Most recent post

Blood Moon Scrub

-

Blood Moon Scrub

Have you seen the blood moon?
Travel Sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett

Under the blood moon, the vast stillness of the outback dissolves into something cosmic, suspended between dream and deep red fire.

Rising through the enveloping dark, the blood moon did not simply sit in the sky; it swallowed the landscape whole, curving around the horizon like a living lens. Through its glowing, crimson ember core, the skeletal forms of ghost gums and twisted scrub took on the pulse of an ancient furnace. Vivid slashes of cadmium scarlet and molten gold flared against bruised greens, setting the silhouettes of the bush ablaze without a single breath of smoke.

Around the periphery, the void creeps in, anchoring the fiery sphere to the quiet earth below, where cool tufts of spinifex melted into deep midnight shadows. It felt less like standing beneath the Southern Cross night and more like gazing through a tear in the terrestrial fabric; the ancient inland terrain breathing, glowing, and echoing with the spectral energy of a world caught in a quiet, chromatic eclipse.

Out here, myth and memory bleed together under the red-amber glow. This is the night when the lost soldier is most ravenous, wandering the edges of the red heat, starved for home and forever tethered to the burning quiet of the scrub. Stay on the bus.







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. 


To support my art, feel free to 
  • become a subscribed member via Patreon
  • donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal  


Copyright

This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without the sponsor's written permission is prohibited.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Highway and the Lost Soldier

-
Image
The Highway and the Lost Soldier The midday sun around Adelaide River does something violent to the bitumen. At forty-five degrees, the Stuart Highway softens like melting fat; it turns into a black mirror, rippling with an unnatural, liquid glare that pools over every low rise. That is where it waits. He is always trudging south, away from life and deeper into the blistering furnace, his boots making no sound against the tar. The Highway and Lost Soldier Standing From two hundred yards out, he resembles a stranded traveler you’d pull over to save. He wears sun-bleached, disintegrating drill cotton that matches the bone-white dust of the termite country, his head angled down at an impossible, broken angle against the glare. No broad-brim hat. No swag. No water bottle. Just stiff, unnatural limbs jerking with every stride. “Driver... look at his face. We need to stop—why won't he turn around?” He is no lost tourist. Could he be the linesman from the Overland Telegraph days who tore ...
Read more

Discovering the terminal horizon

-
Image
  The Terminal Horizon Tourist Bus Discovering the Terminal Horizon 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, there is only the ash, the petrified stumps, and the quiet. You are a lone figure sitting in...
Read more

Incandescent - Ode to the Endless Scrub

-
Image
  Incandescent - Ode to the Endless Scrub Beneath the vault of fallen light Where red dirt cools to iron stone The ancient country meets the night Unyielding, patient, and alone Cracked earth yields to twisted root To hardy bark and spinifex Where time leaves neither mark nor foot Nor petty boundaries to perplex Rank upon rank the pale trunks rise A silent host that drinks the dry Repetition stretching past the eyes To where the flat horizon lies Trees behind trees in quiet grace A labyrinth of slender wood Carving the stillness out of space Where centuries have stood Above, the sky ignites its coal A canopy of smoke and ember Holding the continent’s deep soul In dark and fiery surrender No hurried end, no measured shore Just red loam, shadow, branch, and tree The scrub that breathes forevermore Into the quiet of infinity. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via  Blogge...
Read more