A sample prompt of what you can find in this page
Prompt by ElectricL

while the background melts into soft prompts

very few results

7 months ago

Abstract Full-Body Portrait of a Prostitute – Salvador Dalí (Late-Life Style, Singular Focus & Pure Surrealism) (Surrealism:1.7, Salvador Dalí late-life style:2.0, Dreamlike distortion:1.6, Hyperreal textures:1.5, Chiaroscuro contrast:1.4, Oil-painting brushstrokes:1.5, Organic fluidity:1.6, Metaphysical realism:1.4) A full-body surrealist portrait of a prostitute, painted in the unmistakable late-life style of Salvador Dalí, where dream logic dictates form and reality bends into its own subconscious reflection. She stands alone in the void, a lone figure frozen in motion yet melting into time itself. Her body is elongated but coherent, her limbs refined into one singular, fluid, organic motion, as if she is a sculpture made of half-formed candle wax, melting at the edges but never fully dissolving. Her face remains untouched by distortion, hyperreal and melancholic, eyes darkened with kohl, staring directly outward, unblinking, as if confronting time, fate, and the fabric of reality itself. A single strand of jet-black hair escapes from her carefully pinned curls, swaying in an invisible breeze. Her lips—painted a deep, blood-red—drip slightly at the edges, as if smeared by unseen hands, caught between seduction and sorrow. Her dress, a relic of the past, is a contradiction of luxury and decay, the hem transforming into thin wisps of smoke, curling and dispersing into the canvas. The fabric is stretched unnaturally, its folds elongating like the melted forms of Dalí’s classic clocks, one shoulder slipping in an eternal descent, never quite falling. The setting is an infinite, surreal landscape—a lonely street with no visible end, where shadows stretch longer than their owners, and the cobblestones appear to melt into liquid mercury. In the background, a large, antique pocket watch, twisted and partially submerged in the air, hangs frozen at an uncertain hour, its hands warped into elongated spirals. A single red rose, impossibly large and impossibly alive, hovers just behind her, its petals peeling away like fragments of forgotten love letters. The air feels thick, painted with visible brushstrokes, where light and shadow do not obey the laws of physics—instead, they bleed into one another, wrapping around her body in soft, liquid chiaroscuro, mimicking the curvature of a dream. She is not merely a woman but a symbol—of desire, of loss, of something slipping through time like sand through Dalí’s own fingers.

ElectricL
8 330

7 months ago

(Surrealism:1.7, Salvador Dalí late-life style:2.0, Dreamlike distortion:1.6, Hyperreal textures:1.5, Chiaroscuro contrast:1.4, Oil-painting brushstrokes:1.5, Organic fluidity:1.6, Metaphysical realism:1.4) A full-body surrealist portrait of a prostitute, painted in the unmistakable late-life style of Salvador Dalí, where dream logic dictates form and reality bends into its own subconscious reflection. She stands alone in the void, a lone figure frozen in motion yet melting into time itself. Her body is elongated but coherent, her limbs refined into one singular, fluid, organic motion, as if she is a sculpture made of half-formed candle wax, melting at the edges but never fully dissolving. Her face remains untouched by distortion, hyperreal and melancholic, eyes darkened with kohl, staring directly outward, unblinking, as if confronting time, fate, and the fabric of reality itself. A single strand of jet-black hair escapes from her carefully pinned curls, swaying in an invisible breeze. Her lips—painted a deep, blood-red—drip slightly at the edges, as if smeared by unseen hands, caught between seduction and sorrow. Her dress, a relic of the past, is a contradiction of luxury and decay, the hem transforming into thin wisps of smoke, curling and dispersing into the canvas. The fabric is stretched unnaturally, its folds elongating like the melted forms of Dalí’s classic clocks, one shoulder slipping in an eternal descent, never quite falling. The setting is an infinite, surreal landscape—a lonely street with no visible end, where shadows stretch longer than their owners, and the cobblestones appear to melt into liquid mercury. In the background, a large, antique pocket watch, twisted and partially submerged in the air, hangs frozen at an uncertain hour, its hands warped into elongated spirals. A single red rose, impossibly large and impossibly alive, hovers just behind her, its petals peeling away like fragments of forgotten love letters. The air feels thick, painted with visible brushstrokes, where light and shadow do not obey the laws of physics—instead, they bleed into one another, wrapping around her body in soft, liquid chiaroscuro, mimicking the curvature of a dream. She is not merely a woman but a symbol—of desire, of loss, of something slipping through time like sand through Dalí’s own fingers.

ElectricL
4 140

8 months ago

Imagine a high-definition scene with a ghost sitting in an ethereal, misty room. The ghost, semi-transparent with a soft, glowing aura, is gently holding a delicate porcelain teacup in one hand. Its form is slightly wispy and fluid, as though made from mist or vapor, with faint hints of swirling energy that seem to shift and dissipate in the air. The tea in the cup is a calming, pale shade of green, gently steaming with wisps of vapor rising slowly into the air, adding to the ghostly atmosphere. The ghost's face is faintly visible, with translucent features that evoke a sense of mystery and tranquility. The eyes, glowing faintly, seem to reflect a distant memory or a forgotten story, while the mouth remains closed, showing no expression except for a quiet, ethereal calm. The surroundings are softly blurred, with the faint outline of old, dusty furniture in the background—a small table, a chair, and a faded lace curtain billowing slightly from an unseen breeze. Soft, dim light filters through the misty room, casting shadows that seem to shift and melt away as the ghost moves. The air is cool and still, and everything about the scene feels peaceful yet haunting, suspended in time. The room has a nostalgic and otherworldly feel, with cobwebs in the corners and a faint, ambient glow that seems to come from nowhere but permeates everything. The ghost's tea-drinking is a quiet, timeless moment, untouched by the living world, suspended between realms. 8k

Slinkychips PRO
2 91

4 months ago

A woman stands alone in a dark background, her confident demeanor radiating through every detail of her appearance. She wears a black top that showcases her toned physique, like a work of art that's been crafted by the finest hands. A black choker rests delicately around her neck, like a whispered promise that's been shared with no one. Tattoos adorn her left arm, adding a touch of edgy sophistication to an already captivating scene. Her long hair cascades down her back in dark waves, with orange highlights that seem to dance across the surface of her locks. A center part frames her face with precision, like a work of art that's been carefully crafted. Freckles dot her cheeks and nose, adding a touch of whimsy to an already breathtaking scene. Her green eyes seem to lock directly onto the camera lens, like a gaze from another world, one where confidence and playfulness reign supreme. A neutral expression adorns her face, with closed lips that seem to hint at secrets that are yet to be shared. She stands relaxed, like a work of art that's been carefully posed for maximum impact. The dark background seems to melt away around her, like a secret that's been shared with just one person. Natural lighting bathes the scene in soft, vibrant colors, like a work of art that's been crafted by the finest hands. Every detail of this image feels alive and tangible, like a headshot that's been captured at its very best. She stands facing forward, side-lit to perfection, with loose hair and a sleeveless top that showcases her toned physique in all its glory. A close-up shot seems to capture every nuance of her features, from the subtle makeup that enhances her natural look to the confident demeanor that radiates through every detail of her appearance. She exudes a youthful energy, like a work of art that's been crafted by the finest hands.

Luv2Grill
1 52

8 months ago

In the style of ck-sfc, envision a female cyberpunk robot samurai with a mesmerizing robot face concealed behind a mirrored face shield that reflects the surroundings like polished silver, accentuating an air of mystery and technological advancement. The hyperdetailed helmet is adorned with intricate mechanical patterns and neon accents that glow softly, casting an ethereal light on the surrounding metallic body parts. Flowing black hair cascades down her back, a stark contrast to the cold, metallic complexion of her robot physique, with strands occasionally intertwining with cables and wires that protrude from her arms and torso, symbolizing a blend of organic elegance and synthetic resilience. Her reflective black and neon red armor glistens under the soft glow of the abstract background, which hints at the serene yet mystical ambiance of an eastern temple, with blurred outlines of cherry blossoms or traditional lanterns faintly visible through a veil of mist or smoke, imbuing the scene with a sense of ancient tradition meeting futuristic innovation. As she stands poised, ready for action, her robot joints are slightly flexed, suggesting the dynamics of movement, as if she might draw her katana - strapped elegantly to her back with a blend of leather and metallic straps - at any moment, releasing a flurry of steel and neon light into the tranquil atmosphere. The depth of the frame is enhanced by the subtle blur of the background elements compared to the sharp, hyperdetailed focus on the robot samurai herself, creating a sense of dimensionality that pulls the viewer into the world of the image. An emotional component of determination and honor emanates from her stance and the glow of her neon accents, as if the very fusion of human spirit and machine has created a being of unyielding principle and beauty. The scene is shot with a lens effect that adds a slight vignette, focusing all attention on the cyberpunk samurai, while a fashionable atmosphere permeates the image, blending traditional Japanese motifs with cutting-edge cyberpunk elements in a mesmerizing dance of light, metal, and myth, complete with accents of neon that melt into the shadows, creating an aura of futurism tinged with the timeless essence of the samurai code.

985346762c7
1 110

7 months ago

(Surrealism:1.7, Salvador Dalí late-life style:2.0, Dreamlike distortion:1.6, Hyperreal textures:1.5, Chiaroscuro contrast:1.4, Oil-painting brushstrokes:1.5, Organic fluidity:1.6, Metaphysical realism:1.4) A full-body surrealist portrait of a prostitute, painted in the unmistakable late-life style of Salvador Dalí, where dream logic dictates form and reality bends into its own subconscious reflection. She stands alone in the void, a lone figure frozen in motion yet melting into time itself. Her body is elongated but coherent, her limbs refined into one singular, fluid, organic motion, as if she is a sculpture made of half-formed candle wax, melting at the edges but never fully dissolving. Her face remains untouched by distortion, hyperreal and melancholic, eyes darkened with kohl, staring directly outward, unblinking, as if confronting time, fate, and the fabric of reality itself. A single strand of jet-black hair escapes from her carefully pinned curls, swaying in an invisible breeze. Her lips—painted a deep, blood-red—drip slightly at the edges, as if smeared by unseen hands, caught between seduction and sorrow. Her dress, a relic of the past, is a contradiction of luxury and decay, the hem transforming into thin wisps of smoke, curling and dispersing into the canvas. The fabric is stretched unnaturally, its folds elongating like the melted forms of Dalí’s classic clocks, one shoulder slipping in an eternal descent, never quite falling. The setting is an infinite, surreal landscape—a lonely street with no visible end, where shadows stretch longer than their owners, and the cobblestones appear to melt into liquid mercury. In the background, a large, antique pocket watch, twisted and partially submerged in the air, hangs frozen at an uncertain hour, its hands warped into elongated spirals. A single red rose, impossibly large and impossibly alive, hovers just behind her, its petals peeling away like fragments of forgotten love letters. The air feels thick, painted with visible brushstrokes, where light and shadow do not obey the laws of physics—instead, they bleed into one another, wrapping around her body in soft, liquid chiaroscuro, mimicking the curvature of a dream. She is not merely a woman but a symbol—of desire, of loss, of something slipping through time like sand through Dalí’s own fingers.

ElectricL
1 96