This ring is the disparity portal What are our cognitive struggles? Metamodernist art by JJFBbennett The glass ring doesn't just divide the canvas; it bridges two entirely different eras of the soul. Look to the left. You see that heavy, anxious abstract expressionism—thick, turbulent strokes of purple and white paint colliding in a chaotic swirl. It’s the noise of modern anxiety, the visceral weight of our internal cognitive struggles. But follow the curve of the glass to the right, and the world opens up into an almost naive, idyllic landscape. Soft green hills, a quiet, winding river, and a pastoral peace that feels like a memory of a place we’ve never actually been. It’s intentionally a bit ironic, a bit nostalgic—a digital dream of simplicity. This ring is the disparity portal itself. It is a lens balancing on the fine line of metamodernism, suspended between cynical detachment and sincere hope. And if you look closely right there on the upper-left curve of the glass, I left...
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
Vision 2 - The Unbearable Truth
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
-
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 the primal, desperate push against rising panic.
Vision 2 The Unbearable Truth - Red Alert
Story - Narration
The whisper starts low... curling around the base of my skull like smoke. Some minds... are like black holes.
It isn’t just a thought—it’s a gravitational collapse. I feel my own psyche imploding... a dense singularity sucking in light, logic, and hope—crushing them into nothingness.
Then... the alarm hits.
My anxiety manifests as a deafening... crimson... klaxon. It is a "relentless tempest" of warring thoughts. A hurricane trapped inside a skull.
Suddenly... I am back in the cockpit. But the reality is wrong. The instruments are screaming at me... but the readouts are in an alien language—jagged glyphs I cannot read. Every flashing light is an accusation! Every warning tone signifies a catastrophic failure I. Cannot. Fix.
My instinct—pure... animal... and terrified—screams ABORT! But the canopy is black. There is no vector. There is no escape route.
I am paralyzed by the war of impulses tearing me apart—the violent lunge to fight... and the desperate retreat to hide. I am caught in the friction... grinding my teeth until they threaten to shatter. My entire existence is reduced to a single... strained gasp... forced out through the crushing weight on my chest:
"I live... for fuck's sake... I don't know.”
The Violet Firestorm returns! Hotter this time. I respond with explosive, automatic violence—thrashing against the restraint of the cocoon!
My lungs are burning... scorched by the primal, desperate push against the panic... that is rising like a tide... to drown me.
This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without the written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
Comments
Post a Comment