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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My Alien Plasma
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My Alien Plasma
I made two digital artworks, each with a different approach. The first, Alien Plasma Neo, uses advanced digital editing to show a highly detailed energy being. The second, Plasma Alien, is a gestural painting that focuses on raw emotion. My interest in the 'energy being' theme comes from a lifelong curiosity about forces and life forms beyond what we usually see. I find energies and unseen phenomena fascinating because they represent transformation, vitality, and the mystery at the centre of my creativity. I want to explore how to visually convey inner power and life force, using both digital tools and painting techniques. I like experimenting with different tools to change an artwork. Comparing these two pieces shows how my intent shifts, much as a traditional artist might try out new media and methods.
Alien Plasma Neo
My first piece, Alien Plasma Neo, was all about hyper-definition and symmetry. I wanted to show this being at its highest energy, even down to the smallest energy pathways. I used GIMP and Luminar Neo to create strong neon effects and contrast, and I experimented with AI tools to shape the detailed, crystal-like network of glowing fibres. Every claw, every symmetrical part, and the strict geometry of the corridor were meant to make it a perfect digital specimen. I approached it as if I were documenting its power with a high sense of visual believability.
Alien Plasma Cave Neo
Now, while travelling with only my iPad, I wanted to simplify things and focus on feeling rather than details. That’s how Plasma Alien started, drawn directly in Procreate. The difference is clear right away. I loosened the symmetry and focused on a more active, dynamic pose. The energy is no longer controlled; it’s wild, explosive, and twisting. I used loose, textured Procreate brushes to paint light rather than just show it. The background changed too, from a detailed corridor to a loose swirl of colours, like a portal of light and movement. In Plasma Alien, I tried to show what it feels like to be near this being. This version is more of a rush of inner power than a clear depiction. I hope you, as the viewer, can sense the electric energy and volatility, as if you were standing in the room yourself, reacting instinctively. One piece is a sharp digital snapshot, while the other is raw. I am unsure how I shall take this forward as a transformation of my art practice. Do you have any thoughts?
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.
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...
The Terminal Horizon Highway The Terminal Horizon Tourist Bus Would you catch the Terminal Horizon bus? Travel sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett The Long Highway Out here, the world ends not in silence, but in fire. The asphalt bleeds into cracked red earth, stretching toward a bruised horizon where the sky refuses to cool. Behind the glass, you drive chasing ghosts through a desert that forgot rain a lifetime ago. Beneath the Scorch Every road leads deeper into the furnace. Even below the surface, the rock fissures and weeps, hot steam rising through subterranean fractures where molten veins pulse in the dark, feeding an ancient, unforgiving heat. Broken Arteries What we built couldn’t hold. Rails twist into the dunes, swallowed by iron sand and wind. Bridges split down the seam, concrete splintered into raw bone, tangled rebar, and dying wires crackling into the smoke. The machines stopped; the wasteland stayed. The Last Horizon And when the road finally runs out, the...
From Adelaide River to Daly Waters Somewhere south of the Adelaide River "South of the Adelaide River" explores the haunting intersection of modern progress and forgotten history in the vast stretches of the Northern Territory. At the center of the composition stands the specter of a lone soldier, a poignant symbol of profound loss and of abandoned souls swallowed by the unforgiving outback. Stripped of a specific name, era, or mission, the figure represents all those left behind by the relentless march of time—individuals whose sacrifices and stories faded into the scrubland while the world simply moved on. The striking juxtaposition of this spectral wanderer beside a towering, contemporary road train underscores a profound sense of isolation. The heavy machinery of the modern world inches forward down the isolated track, entirely oblivious to the lingering ghosts of the past tethered to the roadside. The brilliant, atmospheric lighting that breaks through the forest canopy ...
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