Lairissa Lee White Satin

Creating a World Through AI

Over the past few years, I’ve found myself drawn to a creative space that lives somewhere between fashion photography and imagination — a world shaped not by physical limitations, but by possibility.

RockyMtnBabe® began as an exploration into what could be created when storytelling met emerging technology. Using AI-driven tools, I’ve been able to design images and scenes that would otherwise be impossible to capture — whether that’s a quiet winter morning in the mountains, an editorial look set against a dramatic alpine sunset, or a dreamlike moment suspended somewhere between reality and fantasy.

But technology is only the medium.

The real inspiration comes from the landscapes that surround me here in Colorado — the light that hits the Front Range just before dusk, the stillness of fresh snowfall, the feeling of standing above the treeline and watching the clouds move below. These moments shape the mood, styling, and emotion behind each image long before any tools are involved.

Each visual begins as an idea — a sense of atmosphere, a palette, a feeling tied to a place or moment. Even as these images are shaped through digital tools, there is still a personal presence within them — a reflection of my own likeness carried into each editorial moment. The environments may be imagined, but the figure within them remains tied to something real.

This is me. My face.

From there, AI becomes part of the creative process: a way to translate inspiration into form, to experiment with lighting, texture, and composition in ways that traditional photography often cannot accommodate. It allows me to build environments that feel rooted in reality while still embracing a sense of narrative — scenes that are familiar, yet slightly heightened.

Through this process, fashion becomes more than clothing. It becomes a storytelling device — a way to express mood, movement, season, or transformation. A silk dress against a snow-covered treeline, a structured coat beneath a lavender mountain sky, or a softly lit studio overlooking an alpine horizon can all suggest different versions of the same world.

I’m not trying to replace reality — I’m trying to extend it.

Some of the stories I create continue beyond what I’m able to share publicly here — more intimate editorials and the spicier, unfiltered moments that don’t always belong in open spaces.

If you’d like to experience more of the world behind RockyMtnBabe®, including extended visual series and private creative work, you’re welcome to join me there.

To create a space where natural landscapes and imagined environments coexist. Where personal style can be explored without the limitations of time, weather, or location. Where editorial imagery reflects not just how something looks, but how it feels to stand in a place, to experience a moment, or to imagine something just beyond reach.

RockyMtnBabe® is an ongoing exploration of what happens when creativity, nature, and technology intersect — a way to shape stories visually, inspired by the Rockies and brought to life through emerging tools.

This is where those ideas come together.

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Every New Art Form Was Once “Slop”

There is a phrase circulating right now in creative spaces: “AI slop.”
It’s meant to shame. To dismiss. To draw a line between “real” creativity and something lesser.

But history tells a very different story.

Not only is this reaction familiar — it is predictable. In fact, nearly every major shift in visual art and creative technology has been met with the same contempt, the same ridicule, and the same fear-based language.

And every time, history has been very clear about who was wrong.

When Photography Was “Cheating”

When photography emerged in the mid-1800s, it was not welcomed as art. Painters and critics called it mechanical, soulless, and lazy. They argued that if a machine captured the image, then the artist’s hand — and therefore artistry itself — was absent.

Photography was dismissed as a shortcut for people who couldn’t paint.

What was actually happening was simpler and more uncomfortable:
a tool had arrived that lowered the barrier to entry, expanded who could create images, and disrupted an existing hierarchy.

Photography didn’t destroy painting.
It didn’t erase skill.
It didn’t eliminate human vision.

It became its own art form — and reshaped every visual medium that followed.

When Impressionism Was “Unfinished Garbage”

The word Impressionism began as an insult.

Critics sneered at loose brushstrokes, unfinished forms, and paintings that looked more like fleeting moments than polished masterpieces. These works were called sloppy, juvenile, and technically inferior.

Sound familiar?

The accusation was not really about technique.
It was about breaking expectations.

Today, those same paintings are some of the most celebrated works in history — precisely because they dared to value perception, emotion, and interpretation over rigid rules.

When Collage Was “Trash Art”

When artists began cutting up newspapers, photographs, and advertisements to create collage and photomontage, critics recoiled. This wasn’t creation — it was destruction, randomness, junk.

Anyone could do it, they said.

But that argument has always missed the point.

Collage wasn’t about inventing new materials.
It was about selection, context, and meaning.

And those qualities — choice, intention, narrative — are deeply human.

When Digital Art Was “Computer Crap”

When artists moved to computers in the late 20th century, the backlash returned. Pushing buttons wasn’t art. Using software was cheating. Real artists used pencils, paint, and canvas.

Digital art was sidelined, dismissed, and excluded from serious spaces.

Now it dominates concept art, film, fashion, advertising, and design.
No one asks if Photoshop invalidates creativity anymore.

The tool became invisible.
The artist remained.

The Pattern We Keep Ignoring

Every one of these moments followed the same arc:

  1. A new tool lowers the barrier to creation
  2. Volume increases dramatically
  3. Quality becomes uneven
  4. Gatekeepers feel threatened
  5. A derogatory label emerges

The insult is never really about quality.
It’s about abundance.

When creation becomes accessible, the myth that scarcity equals value collapses. And when that myth collapses, fear rushes in to replace it.

What “AI Slop” Really Means

“AI slop” is not a critique of AI.

It’s a critique of unfiltered output — of work without taste, intention, or authorship. But those flaws are not unique to AI. They exist in every medium, at every moment in history.

Bad photography didn’t invalidate photography.
Bad paintings didn’t invalidate painting.
Bad digital art didn’t invalidate digital art.

The worst work always disappears.

What remains is what always mattered:

  • Vision
  • Curation
  • Story
  • Emotion
  • Voice

AI does not remove the human from creativity.
It exposes whether the human was ever there to begin with.

The Truth History Always Confirms

Tools do not define art.

Artists do.

AI is not the end of creativity — it is a mirror. It reflects intention, taste, and care with startling clarity. When used carelessly, it produces noise. When used thoughtfully, it produces work that feels unmistakably human.

The same was once said of cameras, brushes, scissors, and software.

 

And history has already told us how this story ends.

The slop fades.
The art remains.

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Rissa Through Time

✨ "Many Eras, One Girl: My Time-Traveling Selfie Story"

Step into a RockyMtnBabe time travel fantasy pictorial story — a dreamy journey across eras, captured through self-portraits and imagination.

What if I told you I’ve lived through the last 185 years… and even peeked into the future?
Okay, not literally — but in the world of imagination (and a little AI magic), I did exactly that.

This series is my love letter to style, storytelling, and the dream of stepping into other times. From the lace-and-parasols of the 1910s to the electric glow of a 2095 skyline, I traveled through decades wearing the fashion, the energy, and the attitude of each moment. Sometimes flirty, sometimes fierce, sometimes just free.

Each image is a snapshot from another lifetime — a little fantasy of who I might’ve been if I had grown up in 1955 or danced through a disco club in 1974 or stood on the edge of the world in denim shorts and a smirk in 2025. These aren’t just costumes — they’re characters. And each one still feels like… me.

So come time travel with me.
Let’s spin the dial on the time machine and press “Go.”

🕰️ Slide 1 – The 1910s
"The Beginning of the Journey" The year is 1912. I’ve just stepped out onto the bustling streets of New York City. The world smells like coal smoke and perfume, and the women around me speak in quiet confidence as the suffrage movement stirs beneath their gloves. I’m not sure where I’m going — only that something bigger is calling. I carry no map, no certainty. Just a lace parasol, wide eyes… and the time machine ticking softly behind me.
🕰️ Slide 2 – The 1920s
"A Whisper Behind Closed Doors" The year is 1927. The air buzzes with the clink of glasses and the low hum of forbidden jazz. Behind an unmarked door on a quiet street, I dance in a haze of sequins and champagne. Here, in the secret heartbeat of the city, rules are just suggestions and dreams are poured as freely as the bootleg liquor. The time machine waits patiently in the alley, its gears humming with the rhythm of the band. But for tonight, I belong to the sparkle, the secrets, and the thrill of being alive.
🕰️ Slide 3 – The 1930s
"Dreams of Tomorrow" The year is 1939. I stand beneath the towering Trylon and Perisphere, staring up at the gleaming symbols of hope. The World’s Fair hums with promises — televisions, rocket ships, cities in the clouds. Around me, wide-eyed visitors whisper of a future too grand to imagine, yet somehow already within reach. I can feel the time machine vibrating faintly at the edge of the fairgrounds, almost impatient. The world is racing toward tomorrow — and so am I.
🕰️ Slide 4 – The 1940s
"A Goodbye and a Promise" The year is 1943. The train whistles echo against the crowded platform, and the air is thick with hurried embraces and whispered prayers. I clutch my coat tighter around me, lifting my hand in a brave, trembling wave. Everyone is leaving for something bigger than themselves — for honor, for duty, for love. The time machine waits just beyond the smoke and steam, but my heart lingers here, in this moment suspended between hope and farewell.
🕰️ Slide 5 – The 1950s
"Cherry on Top" The year is 1952. The jukebox hums in the corner, and the scent of grilled onions and sweet vanilla floats through the air. I rest my chin in my hand, legs crossed beneath my seafoam uniform, waiting on a boy who’s always late — and always forgiven. The world outside moves fast, but in here? Time slows down to the rhythm of a soda fountain and a smile you don’t forget. The time machine glows softly behind the kitchen door. But for now… one more sip, one more song.
🕰️ Slide 6 – The 1950s
"Golden Arches & Sweet Freedom" The year is 1955. A warm breeze rustles my checkered skirt as I step out into the glow of the golden arches. The parking lot buzzes with tailfins, rock 'n' roll, and laughter spilling from rolled-down windows. It’s a new kind of America — shinier, faster, bursting with possibility. I don’t need the time machine to know this is a turning point. Fifty million hamburgers sold… and one girl just passing through.
🕰️ Slide 7 – The 1960s
"Pedals and Possibility" The year is 1960. The neighborhood is quiet but full of stories — clipped lawns, laughter through screen doors, and the scent of fresh laundry drifting from backyard lines. I glide through it all, wind in my hair, heart wide open. This is a new decade. A blank page. And I’m not just coasting… I’m racing toward whatever’s next. The time machine trails behind me like a shadow — but today, I set the pace.
🕰️ Slide 8 – The 1960s
"A Place in the Sun" Story: The year is 1964. Las Vegas shimmers like a mirage, and I’ve found my way to the heart of it — The Sands Hotel, where the Rat Pack reigns and the martinis never stop clinking. I slip into the evening like I belong here. Dean Martin is on the marquee, my heels click against the sidewalk, and for a moment, time feels like velvet and champagne. The time machine waits under the neon glow… but tonight, I’m here for the show.
🕰️ Slide 9 – The 1960s
"My Body, My Voice" The year is 1968. The air is electric with unrest, with fire, with urgency. I stand shoulder to shoulder with women who are tired of waiting, tired of being told to be quiet, to be small, to be less. Our signs aren’t just ink on cardboard — they are declarations of existence. In this moment, I’m not just a visitor in time. I’m part of the movement. Because history isn’t something we watch. It’s something we make.
🕰️ Slide 10 – The 1970s
"Let the Music Speak" The year is 1970. The lights dim, the guitars growl to life, and suddenly I’m not just in a crowd — I’m part of something bigger. Something loud. Something alive. We sing louder now. We wear what we want, dance how we feel, and let the music say everything we can’t. The time machine hums backstage, waiting. But for now, I raise my hand, shout the lyrics, and disappear into the sound.
🕰️ Slide 11 – The 1970s
"Stayin’ Gold" The year is 1974. The music pulses through the walls, the disco ball spins like a hypnotic sun, and I shimmer under the lights in gold that refuses to be ignored. This isn’t just a party — it’s a revolution in rhythm. We don’t just dance. We live here, in the glow of freedom, glitter, and Saturday night forever. The time machine can wait by the coat check. I’ve got one more song to dance to.
🕰️ Slide 12 – The 1970s
"A Long Time Ago… At the Drive-In" The year is 1977. The speakers crackle, the screen glows to life, and I’m tucked into the passenger seat with popcorn in my lap and stars — real and imagined — above my head. I don’t know who Luke Skywalker is yet, but I’m already in love with the adventure. The galaxy feels bigger tonight, and so do my dreams. Somewhere behind the screen, the time machine hums in approval. Even it knows — this moment is iconic.
🕰️ Slide 13 – The 1980s
"Let’s Get Physical" The year is 1982. The streets are alive with rhythm, cardboard dance mats, and boomboxes blasting beats that could power the whole city. My leg warmers are high, my shoulder’s bare, and the world feels like one giant music video. This is sweat, neon, hustle — and joy. I pop, lock, and laugh my way through the afternoon, while the time machine chills against a graffiti wall with its shades on. It knows: we are absolutely living.
🕰️ Slide 14 – The 1980s
"The Sky Is Not the Limit" The year is 1984. I stand at Cape Canaveral with my hair whipping in the Florida wind, eyes locked on the rising pillar of smoke and fire. The shuttle surges upward — and so does my heart. The ground shakes. The crowd cheers. History arcs through the sky like a promise. We believed then — as we still do — that the future was something we could reach for. Little did we know that just two years later, the world would hold its breath in sorrow. But on this day, we only felt wonder.
🕰️ Slide 15 – The 1980s
"Mall Magic & Big Hair Dreams" The year is 1988. The mall is my runway, my sanctuary, my social universe. I strut past neon signs and wall-to-wall music, clutching shopping bags and living for the thrill of a new lip gloss and a whispered crush. Everything is extra — the hair, the hoop earrings, the attitude. Time travel can take me anywhere… But for today, I’m just a girl in a hot pink top and a lavender skirt, owning her moment under the food court lights.
🕰️ Slide 16 – The 1990s
"Hello, Angst. Hello, Authentic." The year is 1993. Gone are the mall curls and neon sparkle. Now it’s flannel, eyeliner, and lyrics that say what we’re too numb — or too brave — to say out loud. The crowd sways like a single pulse, and when Kurt sings, it’s like the whole world exhales. I’m not here to perform. I’m here to feel. This isn’t about being pretty. It’s about being real. The time machine waits in the alley behind the venue… probably smoking a cigarette.
🕰️ Slide 17 – 1990s Interlude
"Temporal Miscalculation" The year is… well, supposed to be 2095. Instead, I’m standing in 1995, holding a payphone that smells like metal and regret, wondering why the time machine doesn't have a customer service line. No Wi-Fi. No portal. Just a dial tone and a crop top. Clearly, someone hit the wrong lever. Note to self: double-check coordinates… after caffeine.
🕰️ Slide 18 – The 1990s
"I ❤️ TRL" The year is 1999. Boy bands rule the airwaves, butterfly clips are back, and Times Square is the center of the pop universe. I made my sign with glitter pens and pure adrenaline — hoping Carson Daly will see me from the MTV window. It’s loud, chaotic, and absolutely perfect. I don’t need the time machine right now. This is the future I wanted — and it's playing live on channel 36.
🕰️ Slide 19 – The 2000s
"Dear Future Me…" The year is 2004. I’m curled up on my bed, scribbling secrets into a spiral notebook while my iPod plays Avril, Coldplay, and songs I’ll never admit to loving out loud. There’s no TikTok. No filters. Just thoughts, tangled earbuds, and the glow of a lava lamp in the corner. I don’t need to post it. I just need to feel it. The time machine rests quietly at the foot of the bed… maybe journaling too.
🕰️ Slide 20 – The 2010s
"Playlist = Personality" The year is 2010. I’m walking through an open-air shopping plaza with my earbuds in and my hoodie unzipped just enough to show off a little confidence. I’ve got a playlist full of feelings and a pocket full of nothing — and somehow, it feels like enough. This version of me doesn’t need a destination. Just a beat to walk to. The time machine is probably off grabbing froyo… I’ll catch up after this song.
🕰️ Slide 21 – The 2010s
"There Is No Planet B" The year is 2015. The signs are handmade, the voices are loud, and the urgency? Palpable. I’m no longer just passing through history — I’m standing in the middle of it, shoulder to shoulder with strangers who feel like family. We’re not here to be polite. We’re here to be heard. Because if we want a future worth traveling to… we have to fight for it now.
🕰️ Slide 22 – The 2020s
"Hope & Healing" The year is 2021. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a line — and it’s not for toilet paper. It’s for healing. I roll up my sleeve and close my eyes, not out of fear… but relief. This isn’t the end of everything we’ve faced. But it is a beginning. A chance to gather, to breathe, to hope again. The time machine waits outside, quiet and still. For once… I think it knows to give us a moment.
🕰️ Slide 23 – The 2030s
"The Future Is Now" The year is 2030. The skyline is made of glass and intention. Data hums through the air, cities are smarter, and AI isn’t just a tool — it’s a companion, a co-creator, a spark. The time machine? She’s learned a few things too. And me? I’m still dreaming — but now, the world is finally dreaming with me. I don’t just visit time anymore. I shape it.
🕰️ Slide 24 – 2095
"Decade Not Found" The year is 2095. Neon cities glow beneath glass skies, and the future hums with light and logic. I walk its streets with quiet awe — but something feels... off. I’ve seen so much. I’ve danced through time, fought for voices, fallen in love with eras I was never meant to know. And yet… the one moment I never understood still echoes in my mind. A payphone. A wrong year. A blinking message: ERROR 404: DECADE NOT FOUND. I thought it was a glitch. But it wasn’t. It was me. Back in 1995 — confused, stranded, and alone — I whispered something into that receiver, not knowing if anyone… or anything… would ever hear it. I just needed to believe it would matter someday. Now, a quiet tone pulses in my ear. My voice crackles through the static, older and uncertain: “If you’re hearing this… you made it. And you’re not lost. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.” I smile. The time machine powers up. The journey isn't over. But now, I finally know why I started it.
Quest for Her Heart - The Knight

The Quest for Her Heart: A Fantasy in Five Faces

Some say love is a straight path — a quest with one destination. But what if the one we seek wears many faces? This is the tale of Michael, a knight whose heart longed for a love deeper than time, more powerful than fate. His journey would take him across realms both magical and mortal, where five women would each steal his breath — and teach him something he didn’t yet know about love… and about himself.

As you turn each page in this story, you’ll meet her again and again… until at last, you understand.

Prologue: The Knight Who Dreamed of More
They called him brave. Loyal. Steadfast. But in the quiet hours, when the stars hummed and the world hushed, Michael longed for something no sword could win — not a battle, but a longing. He had heard stories of a woman who was more than beauty, more than magic… a woman made of moments, of mystery, of many truths. They said she lived in no one place, that no man could hold her — only hope to see her clearly. So, he left behind his title, his station, and the life he’d always known. Not to conquer. But to understand. To find her — all of her. And so, the quest began…
The Moonlit Oracle
On the 10th day of his journey, high atop a cliff bathed in silver moonlight, Michael sees a woman shrouded in velvet mystery. Michael climbs the cliff walls hearing the waves of the ocean breaking on the rocky terrain below. He finally reaches the top. He is mesmerized by her beauty. She speaks in riddles and circles and prophecy. Yet she does offer him one clear truth: “You must know me to love me… but do not expect to know me all at once.”
The Moonlit Oracle
“Love,” she says, “is not foretold. It is chosen.” Michael asks if he could be the one she could love. She smiles and summons him closer and just as his lips were about to touch hers, she vanished in the moonlit mist. Michael called out for her. He heard her voice faint and distant, "You must know all of me, find all of me." Michael was not sure he understood but he knew he must continue his quest.
The Queen of Embers
After days of travel, Michael came to a realm where he walked across miles and miles of scorched plains. He reached a palace ablaze in fire. As he enters the grand doors of the palace he is drawn to the firelit throne of a queen whose passion burns as bright as her eyes. She summons him to sit with her at the foot of her throne. He feels his passion for her rise in him. His desire for her builds and burns red hot inside him. She is regal, radiant, and untouchable — or so he thinks. Until her eyes soften.
The Queen of Embers
“Love is not weakness,” she tells him. “It’s the fire you survive together.” She dares him to face the flame of love—not the easy warmth, but the transformative blaze. Michael rises fearless to walk through the flames that surround her but just as his hand reaches to touch her cheek she vanishes into smoke and the flames are extinguished. He calls out for her, and he hears her voice faintly, "You must know all of me, find all of me, Michael!"
The Forest Enchantress
Michael continues on his quest and among the ancient trees and tangled roots of a magical forest, Michael finds her again, this time barefoot and wild, with secrets in her smile. She has flowers in her hair, she seems delicate and breakable. She speaks of love being patient, curious, and quietly blooming like moss beneath shadowed trees. He hears a flock of Starlings fly overhead, and he looks up to see them. When his gaze comes back to rest on her she is gone. He cries out to her and he hears her voice summon him, "I am here Michael." He walks toward the light that breaks through the curtain of trees and vines.
The Forest Enchantress
As he breaks into the light she is there waiting in a glade where time forgets to pass. The forest animals play with her in the lush emerald colored meadow as she laughs. Flowers bloom beneath her bare feet. Her laughter is the music of moss and wind. He thinks she’ll vanish again if he blinks. Finally, her gaze meets his and she says, “Love,” she smiles, “is not a cage. It’s the wind that dares you to fly.” He steps to her and just as his arms are about to embrace her, her form turns into a flock of Starlings, and they circle him once and fly away. As they fly off, he hears her voice in the winged churned breeze, "find me Michael, find all of me."
The Time Weaver
Michael travels for days more, searching. He crosses a barren desert. He thinks he is going mad because he begins to hear the sound of ticking clocks in his head. In the middle of the desert, he finds a golden temple. He enters and realizes that the sound of the clockworks was coming from here. He follows the sounds of the ticking, and they grow louder until he enters a grand room and sees her there dressed and decorated in golden hues. He meets her in a realm of golden gears and forgotten dreams. He watches her. As she moves her hands, they spin the threads of past and future.
The Time Weaver
She shows him that to love her is to accept her story—all of it. The sorrow, the resilience, the joy, the change. Then suddenly the clocks tick in reverse. He sees who he is, who he was, and who he might yet be. She never tells him which is real. “Love is not a moment,” she whispers. “It’s a memory in motion.” Michael loses track of time, he is tired, and the sound of the clocks makes his eyes heavy. He falls asleep and when he awakens, she is gone, and the clocks are silent. He calls out to her his voice echoing through the halls. He suddenly hears ticking and looks down to see a golden pocket watch. He turns it over and sees the engraving. "Quick Michael, before it is too late you must find all of me."
The Siren Beneath the Ice
The Knight had grown weary as he had travelled far to the north to the frozen and icy realm. Michael had travelled much longer this time and was sure he had made a mistake when suddenly as his foot planted on the ice a large crack broke the silence. He held still but in an instance the ice shattered, and he fell into the frigid water below. He struggled to get to the surface, but the current was too strong. He fought and fought but to no avail. His eyes fluttered and he passed out.
The Siren Beneath the Ice
When he came to, he gasped. And found himself in a grand ice cave. And there she was dressed in ivory and as beautiful as he had ever seen her. But something was different. His heart felt so heavy. She was beauty and grief, longing and silence all in one. It is here that he almost turned away as he is overcome with sorrow. Her voice cracks the icy silence of the cave. “My love,” she said, “isn’t always safe or happy. It can be scary and at times it can be cold. But it’s always worth the plunge.” She beckons him closer, and he dares to reach for her. But just as he was about to touch her, she melted away.
Epilogue: The Woman Who Was Always Her
Michael made the long trek back to his realm feeling dejected and lost. His mind wandered back to the women he had met on his quest. He knew in the icy cave that he had failed as he called out to her many times and heard nothing from her this time. Then one day high on cliff overlooking his castle he heard a snap of a branch and turned towards the bordering forest behind him.
Epilogue: The Woman Who Was Always Her
There, he sees her. Not the Oracle. Not the Queen. Not the Enchantress, the Weaver, or the Siren. All of them. One woman — layered, complex, infinite. And he finally understands: Love isn’t one thing. She isn’t one thing. But she is everything.
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Fun Halloween Illustrations

I had a lot of fun creating these spooky Halloween illustrations.  I love creating the artsy stuff.  Images like this don’t always translate to my Instagram feed so I like to share them here.  I hope you enjoy them, if you do drop a comment on the post and let me know.  Thank you for taking the time to check out my creations. Love, Rissa 💜