JJFBbennett

  The art of Capital I stand here today as an artist, yes, but first, as a laborer. And my studio? It's not a free space. It’s a nexus, a battlefield where the abstract force of constant capital meets the blunt reality of cultural control. They call it a free market. I call it a systematic monopoly over the means of production. You think canvas and paint are the means? No. Those are relics. The real infrastructure—the essential, invisible currency—is visibility, validation, and market access. A tiny, elite constellation of galleries, auction houses, and institutions holds a chokehold on these channels. They deploy their massive capital to secure their monopoly, thereby expropriating our economic autonomy. They don't just set the price; they set the very terms of cultural existence. The outcome is the proletarianization of the creator . We are forced to sell our labour power—our very souls, our insight—back into a system that ensures capitalist domination. Our creativity become...

  The Twelve Loops of Goodbye The fluid rises. The cryo-hiss is deafening. And then... the program starts. Twelve times. The system cycles, and twelve times I see you. It starts the same. The image freezes in the dark. It’s you, BK. Or... It’s your idea. You’re wearing the rig. The goggles are locked on me. I try to say your name, but my mouth is filled with ice. I love you. God, I love you. But you don’t blink. The Neural Glitch . Something is wrong. The memory corrupts. I see " corrupted code " trying to stabilise across your face. Your eyes... behind the lenses... they twitch. Microscopically. Are you hurting? Or is that my pain rippling through the connection? A low-frequency pulse warps your skin. You look like a stranger. You look like the machine. The Shuddering Breath . This is the one that breaks me. Total stillness. Then... a faint mist forms at your mouth. Condensation beads on the goggles. I scream at you to breathe! Just breathe! But it’s slow. Irregular. It’s a ...

   The Shuddering Breath I Became The cryo unit hisses open, and I remember my name: JB, pilot of the *Subi*. The med-techs call it “revitalisation.” My body hums with a new, raw power. Muscles knit with synthetic fibres, bones laced with carbon-filament. I feel incredible. Invincible. But in the polished chrome of the med-bay wall, my reflection is a stranger. The eyes are mine, but they glow with a faint, amber diagnostic light. The scar from the asteroid scrape is gone, replaced by skin too perfect, too seamless. They say they rebuilt me better. Stronger. To survive the long dark. But when I clench my fist, I hear a servo-whine they insist isn’t there. When I calculate a jump vector, the numbers resolve instantly in my mind, not on a screen. Is this their design? A monster of efficiency, crafted for a purpose I didn’t choose? Or is the monster the part of me that wanted this? The part that, bleeding out in my crippled cockpit, whispered *yes* to any salvation? Did I consent...

  Total Ego then Death This is a portrait of Total Ego Death. It captures the exact moment the pilot realises he cannot reach the controls, and his psyche fragments under the pressure of the transformation. He is a faceless construct, exploding from the inside out. I am shattering, fragmenting, disintegrating... My mind is a supernova, exploding into a million shards of darkness. I am no longer a man, just a silhouette, a shadow of what once was. The panic is absolute, suffocating, consuming me. I am nothing, and everything, all at once. Time is warping, twisting, bending... I am lost in the void, forever trapped in this moment of pure terror. 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 , Instagram and Deviant Art .  Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private FB hub:  https://www.facebook.com/share/g/18ythpSXPZ/ You can subscribe to...

  Pauline Hanson: The Senate Performance Artist | Escalating Political Stunts as Avant-Garde Art What if Australian Senator Pauline Hanson channelled her controversial political persona into provocative, escalating performance art pieces that blur the lines between politics and theatre? This thought experiment explores three 'Acts' of outrage designed to amplify division, nationalism, and anti-'woke' themes live in the Senate Gallery : "Swamped by Symbols" - Using altered Australian flags and props to critique multiculturalism, escalating her infamous 'swamped by Asians' line. "Burqa Bonfire" - A shocking mid-level provocation building on her real-life burqa stunts, incorporating banned slogans and effigies of critics. "Piss Off Pavilion" - The high-octane climax featuring a mock 'border wall,' loyalty tests, and red liquid symbolising 'taxpayer blood,' all risking her expulsion. Watch as we examine how weaponising ...

  The Metallic Bloom "It starts on the back of my tongue. A cold, sharp tang of copper... like biting down on a gun barrel. Then... it detonates. It’s not a scream—it’s a jagged, violent bloom tearing through my throat.  Shards of silver... iron... and rust. I am no longer a man... just a dark silhouette exploding into shrapnel.  The panic is absolute." The Metallic Bloom video-poem It starts on the back of my tongue. A cold, sharp tang of copper— Like biting down on a gun barrel. Then… It detonates. It isn’t a scream. It’s a jagged, violent bloom Tearing through my throat. Shards of silver. Iron. Rust. I am no longer a man— Just a dark silhouette Xxploding into shrapnel. My body isn’t mine anymore. My voice isn’t mine anymore. The panic is absolute. 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 , Instagram and Deviant Art ....

  The Unreachable Yoke  A POV shot from JB’s perspective, looking down at his own body. His hands are locked rigidly at his sides by the cocoon. Ghostly, semi-transparent images of his hands are reaching out, trying to "yank, shove, slam" a control panel that isn't there. The image captures the desperation of a pilot whose identity is "unspooling" because he cannot reach the controls. I look down... but the body in the weave doesn't feel like mine anymore. My arms are locked. Pinned to my ribs by the silver vice. But I can see them... ghosts. Ghost hands... peeling away from my skin. Reaching out! They are trying to YANK... to SHOVE... to SLAM the yoke forward! But there is no yoke. There is no control panel. Only the dark. I am a pilot with no hands... and without them... I am unspooling into NOTHING. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via  Blogger ...