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This ring is the disparity portal

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  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...
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Woman with Flowers in Her Hair

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  Woman with Flowers in Her Hair Dusk Vignette The twilight hour weaves its tender shroud across the decaying streets as the last remnants of day’s warmth surrender to the cool breath of evening. She stands in the dim glow of lanterns flickering like dying embers, a melancholic and wild vision. Her hair, crowned with roses and entwined vines, blooms defiantly against the weary, withering city that crumbles around her. Beneath the flowers rests a serene yet haunted face, as if sorrow’s soft whispers have painted shadows beneath her eyes. The world stirs in echoes of forgotten grandeur, and she, like some mythic sentinel of the earth, is at once the bearer of life’s vibrant colour and the solemn mourner of its inevitable decay, a living embodiment of the cycle of life and death. Here, amidst the ruins, she is both the flower and the tombstone, standing silent as the day’s final breath collapses into night. Yet, there is something eternal in her stillness, as if in her fragile bloom l...
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Where is this road taking us?

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It is the same place and same time Being in a different time and associated with the same construct So much place is taken up by the same being Is the need to move forward a priority over being in place and time? No matter how far we have traveled the same social construct has remained steadfast in place.
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