The 10 Years Void

Serene figure in flowing fabric by a tranquil pool

Artist
Emiliano G...
Prompt
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DDG Model
FluX
Access
Public
Created
13h ago
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  The 10 Years Void
  
  Model: FluX
  
  Size: 1296 X 1728 (2.24 MP)
  
  Used settings:
  
  Prompt: A dreamlike, emotionally charged illustration where surrealism meets expressive abstraction — a symbolic meditation on memory, trauma, and identity lost to oblivion. At the center stands a solitary female figure, her body ethereal and almost weightless, hovering between presence and disappearance. Her form is realistic yet partially deconstructed — as if painted on cracked glass or through dissolving layers of fog. She is wrapped in old, frayed linen bandages (Pantone 7527 C, aged ivory with gray stains), loosely draped across her chest and hips in an almost ritual gesture of modesty and fragility. The fabric clings imperfectly, torn and unraveling into faint threads that vanish into the air — the unraveling of thought itself. Her pose is deeply symbolic: she kneels in shallow, mist-covered water, her spine curved forward slightly, one hand pressed over her heart, the other reaching upward as though to grasp something unseen — perhaps a fading memory or a name she no longer recalls. Her fingers, elegant yet trembling, leave faint traces of golden dust (Pantone 1245 C) in the air, forming broken symbols that dissolve before they can be read. Her face is serene but empty, lips slightly parted in a quiet gasp of realization. One eye is open, reflecting a dim, flickering light — the fragile remnant of her consciousness — while the other is obscured by a translucent veil of gauze. Her hair, long and black (Pantone Black 6 C) with smoky violet undertones (Pantone 7449 C), flows outward and dissolves into ink-like tendrils, blending into the clouds and mist behind her. The background is an otherworldly mindscape — a desolate dream formed of eroded marble, drifting ash, and pale, shifting mist. Faint, luminous constellations and geometric lines shimmer within it, half-drawn, half-erased, like the neural pathways of a forgotten self. From the mist, ghostly silhouettes — fragments of people, objects, and moments — rise and dissolve, leaving faint circular ripples across the water’s surface. Behind her, a fractured halo of cracked gold (Pantone 871 C) glows faintly — not divine but broken — symbolizing a shattered consciousness. Thin veins of crimson (Pantone 7622 C) run through it like bleeding memories, while droplets of white (Pantone 11-0602 TCX Snow White) descend like falling ash, marking the passage of forgotten time. The overall atmosphere is intimate yet cosmic, quiet yet devastating: a vision of trauma rendered as erasure, where body and memory disintegrate together into the dreamlike rhythm of forgetting.
  
  Upscale & Enhance: 1
  
  Aspect Ratio: portrait
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Prompt: A dreamlike, emotionally charged illustration where surrealism meets expressive abstraction — a symbolic meditation on memory, trauma, and identity lost to oblivion. At the center stands a solitary female figure, her body ethereal and almost weightless, hovering between presence and disappearance. Her form is realistic yet partially deconstructed — as if painted on cracked glass or through dissolving layers of fog. She is wrapped in old, frayed linen bandages (Pantone 7527 C, aged ivory with gray stains), loosely draped across her chest and hips in an almost ritual gesture of modesty and fragility. The fabric clings imperfectly, torn and unraveling into faint threads that vanish into the air — the unraveling of thought itself. Her pose is deeply symbolic: she kneels in shallow, mist-covered water, her spine curved forward slightly, one hand pressed over her heart, the other reaching upward as though to grasp something unseen — perhaps a fading memory or a name she no longer recalls. Her fingers, elegant yet trembling, leave faint traces of golden dust (Pantone 1245 C) in the air, forming broken symbols that dissolve before they can be read. Her face is serene but empty, lips slightly parted in a quiet gasp of realization. One eye is open, reflecting a dim, flickering light — the fragile remnant of her consciousness — while the other is obscured by a translucent veil of gauze. Her hair, long and black (Pantone Black 6 C) with smoky violet undertones (Pantone 7449 C), flows outward and dissolves into ink-like tendrils, blending into the clouds and mist behind her. The background is an otherworldly mindscape — a desolate dream formed of eroded marble, drifting ash, and pale, shifting mist. Faint, luminous constellations and geometric lines shimmer within it, half-drawn, half-erased, like the neural pathways of a forgotten self. From the mist, ghostly silhouettes — fragments of people, objects, and moments — rise and dissolve, leaving faint circular ripples across the water’s surface. Behind her, a fractured halo of cracked gold (Pantone 871 C) glows faintly — not divine but broken — symbolizing a shattered consciousness. Thin veins of crimson (Pantone 7622 C) run through it like bleeding memories, while droplets of white (Pantone 11-0602 TCX Snow White) descend like falling ash, marking the passage of forgotten time. The overall atmosphere is intimate yet cosmic, quiet yet devastating: a vision of trauma rendered as erasure, where body and memory disintegrate together into the dreamlike rhythm of forgetting.

More about The 10 Years Void

There’s something inside me that’s tearing me apart.

I don’t know what it is — maybe it lives somewhere in that vast oblivion of memories stretching from childhood to youth, a place so deep and eroded that even light seems afraid to enter.
Some people have told me I should try to remember, to dig, to face it. But I’m not sure I agree. What kind of monstrosity makes you forget a quarter of your own life? There was the cold indifference of my parents, the violence, the sleep deprivation, the constant neglect — being invisible, unwanted, an accident that somehow kept breathing. Left untreated even when dying, not by fate but by someone’s choice.

Now that I’m no longer young, now that the rage and hatred that once drove me have faded, now that age has sharpened my sight instead of dimming it, I can finally look inside. And what I see isn’t peace — it’s exhaustion. Because when I loosen the reins, when I stop holding everything together, something awakens.

A thing without name or face — not rage, not regret, but something far older, darker. It rises with one purpose only: to wound.

Sometimes I tremble. Sometimes flickers of memory cut through me like shards of glass. I don’t know what it is, but after a while, I always find a way to cage it again. I’ve learned how to make the monster sleep. But I know, deep down, it will never die.
There are traumas that can’t be repaired. People aren’t porcelain — with us, kintsugi doesn’t work. The cracks don’t make us more beautiful, nor do they add worth. Sometimes, they’re just cracks — silent proof that something once broke too deeply to ever be made whole again.

–– The Spoken Silence

#abstractpatternssurrealism #ethereallight #figure #flowingfabric #tranquilwaters

The 10 Years Void

More about The 10 Years Void

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