#abstractartdadamodernist

Hugo Ball's 1914 Dada Poem, "Karawane"

• Model: Fusion*

• Size: 864 X 672 (0.58 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: jolifanto bambla o falli bambla großiga m'pfa habla horem egiga goramen higo bloiko russula huju hollaka hollala anlogo bung blago bung blago bung bosso fataka ü üü ü schampa wulla wussa olobo hej tatta gorem eschige zunbada wulubu ssubudu uluwu ssubudu –umf kusa gauma ba–umf
  • Using base image: Yes (Effect strength - 60%)
  • Base image resolution: Default
  • Face enhance: No
  • Upscale & Enhance: 0

Moirea

• Model: Fusion*

• Size: 1024 X 576 (0.59 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: an ethereal middle-eastern woman with aquiline features over looks a muscular Sumerian King who carries a large bronze mace and walks the terrace of an immense ancient ziggurat
  • Using base image: Yes (Effect strength - 10%)
  • Base image resolution: Default
  • Face enhance: No
  • Upscale & Enhance: 0

Natural Collage

• Model: Fusion*

• Size: 1248 X 928 (1.16 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: jolifanto bambla o falli bambla großiga m'pfa habla horem egiga goramen higo bloiko russula huju hollaka hollala anlogo bung blago bung blago bung bosso fataka ü üü ü schampa wulla wussa olobo hej tatta gorem eschige zunbada wulubu ssubudu uluwu ssubudu –umf kusa gauma ba–umf
  • Using base image: Yes (Effect strength - 90%)
  • Base image resolution: 1MP
  • Face enhance: No
  • Upscale & Enhance: 0

T.S. Eliot, Wasteland, Fire Sermon

• Model: Fusion*

• Size: 896 X 704 (0.63 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: The Fire Sermon The river’s tent is broken; the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of City directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal
  • Face enhance: No
  • Upscale & Enhance: 0
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape