Placeholder: René Gruau's flying creatures René Gruau's flying creatures

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René Gruau's flying creatures

distorted image, malformed body

20 days ago

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SSD-1B

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7

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René Gruau's flying creatures
[poster by René Gruau] It was not summoned. It was not born. It simply was—coiled beneath the skin of the world, sleeping in silence until a voice whispered it back into memory. Now it stares, unblinking, from the edge of existence. A head the size of mountains, crowned with horns like dead moons, eyes burning with starfire. Its breath coils through the air like smoke from a forgotten forge. The land around it bends in color and shape, as though reality itself were second-guessing its design.
[art by David Hockney] Jacob wrestling with angel
Pélisse with no inhibitions in "La Quête de l'oiseau du temps" [heroic fantasy] by Régis Loisel
René Gruau's ethereal creatures
[comic book art by Le Tendre et Loisel (la quete de l oiseau du temps, 1987)]
René Gruau's Nomadic samurai female creature at the edge of the wood
[abstract art inspired by Hieronymus Bosch and František Kupka]As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its golden light across the land, a compact group of primal warriors stood silhouetted on the crest of a hill. Their figures were stark against the fiery sky, outlined by the fading glow of the setting sun. the group of primal warriors on the hilltop appeared to be guardians of a forgotten realm, keepers of ancient knowledge and wisdom.
Pélisse with no inhibitions in "La Quête de l'oiseau du temps" [heroic fantasy] by Régis Loisel
blueprint [illustration for Osprey Publishing’s by Angus McBride]
[poster by René Gruau] It was not summoned. It was not born. It simply was—coiled beneath the skin of the world, sleeping in silence until a voice whispered it back into memory. Now it stares, unblinking, from the edge of existence. A head the size of mountains, crowned with horns like dead moons, eyes burning with starfire. Its breath coils through the air like smoke from a forgotten forge. The land around it bends in color and shape, as though reality itself were second-guessing its design.
[art by Zdzisław Beksiński] In the ethereal stillness of the celestial realm, Metatron, the chief of winged angels, descended. His radiant wings shimmered like starlight, casting a celestial glow across the heavens. Suddenly, a tremor rippled through creation. God struck the three hundred and ninety heavens, and they quaked in reverent awe. From His eyes, tears flowed—hot as molten fire—cascading down like fiery rain into the vast ocean below. The waters stirred, roiling with sorrow as waves ign
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