Here it is. The big one. The shit-stirrer supreme I’ve been teasing. I feel like whatever I’m about to say, I have to:
Come bearing arms.
Make it clear that I’m just here to speak my piece, not make converts. Fight amongst yourselves, I’ve already made up my mind.
State the following in no uncertain terms: I regularly and routinely employ living breathing artists whose skills and vision are paramount to the success of my projects. Every artist I have worked with thus far is a wonderful and gifted human being, and has proven their abilities and talents in realizing my ideas. Without them, I would be dead in the water.
Exhibit A for a recent example.
Exhibit B for your delectation.
Whenever a certain kind of new technology comes to prominence, some find themselves inclined to lash out, to thrash away in anger, desperate to stop the threat barging in their front door. That response has clearly been the tact taken with “A.I. Art,” the term used to described digital artwork generated via artificially intelligent programs. For every ridiculous cry of “Hollywood is over man!!1!,” there is an equal response of people frothing at the mouth and decrying the concept’s very existence.
And to be frank: both sides have a point.
Though not perfect, the ability to generate digital imagery that can not only approximate human form and figure, but also innumerable styles across the ages is rather impressive. And for all their nightmarish qualities, the crude animations conjured up have shown some mild promise too.
And at the same time:
IT AIN’T ART.
Never has been, never will be. It can be digital illustration, computer-generated imagery, but “A.I. art” on a fundamental, ontological level can never be true art. It lacks soul, it lacks passion, it lacks any true human input beyond the prompt’s construction and the dice roll of clicking “create.” It is the very generation of the “art” that disqualifies from being art.
So…why do I use it? I’ve shown myself to be a studious engager of history, I clearly have an appreciation for fine art. I frequently employ artists whom I’ve kept faith with in all my major projects, and I’ve even gone as far as personally doing graphic design work if unable to hire an artist on short notice:
The answer: when I know what I want made, I have it made.
Setting aside the technology’s inability to handle anthropomorphism (though there are models being developed), I have exacting demands for every project I have commissioned art for. Specific aesthetics, color palettes, lighting designs, and items such as wardrobe, buildings, and other minutiae. Those demands can only be met by having a real collaborator in the room. I need to know there’s a human being there to help bring the vision to life, and bring something special and unique I would never have considered. Something as simple as the color of sunglasses or a unique hairstyle, or as the great Bob Ross once said, “happy accidents” that look tremendous.
But most importantly, never have I ever demanded realism. I love Tem because he has this classic animated look, right down to a touch of Don Bluth, and it makes my spirits soar. I love Kevin because he is a versatile komik artist who takes his skills in manga and bends them towards Western sensibilities in a terrific way. You can tell by the wolves he’s drawn for me, and by his work on forthcoming “Southern-fried manga” Paladin Dragoon.
The greatest con in “A.I. art” is the promise of uncanny semblances of real-to-life people and objects. Like the Mysterons painting Dorian Gray, you see man refracted in any number of abominable ways that, yeah, after a solid Photoshop job, can start to look real, but will never truly sit right. In short, that’s the kind of shit I run from like the bubonic plague.
When I turn to “A.I. Art,” it is because I’m looking for something I cannot readily or affordably commission. What is this most obscure style, you may be asking?
Shit like this.
I am a geek when it comes to science fiction and fantasy art of the mid-to-late 20th century. That sweet nugget of time (largely in the 1970s and early 80s) when realist space art came to the fore and masters like Steve Dodd and Tim White were all over the damn place. But the beauty is that it was real up to a point. The kernel of truth was there, but so was the imagination behind the imagery.
The fact I can, warts and all, conjure up a surreal approximation of this niche style in under two minutes is something beautiful I wouldn’t trade for all the world. It doesn’t beat the original (it’s almost an impression of an impressionist genre), but at the risk of sounding cruel, unless someone drops a quarter-million in my lap, I won’t be able to piss on the same street as the original, let alone own or commission one.
I’d wager that 95% of my 1% usage of “A.I. Art” is purely for the sake of admiring it and using it as a springboard for my creative work. A private gallery of moods to gaze into as the vintage electronica washes over me. Nothing public, no one gets hurts, and it helps me craft the stories I love telling.
That remaining fraction of a fraction is reserved for stunts like these:
With this, I reveal the only commercial use I have for A.I. art: graphic design.
With the approximation acting the part of canvas, I have a mid-century-style tapestry upon which I can weave any manner of shapes and creative typography to capture the essence of the song. It brings production value, it brings the aura I seek, and if I’m being perfectly honest: it just looks cool.
Now, for those salivating over some of the current lawsuits at play, I’m not sweating any of the litigation facing A.I. at the moment. My big reasons being:
The imagery conjured up is distinctive enough
The imagery is often buried under geometry and text
When the final word is had, that will determine the fate of this tool in my work
If it’s found these models have violated copyright law, I’ll stop using them. If it’s found they haven’t, I’ll use them sparingly, but they will remain a tool under my graphic design belt. Especially for the underrated purpose of texture generation.
Surfside Sin is a sanguinary whirlpool of madness as a young woman falls for a mysterious drifter in her local surf scene in mid-century California. A man who may not even be mortal, and seeks pleasure through pain. All transpires against the backdrop of lurid murders and a crowd littered with suspects.
This WIP cover was made in free image editors using free assets, clipart, and some A.I. generated psychedelia, and it captures everything this seaside slasher is about. I’m still working on this humble little novella, but wanted a temp cover to help recall the mode in which I’m writing. The ability to use A.I. generated elements within a larger piece of design work is something I find exciting because it gives me a level of freedom I didn’t have beforehand. It expands the tool set and increase the chances of crafting something striking and dynamic.
If the qualm to have with A.I. art is on the matter of art, I’ve ceded that ground and fully admit the only purpose I have for it is snapshotting my imagination and for low-stakes work on a small handful of projects. Everything I’ve generated is not art.
Michelangelo is art. Picasso is art. Your grandmother’s crocheting is art.
“A.I. Art” is not art.
If the qualm taken is on the matter of employing artists…recall what I said at the outset. 99% of all illustrative work done on my projects is done by people. 365 Infantry is completely illustrated by real people with real talent. I commission concept art from real people with real talent. I’m in talks to have a kid’s book illustrated by a real person with real talent. I’m not here choking on Bitcoin and deluding myself into thinking I just made Guernica in the time it takes me to drop a load in the toilet.
If I ever use A.I. generated imagery for a project, it is because I seek something more than mere graphic design, but the project is not worth shelling out the cash for. I only commission art I know I can afford up front, and recoup in some manner, whether through print-on-demand services like TeePublic or book publication. I’m not in a position to fulfill Kickstarter campaigns, so I try to keep my money close and my money belt latex-tight. A sensible position to hold as an indie creator, because at the end of the day, we’re all fucking poor and the lion’s share of us are unable to afford bare necessities, let alone thousands of dollars worth of interior art.
Simply put, I’d rather not screw someone over by asking them to make art on short notice that I can’t afford. I’d rather roll the dice, generate something that captures the essence of the work, or provides an element thereof, and incorporate that. The hope is that, as all good commercial art should do, it catches eyes and captures the imagination, thus leading to the product selling. And when the product sells, after a while, I don’t need “A.I. Art” because I can afford to have someone come in and draw the damn cover.
“A.I. Art,” for all its flaws, faults, and the cult arrayed around and against it, is a stepping stone. A facsimile that, if used properly, can provide aesthetic value to a project and serve as a designer’s tool. If anyone starts coming on like Albert Bierstadt because Midjourney dropped them a dandy landscape, those people are kidding themselves and are what the French call “les imbéciles.” And at the same time, people poo-pooing others for using the tool to help market their book or single should either put up the couple hundred to get real art made, or mind their own business.
The tech bros and hustlers trying to grift their way into the arts are to be laughed out of the room, but so are the people losing it at the thought of A.I. being used at all. When you use this tool, do not kid yourselves: you’re not painting a fresco, you’re making an ad. And if you’re smart about it, you make an ad so damn good, the product sells like hotcakes and you won’t need it the next time.
So until Skynet reigns supreme and all are cast in atomic shadows, I’ll gladly do whatever it takes to get my vision from my cockamamie head to your starved senses. Whether by hook, crook, bot, or the second coming of Frazetta. And in the words of California Senator Vernon Trent: “You can take that to the bank!”
A nice nuanced take on the "AI Art" controversy.
I think one way to see AI Art is to compare it to photography. The writer E. Michael Jones claimed that photography is not art. Why? Because you're not really making something from scratch but rather you take what's already there. There isn't any "mimesis" going on with with photography. The same should be said for AI Art. It doesn't mean that it's not beautiful or that we can't make use of it, but we shouldn't call it art.