Total Ego then Death This is a portrait of Total Ego Death. It captures the exact moment the pilot realises he cannot reach the controls, and his psyche fragments under the pressure of the transformation. He is a faceless construct, exploding from the inside out. I am shattering, fragmenting, disintegrating... My mind is a supernova, exploding into a million shards of darkness. I am no longer a man, just a silhouette, a shadow of what once was. The panic is absolute, suffocating, consuming me. I am nothing, and everything, all at once. Time is warping, twisting, bending... I am lost in the void, forever trapped in this moment of pure terror. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge 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 . Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private FB hub: https://www.facebook.com/share/g/18ythpSXPZ/ You can subscribe to...
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Stop and Revive in a Dreamlike Haven
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Intelligent Design My Cyborg Spoodle
Katcha, my beloved cyborg spoodle, truly is unlike any other dog I've ever encountered. His fur shimmers with this stunning iridescent blue that catches the light in the most mesmerising way—it's almost like he's glowing with energy. I love how the patches of soft fluff contrast beautifully with the gleam of his metallic joints and plates; it creates this fascinating blend of the organic and the mechanical that never fails to amaze me.
Whenever I watch him stand perfectly still, I can’t help but admire the intricate design of his gears and panels, animated by those vibrant LED lights. It’s almost as if he’s a work of art. What I cherish most is how he carries himself; despite the coldness of his metal parts, there’s so much warmth in his posture. With his head slightly tilted and those curious eyes locked onto something unseen at his feet, Katcha radiates this incredible curiosity. I genuinely believe a spark of self-awareness and high intelligence is glowing brightly within his mechanical frame. I feel lucky to share my life with such an extraordinary companion.
The Rumour Mill is a dreamlike space station that serves as a "stop and revive" for travellers. It offers a variety of experiences, from quiet seclusion to lively social interaction, along with retro-futuristic aesthetics. The station can alter one's perception of reality, offering access to memories and visions. Travellers can also repair their ships, gather gossip, and receive revitalising treatments. However, time (measured in "cycles") is a valuable commodity at The Rumour Mill, so visitors must manage their stay carefully.
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.
Situation - The Tempest’s Reflection JB , a spaceship pilot, has been placed into a cryo cocoon to revive and transform his life essence. Inside the cocoon, he experiences his mind as a "relentless tempest of clashing thoughts, swirling and churning, mirroring the furious chaos outside of the machine." JB also sees his older self trapped in the same transitory state. The Storm in my Looking Glass A cinematic close-up of JB’s face behind the curved glass of the cryo-cocoon . The glass reflects not the room but a "relentless tempest" of swirling dark clouds and lightning , symbolising his churning thoughts. In the storm's reflection, a ghostly older version of JB is visible, trapped and silent, mirroring the pilot's current state. Cryogenic Rejuvenation Chamber - Night This trapped specter is the true mirror of our pilot's current, suspended state: a mind caught between two ages, the man he was refusing to be silenced, terrified of the man he is about to ...
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. An...
Creation doesn’t save. Art stabilises. That’s why art continues after belief has died. Not because it promises something— But because consciousness cannot stop itself. The will to create isn’t heroic. It’s involuntary. A reflex. The art of futility A spoken monologue I don’t make art because it matters. I make it because consciousness produces excess. And excess demands release. That’s the first lie we’re taught—that art points toward truth. Truth doesn’t need us. It existed before our gestures and will remain after our silence. Art isn’t revelation. It’s a regulation. An overdeveloped mind can’t remain idle. Thought accumulates. Pressure builds. Expression becomes a discharge—not a message. This isn’t noble. It’s biological. Paintings. Texts. Sounds. Images. All variations of the same maneuver. Not transcendence . Containment . Once you see this, ambition collapses. Influence. Legacy . Relevance. These are metaphysical debts art can no longer pay. The work is finished the mome...
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