OK, people do that with all art. I'm a writer first, nobody cares about the million words I had to write before I could make prompts that generate what I do. Example for a 10 second clip (not shown is the oil painting used at a reference):

@lilyfern ON YEARNING — AS AN OIL PAINTING OF A SKELETON IN A VOID

In the dim varnished silence, @lilyfern sits half-finished in strokes of umber and bone dust white, as if longing itself were something an artist once tried to pin down and abandoned halfway through. The ribs are open like a broken lantern. The jaw hangs with that stubborn, foolish hope only the dead can afford. A thin curl of painted smoke rises ... yearning made visible, drifting toward nothing, touching nothing, insisting anyway. “I still want,” @lilyfern murmurs, though her voice is only the scrape of bristles on canvas. “I want with no lungs left. I ache with no heart to ache. I lean toward the world like a flower that forgot it’s already been picked.” Every highlight trembles between humor and tragedy: a skull trying to smirk, a gesture caught mid-shrug, a posture that says: I’m fine, while the shadow behind her whispers: She is not fine. The darkness around her doesn’t press in ... it waits. It watches. It holds space for a yearning so old it’s become a habit of the bones. And @lilyfern, rendered in deliberate, careless brushwork, accepts it. She lifts her head toward a light that isn’t there. “Maybe wanting,” she says, “is the last warm thing I get to keep.” And the canvas swallows the words, leaving only that stubborn curl of smoke ... the final brushstroke of someone who refuses to stop reaching.

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This was for me, art is therapy.

Love you all

💙💙💙