The old art is dead. Suffocated by its own vanity, buried under tons of gold leaf. And thank God for that. Just look at what has risen to take its place. Look at these aristocrats. They are rotting away, not from age, but from something infinitely more sinister. Their faces are mere paper, ripped apart by entropy. It’s a dance of wires and circuitry sprouting through flesh like metastases. This isn't beauty. This is agony. And this agony is exquisite because it is alive. It is the raw energy of decay, sparking and hissing, torching everything we once held as "beautiful." Art is dead. Long live the art of rust. The art of the short circuit.

(Ai assisted art)