Prompt: Beautiful winter snow scene in a serene glade in a quiet forest. Birds peek out of the snow-covered bushes, a white rabbit twitches his nose, and the dawn is breaking through the frosty air.
Prompt: Silence was the first to surrender. It retreated under the onslaught of an invisible light, yielding to a ringing, crystalline emptiness. The night still clung to the slopes with its black firs and the velvety shadow of the gorges, but from somewhere beyond the jagged horizon, a ghostly, milky elixir was already pouring into the world. This was not just fog, but something more—a haze woven from the frozen breath of the sleeping lake and the secret exhalations of the earth. It lay over the surface of Okhna, still and dense, like liquid pearl, concealing the dark depths. The mountains hovered in this white abyss, their peaks, touched by the sun's first rosy kiss, floated in weightlessness, severed from the earth like crystalline islands. And then, a miracle occurred. The sun, without breaking through as a blinding ray, began not to shine, but to *infuse* the fog from within. The cold milk transformed into flowing gold, the ashen whiteness into shining lavender and tender shades of opal pink. The world ignited with a soft, internal radiance, as if the planet itself was emitting a quiet, fantastical light. The trees on the shore, dressed in heavy, fluffy coats of frost, emerged from the haze like spectral guardians, their branch-paws studded with billions of tiny diamonds. The air was cold and sharp as a blade, but every breath burned not with frost, but with purity. It was intoxicating and thick, as if one could quench their thirst with it. In this divine silence, where there was neither a rustle nor a chirp, it seemed one could hear the light sliding over the frost crystals, giving birth to a silent music of the spheres. This was not merely a dawn. It was a sacrament of transformation. The boundary between reality and dream, between water and sky, earth and air, was erased. For those few magical minutes, Okhn was not a lake in the mountains, but a gateway to a lost, ineffably beautiful world, ruled by silence, light, and a primordial, fantastical beauty.
Prompt: Picture an epic fantasy landscape at dawn, painted in matte black and glowing yellow, reminiscent of Jackson Pollock's abstract expressionism and Dan Mumford Cayenne's dramatic landscapes. A lone figure stands silhouetted against the horizon, gazing out at the ethereal skyscape. Sharp focus, ultra-detailed, with a wide-view fisheye lens capturing the scene's grandeur and scale. The overall mood is dramatic, sharp and ethereal.
Prompt: Moon River - Moon over a misty river in autuumn. Appalachian hills .Colorful falling leaves . Watercolour by Alison Brady. Pastel colour, Arthur Rackham Gothic Watercolour Jean-Baptiste Monge Ernst Haeckel Minimalist Kay Sage watercolour art
Prompt: Silence was the first to surrender. It retreated under the onslaught of an invisible light, yielding to a ringing, crystalline emptiness. The night still clung to the slopes with its black firs and the velvety shadow of the gorges, but from somewhere beyond the jagged horizon, a ghostly, milky elixir was already pouring into the world. This was not just fog, but something more—a haze woven from the frozen breath of the sleeping lake and the secret exhalations of the earth. It lay over the surface of Okhna, still and dense, like liquid pearl, concealing the dark depths. The mountains hovered in this white abyss, their peaks, touched by the sun's first rosy kiss, floated in weightlessness, severed from the earth like crystalline islands. And then, a miracle occurred. The sun, without breaking through as a blinding ray, began not to shine, but to *infuse* the fog from within. The cold milk transformed into flowing gold, the ashen whiteness into shining lavender and tender shades of opal pink. The world ignited with a soft, internal radiance, as if the planet itself was emitting a quiet, fantastical light. The trees on the shore, dressed in heavy, fluffy coats of frost, emerged from the haze like spectral guardians, their branch-paws studded with billions of tiny diamonds. The air was cold and sharp as a blade, but every breath burned not with frost, but with purity. It was intoxicating and thick, as if one could quench their thirst with it. In this divine silence, where there was neither a rustle nor a chirp, it seemed one could hear the light sliding over the frost crystals, giving birth to a silent music of the spheres. This was not merely a dawn. It was a sacrament of transformation. The boundary between reality and dream, between water and sky, earth and air, was erased. For those few magical minutes, Okhn was not a lake in the mountains, but a gateway to a lost, ineffably beautiful world, ruled by silence, light, and a primordial, fantastical beauty.
Prompt: A misty Sumatran rainforest at dawn shafts of golden light filtering through giant fig trees and tangled vines. In the clearing, a Sumatran elephant stands solemnly, dew beading on its skin, surrounded by green mist and distant calls of hornbills.
Composition: side profile with baby elephant beside mother; low-angle forest depth.
Lighting: early dawn beams with soft mist glow.
Palette: moss green, golden amber, mist gray.
Artist Style Mix: John Banovich realism , Ghibli-like forest soul , cinematic National Geographic tone.
Prompt: Gentle island scrub still life Socorro dove perched on low branch beside volcanic rock, soft dawn backlight, hopeful tone. Composition: square portrait with negative space for caption. Lighting: warm low sun. Palette: dove-ash, scrub-green, volcanic brown. Artist-mix Audubon clarity , sentimental hope tone.
Prompt: Oil on board, asymmetrical composition, two gnarled old trees in the rain, with expansive branches
one in front is crisp with detail, the one behind is a ghost of the other; simplified details, flattened forms, patterned composition
Prompt: Iridescent watercolor painting, wet on wet (((Masterpiece))) Sunrise on a misty morning, over a misty pond in the height of fall. watercolor by Alison Brady. Pastel colors. On course watercolor paper. alcohol ink watercolor encaustic oil pen and ink painting with very rich translucent hues. No frame no artifacts no words, golden ratio.
Prompt: A weathered, old fisherman in a small, sturdy boat, casting his line into a tranquil, mist-shrouded lake at dawn. The surrounding village is quaint and traditional, with thatched-roof cottages and smoking chimneys. The style is a blend of realistic oil painting and the nostalgic feel of vintage travel posters, focusing on soft, diffused light and a muted color palette.
Prompt: A surreal scene where a ballerina stands on a grassy field, reaching out with her right hand to a slender crescent moon hovering just above her head. The moon emits a soft glow, illuminating the surrounding clouds and the horizon. The ballerina wears a delicate pink tutu, ballet shoes, and white leg warmers. The sky above is painted in hues of purple and blue, with scattered stars and nebulous clouds adding to the dreamy atmosphere.
Prompt: a oil painting of a wooden bird-man flying over a winter landscape, both bird-man and landscape seen from overhead, with the sun above the top horizon, in frosty pale greens and blues and pinks and purples, with black outlines, in the style of Egon Schiele, Gustav Klimt, Paul Klee
Prompt: A spoolship drifts through dawn’s ionized veil, suspended above a gas‑giant auroral rim where color bends around gravity. From ventral bays unspool filament harpoons—gossamer lines sipping plasma from the planet’s luminous crown, each thread a living conduit of gold‑blue current. Crew move in sacred synchrony, magnet boots kissing heat‑scored plating; gestures clean, economical, ritual. Blue fire wreathes gloves and visors, runs along edge seals, chases telemetry across carbon‑ceramic panels; every touch sings through hull seams as faint harmonics. Tension ripples the filaments; micro‑winches meter draw with jeweled precision, brake drums glowing like buried embers. Along the ship’s spine, baffles open and close in measured cadence, shepherding captured charge toward cryo‑batteries that throb with muted heartbeat. Below, the planet’s crown folds and unfurls—curtains of violet and teal collapsing into rivers of molten brass. Faint particulates lift in photonic drift; dust becomes scripture, each mote inscribing the air with thin, vanishing alphabets of light. Aft camera mast slews; lens irises step to hold dynamic range as first limb‑light breaks the curve. Sun tips horizon. Every filament flares, gold racing the lines toward the chassis in a rush so sudden the crew stills from instinctive reverence. Harpoon tips bead star‑bright, tethers carve clean diagonals through vapor; afterimages hang like calligraphy above the aurora. Visors mirror a second sunrise blooming along the ship’s own geometry—trim plates and chamfers rimmed in fire, telemetry glyphs blinking amber where blue ruled before. Faint exhalations of vapor stream from cooling fins and tumble into the wake like braided silk. On the dorsal catwalk a tech pauses mid‑gesture, glove raised, palm luminous; another braces a line as load climbs, readouts stepping from safe to sanctified. No fanfare, no audience, only quiet comms and the tremor of light behaving like matter. For a breath the vessel seems to wear the morning—architecture of dawn stitched onto armor—then the surge settles, gold cooling to disciplined cobalt, and work resumes. Joy arrives as recognition: we were here, when sun met harvest and wrote its name across our hull, once, perfectly, never again.
--mod solar-harvest, --mod auroral-plasma, --mod atmospheric-depth, --mod refractedlight, --mod chromaticflare, --mod plasmafilament, --mod dawn-horizon, --mod volumetricshafts, --mod ultrarealism, --mod cinematic-depth, --mod reflective-metal, --mod hard-sci-fi, --mod mythic-scale, --mod microtexture-detail, --mod structuregrain, --mod radiantdust, --mod dynamicmotion, --mod chromatic-contrast, --mod glimmerhighlight, --mod diffusionsoftlight, --mod photonic-haze, --mod epic-realism, --mod vapor-refraction
Prompt: Everlasting miracles of fantastical alien mushroom worlds, grunge textured, mushroom houses with brick facades and smoking chimneys, psychosomatic surrealism, Andy Kehoe, Moira Simpson's Encaustic art, John Hoyland, Ton Dubbeldam, Edward Atkinson Hornel, Anne Bachelier, Escher, Egon Schiele, Monet, Victo Ngai, Tanya Vasilenko, Joan Miro, Andy Warhol. abstract expressionism, mixed media, deep vibrant colours, by Susanne.
Prompt: A poetic and emotional watercolor scene at dusk. Use warm golden and violet tones with soft reflections on the water, distant silhouettes suggesting fading memories. The brushstrokes are delicate and fluid, slightly blurred, creating a dreamlike, melancholic mood
Prompt: inside at dawn, the light enters through the window and delicately floods the environment and the girl on the bed who is waking up with drops of gold, impressionistic style, monet, color illustration, zentangle
Prompt: Loire france vidrieux lake with no movements. in an autumn setting where trees no longer have leaves.The atmosphere is mystical, enhanced by soft fog and warm light.
Prompt: In the hush before the world awoke,
Before the stars found their ancient names,
A canvas, vast and velvet-black,
Waited for the brush of dreams.
From darkness, color spilled—
Butterflies, countless, kaleidoscopic,
Danced on golden air,
Their wings the first poems written in light.
Birdsong wove through emerald veils,
Notes ringing like dew on crystal leaves,
And there, in a glade bathed in dawn,
Stood the Forest Princess:
Blonde hair thick as summer wheat,
Eyes blue as a newborn sky,
A dress spun from moonbeams and moss.
She was Mother Nature’s breath—
Mistress of all things wild and gentle.
By her side, the Forest King—
Regal, patient, ancient as the roots beneath—
With every glance, the woods blossomed anew.
In her arms, a squirrel—
Tiny empress crowned in russet fur,
Sparkling with a thousand diamond lights,
Each gem a wish, a promise, a felicità.
She shimmered with a joy
That only the first morning could know.
And there, a girl—indescribable,
Alluring as the wind that stirs the pines,
Elusive as the hush before rain,
Tender as the first green shoot.
Her beauty was not just seen but felt—
A glimmer, a hope, a paradise unveiled.
In this cradle of the cosmos,
Where wonder was new and bliss had no end,
She shone—
A living diamond,
The heart of an untouched Eden,
Paradise,
Bliss,
And the promise of all things beautiful to come.
Prompt: Aristocratic people swimming in hot springs, Hungary, 19th century Impressionism on scene is set in a flooded rice field in the early morning, with a low mist clinging to the water's surface. The composition is defined by a strong, black key block that outlines the powerful form of the buffalo, the graceful figure of the farmer, and the geometric patterns of the rice paddies. The color palette is a harmonious blend of soft, layered inks: pale pink and gold for the sunrise sky, muted jade and silver for the water, and deep earth tones for the buffalo and soil. The mist is suggested by areas of untouched, pale paper and subtle, horizontal ink washes. The style merges the graphic clarity of Japanese woodblock printing with a serene, atmospheric quality, capturing the quiet dignity and timeless rhythm of rural life. Ukiyo-e, woodblock print, key block, bold outlines, flat colors, serene, atmospheric, traditional, textured, stylistic. no artist signature.
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
