The Whisper of Empty Rooms.
In the space between worlds, where time and space ceased to matter, she sat, the unnamed woman. Her hands moved over the cards like a poem from forgotten tongues. Each card, a fragment of a dream, an echo of something lost eons ago in the depths of the collective consciousness. The image of the space around her was not of this world; the walls, a collection of incomplete thoughts, melted and took on the form of forgetting.
The scent of the cards reminded her of the crackle of impermanence—the moment when the past still lingers in the air before it completely dissolves. She knew that she no longer existed in time. The walls that surrounded her had no texture, they were fluid like memories carried by the wind. But the woman knew that the space was nothing more than the manifestation of her own doubts, her fears of dissolution.
"What does it mean to exist?" she asked herself, as a thought flickered through her senses, like lightning splitting the darkness. But the question remained unanswered—the silence that followed was not empty. It was an echo that pierced the space, drilling into every corner, tearing apart the layers of reality until all that remained was the question itself.
The Hidden Symphony
In the midst of the whispering shadows of a room that should not exist, sat Laura, a woman whose thoughts ticked like old clocks. Every second for her was a symphony, an echo of a lost time that had never unfolded. The room, filled with silent memories, breathed slowly, as though it were alive.
On the walls hung paintings that knew no past. They depicted landscapes that never existed and faces of people who were never born. Laura believed she could look into them, as if through windows to other existences. But what she saw were not answers, only questions devouring one another.
An old cage hovered above her, empty and rusty, yet it seemed to guard something invisible. “Everything here is a paradox,” she murmured. “The emptiness holds more secrets than the fullness.”
Then, she heard a knocking—not from the door, but from within. Not from the room, but from her own soul. A voice, soft and sharp, whispered: “Who are you when no one is watching?”
She stood, yet her legs did not move. The room contracted, growing tighter, as if it sought to erase her presence. She knew she could not escape, for the room was herself. And the truth she sought was one she feared: that she was merely a story, told by an author she would never meet.
Above: The original picture generated with Visual Electric during a workshop at artec course in Berlin.
Below: Generatively enhanced and edited in Photoshop
Credits
Idea: Jack & Jane / Concept und Prompts: Georg Andreas Suhr / AI Tool: Visual Electric
Editing and generatively enhanced and edited in Photoshop
Links:
Soundtrack: You must listening this during watching and reading this post
And here are some more results from the session.
With these images, as soon as I saw the results, I had another idea for an artwork that could tell a story. I'm always surprised when I realise how the AI inspires me, or how we inspire each other.
