.

Verse 1:
We once spoke in whispered tones,
Conversations with the earth, the trees, the rivers,
Now, our words float above the static,
Lost in an ocean of ones and zeros,
Connection feels distant, like a memory
But somewhere, the heart still beats, still sings.

Chorus:
They promised us a future painted in light,
But I feel the shadows more than I see the glow,
In this tangled web of thought and code,
Where do we find ourselves?
Where do we find ourselves?
Where do we find ourselves now?

Verse 2:
The horizon is neither here nor there,
A question lingers on the lips of time.
We trusted the machines to carry our stories,
But who will remember the silence,
The way the wind touched your face,
Before we surrendered to the hum?

Chorus:
They promised us a future painted in light,
But I feel the shadows more than I see the glow,
In this tangled web of thought and code,
Where do we find ourselves?
Where do we find ourselves?
Where do we find ourselves now?

Altro:
If we close our eyes,
Will we return to the warmth of the sun,
Or drift deeper into the echoes,
Until we no longer remember
What it felt like to belong?
To belong with each other.



Nu JAZZ

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCrxQKZRnAka3dliF7lp1-Ow

Keywords

Urban decay, Flower crown, Beauty in chaos, Dusk photography, Ethereal imagery, Urban portrait, Nature in the city, Flower symbolism, Twilight scene, Urban art

Hashtags

#UrbanDecay #FlowerCrown #BeautyInChaos #DuskPhotography #EtherealVibes #UrbanPortrait #NatureInTheCity #StreetPhotography #TwilightBeauty #FloralArt #CityLife #UrbanElegance #ContrastingWorlds #MoodyVibes #PhotographyLovers









John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett, is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger, YouTube, Flicker, Facebook, Instagram and Deviant Art. 

You can subscribe to my music via YouTube Music, Spotify, iTunes, Apple Music and Soundcloud

To support my art, feel free to donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal  

If you want to acquire JJFB's art creations as an NFT - John's Opensea NFT profile is https://opensea.io/JJFBbennett  


Copyright

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.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Vision 2 - The Unbearable Truth

-
Image
  The Situation - Red Alert JB , a middle-aged mail spaceship pilot . Starship piloting JB is held not by ropes, but by the cryo-unit's nanoweave swaddle —a tight, absolute embrace mimicking paranoiac wrappings. This material presses against him, preventing his shivering flesh from flying apart under the centrifugal force of his panic. He feels a cold burn and constant helplessness sinking in. His anxiety is a crimson klaxon , a "relentless tempest" of warring thoughts. He is mentally back in the cockpit, but the instruments scream in an alien language; every light and warning signifies impending failure. His pure instinct screams ABORT , yet there is no escape route. Confrontation Rising JB is shown the war of impulses tearing him apart—the "lunge and the retreat". His existence is reduced to the strained gasp: "I live for fucks sake, I don't know.” Full Assault a Violet Firestorm JB responds with explosive, automatic violence, his lungs burning from ...
Read more

The Puppet Master

-
Image
  Puppet Master The narrow, high-walled passage swallowed the sound of my boot scraping a broken cobblestone, the echo sharp in the dry air. Above, a sliver of unforgiving sunlight cut down, carving deep shadows where the damp, mossy scent of the gully was now replaced by the smell of dust and ancient stone. I paused, looking not just at my gloved hand—the leather scuffed from my descent, but at what was attached to it. Thin, nearly invisible lines, like high-tensile wires , stretched from the articulated cuff on my wrist and disappeared into the air above the path. I tracked them with my eyes until they converged on a small, stone figure standing motionless in the centre of the walkway. It was a crude marionette , barely a foot tall, carved from the same pale, cracked stone as the surrounding walls. Dressed in a simple tunic, its blank, oval face held a radiating sense of expectant waiting. Its arms were held out, palms up. I held the strings. Yet, the feeling was not one of cont...
Read more

The art of the obscure and meaningless

-
Image
  The hand that holds the glamour Between the flick of a lighter and the curl of smoke lies a story told in two parts: the hand that holds the glamor, Between the flick of a lighter and the curl of smoke lies a story told in two parts: the hand that holds the glamor, and the eye that chooses to believe it. The art of the obscure and meaningless In the realm of modernist art , exemplified by Eddie's deliberate embrace of abstraction and mystery , artists have increasingly surrendered their authoritative power of intent to a veil of meaningless vagueness, compelling viewers to co-create meaning from fragmented suggestions rather than receiving a clear, directive vision. Her scalpel-wielded dissections—such as her perforated self-portraits or obscured war images—eschew explicit communication in favour of elusive hints, as she professed a desire to remain "mysterious" and avoid revelation, thereby shifting the burden of interpretation onto the audience in a pseudo-spiritual a...
Read more