almost 2 years ago a flat lay photography of vintage basketball outfit knolling :: Wes Anderson color palette, studio lighting, low contrast, 8k --ar 4:5 --q 2 5a94a0ace7d 2 97
over 2 years ago Pixar style little boy, 4k, 8k, unreal engine, octane render photorealistic by cosmicwonder, hdr, photography by cosmicwonder, high definition, symmetrical face, volumetric lighting, dusty haze, photo, octane render, 24mm, 4k, 24mm, DSLR, high quality, 60 fps, ultra realistic 5a94a0ace7d 0 100
over 2 years ago airy, pin-up, sci-fi, steam punk, very deitaled, realistic, figurative painter, fineart, Oil painting on canvas, beautiful painting by Daniel F Gerhartz --ar 9:16 --beta --upbeta 5a94a0ace7d 0 200
over 2 years ago Edward Hopper was born in Nyack, a town on the Hudson River in upstate New York. His parents, Garret Henry and Elizabeth Griffiths Smith, owned a fabric store and came from the Anglo-American middle class [1]. Already from the age of five Edward Hopper was very good at drawing. His parents, having discovered this gift, encouraged him by making him read magazines and books on art. In 1895 he painted his first picture, where he showed particular interest in ships and everything related to them. In 1899 he enrolled in a correspondence course at the New York School of Illustrating 5a94a0ace7d 0 69
over 2 years ago Edward Hopper was born in Nyack, a town on the Hudson River in upstate New York. His parents, Garret Henry and Elizabeth Griffiths Smith, owned a fabric store and came from the Anglo-American middle class [1]. Already from the age of five Edward Hopper was very good at drawing. His parents, having discovered this gift, encouraged him by making him read magazines and books on art. In 1895 he painted his first picture, where he showed particular interest in ships and everything related to them. In 1899 he enrolled in a correspondence course at the New York School of Illustrating 5a94a0ace7d 0 70
over 2 years ago Eugène Delacroix painting The sails the sails the sails Snapping and whipping in the wind Which swells with vain sequelae Sails Sails Sails! Che tesson e tesson: lament Volubil that the wave that softens Nor the fickle wave dampens In the last cruel crash The sails the sails the vel 5a94a0ace7d 0 83
over 2 years ago The sails the sails the sails Snapping and whipping in the wind Which swells with vain sequelae Sails Sails Sails! Che tesson e tesson: lament Volubil that the wave that softens Nor the fickle wave dampens In the last cruel crash The sails the sails the vel 5a94a0ace7d 0 78
over 2 years ago - Until tomorrow! – you say and you are already leaving. With a fearful look I accompany you. See you tomorrow?… But tomorrow is immensely far away. Will there really be so many hours between us? Until tomorrow for me I will not know the changing shadow of your forehead, the fiery, pulsating speech of the hand, of your thoughts the secret flow. Before tomorrow, if you want to drink, I won't be able to be your source. If the cold envelops you - I will not be your fire. If you are afraid of the dark – your light. - Until tomorrow! – you say and leave and you don't even feel that you have no answer. – To the extreme day! - I expected you to say and stay with me until the final day. 5a94a0ace7d 0 90
over 2 years ago I touch you like the violin the distant suburbs. Slowly the river reclaims its due of drizzle and slowly approaching a tomorrow that passes through the poem. I carry the land far away and it takes me on the ways of the journey. On the mare of your inclinations my soul weaves a natural sky with your shadows, thread after thread. I was born from your acts on earth, born from my wounds when they light up the pomegranate blossoms in your enclosed gardens. From jasmine flows the white blood of the night. Your scent it's my weakness and your secret haunts me like a snake's bite. Your hair, autumn colored wind curtain. I walk with words up to the last words spoken by the Bedouin to two pairs of doves. I touch you like the violin the silk of remote time. And around me, around you, the grass of an ancient place grows It's new. 5a94a0ace7d 0 67
over 2 years ago I touch you like the violin the distant suburbs. Slowly the river reclaims its due of drizzle and slowly approaching a tomorrow that passes through the poem. I carry the land far away and it takes me on the ways of the journey. On the mare of your inclinations my soul weaves a natural sky with your shadows, thread after thread. I was born from your acts on earth, born from my wounds when they light up the pomegranate blossoms in your enclosed gardens. From jasmine flows the white blood of the night. Your scent it's my weakness and your secret haunts me like a snake's bite. Your hair, autumn colored wind curtain. I walk with words up to the last words spoken by the Bedouin to two pairs of doves. I touch you like the violin the silk of remote time. And around me, around you, the grass of an ancient place grows It's new. 5a94a0ace7d 0 63
over 2 years ago I touch you like the violin the distant suburbs. Slowly the river reclaims its due of drizzle and slowly approaching a tomorrow that passes through the poem. I carry the land far away and it takes me on the ways of the journey. On the mare of your inclinations my soul weaves a natural sky with your shadows, thread after thread. I was born from your acts on earth, born from my wounds when they light up the pomegranate blossoms in your enclosed gardens. From jasmine flows the white blood of the night. Your scent it's my weakness and your secret haunts me like a snake's bite. Your hair, autumn colored wind curtain. I walk with words up to the last words spoken by the Bedouin to two pairs of doves. I touch you like the violin the silk of remote time. And around me, around you, the grass of an ancient place grows It's new. 5a94a0ace7d 0 72
over 2 years ago I touch you like the violin the distant suburbs. Slowly the river reclaims its due of drizzle and slowly approaching a tomorrow that passes through the poem. I carry the land far away and it takes me on the ways of the journey. On the mare of your inclinations my soul weaves a natural sky with your shadows, thread after thread. I was born from your acts on earth, born from my wounds when they light up the pomegranate blossoms in your enclosed gardens. From jasmine flows the white blood of the night. Your scent it's my weakness and your secret haunts me like a snake's bite. Your hair, autumn colored wind curtain. I walk with words up to the last words spoken by the Bedouin to two pairs of doves. I touch you like the violin the silk of remote time. And around me, around you, the grass of an ancient place grows It's new. 5a94a0ace7d 0 69
over 2 years ago Eugène Delacroix observed steamships in the English Channel, which in a slow, systematic way they had begun to replace the white-sailed frigates and wrote sadly in his diary: everything around us is subject to degradation, the beauty of the world leaves us forever; new ones appear all the time inventions, perhaps useful, but most trivial hard to find, fix in memory, immortalize it, yet the high white multi-storey clouds, the arrogant, proud heaps, pass on France and on Germany and on Poland, they pass over us and hide in them faithful migratory birds, cranes and bullfinches, swallows, orioles, swifts dwell there, and also the iron airships, that kill us or save us. They are constantly whirling over us death and salvation 5a94a0ace7d 0 120
over 2 years ago THE CHERRY BLOSSOM TREE HOUSE :: beautiful ornate treehouse in a gigantic pink cherry blossom tree :: on a high blue grey and brown cliff with light snow and pink cherry blossom trees :: Roger Deakins and Moebius and Alphonse Much and Guweiz :: Intricate details, very realistic, cinematic lighting, volumetric lighting, photographic, --ar 9:20 --no blur bokeh defocus dof --s 4000 5a94a0ace7d 0 85
over 2 years ago a portrait of Antonin Artaud Victorian man, steampunk setting, vivid colors, soft lighting, atmospheric, cinematic, moody, in the style of Ilya Kuvshinov and Range Murata, Krenz Cushart, oil on canvas, 8k 5a94a0ace7d 0 96
over 2 years ago a portrait of young Victorian man, beautiful boy beautiful man, steampunk setting, vivid colors, soft lighting, atmospheric, cinematic, moody, in the style of Ilya Kuvshinov and Range Murata, Krenz Cushart, oil on canvas, 8k --ar 51:91 --style raw --s 750 --v 5.1 5a94a0ace7d 0 84
