The Empire of the Primrose - Station 1 Do you have recurring dreams? Travel Sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett It is always dusk when the cycle resets, 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 shadows against the masonry as I plunge down the same discrepant corridor, a passage that bends against geometry, narrowing and widening like an inhaling throat. 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...
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Abstraction Belief and Experience
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Modernist art and idealised reality
When you look at abstract art, you filter it through your own beliefs and experiences. Your perception turns the artwork into a visual puzzle, shaped by your unique psychological makeup.
It is futile to ask what the artist intended, because you inevitably interpret the artwork through the lens of your own life. Bring your own perspectives when approaching modernist abstract art.
Modernist artists aspired to a universal, timeless harmony, pursuing the "supremacy of pure feeling." They demanded absolute sincerity, approaching the canvas as an idealised reality. Decades later, the world and art have evolved.
Modernist art and idealised reality
Looking through the Lens of Belief
Your core values and philosophical outlook dictate whether you perceive divine harmony or chaotic randomness in a composition.
Many pioneering abstractionists created art inspired by their spiritual beliefs, often expressing the unseen.
The artist’s worldview shapes the use of tension, balance, freedom, and restriction in the composition. The artist is always present within the work.
There is no objective validation of truth: If an artwork feels empty or lacking in meaning, let your beliefs interpret it, but do not expect universal validation.
Looking through the Lens of Experience
Your past joys, traumas, and memories act as filters, projecting familiar emotions onto unfamiliar forms.
Let a shape, texture, or line trigger memories of things you have encountered before.
Read about the artist and their contemporaries. Appreciating art is not just about discovery, but enrichment. Exposure to art, culture, and history builds a personal library of symbols and associations, helping you decode abstract patterns.
Remember, a person created the artwork. Imagine how you might have approached its creation and how you could make it your own.
The Intersection: Your Personal Mirror
You are a co-creator: Abstraction invites you to complete the artwork, with your beliefs and experiences supplying the final narrative.
Your response to abstract art can shift over time. What leaves you unmoved one day may deeply resonate with you on another, depending on your state of mind.
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.
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 ...
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...
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