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I remember the panic in artist communities when AI first emerged as a mainstream tool. With only a few prompts, it could generate a digital painting in seconds, and it seemed like everyone was using it to create flattering, yet highly artificial, social media photos.
Suddenly, images were everywhere. Perfect lighting, perfect skin, perfect compositions. None of it had taken more than a few seconds to make. For many artists, that was deeply unsettling.
There was also uproar over the theft aspect. Many people felt that AI was not truly creating new work, but pulling from human artists all over the internet without permission or credit. You could also ask it to mimic an artist’s distinct style, which raised even more ethical questions: if a machine could copy your look, your brushwork, and your way of seeing, what did that mean for your future? For a while, it felt like everything was up in the air.
Why So Many Artists Were Afraid of AI Art
In the beginning, the fear was loud. Every few weeks, there was a new headline warning that AI would replace artists, that creative jobs were disappearing, and that traditional art was becoming obsolete. Social media amplified that anxiety. People shared AI portraits and illustrations as if they were miracles.
Look what I made in thirty seconds! Look how realistic this is! Look how easy it is, and how good I look!
If you were a painter who had spent years learning color, value, and composition, it was hard not to feel discouraged. You had invested thousands of hours in your craft, and suddenly a computer could produce something “pretty” in a blink. It felt unfair. It felt destabilizing. And for many people, it felt personal.
Is AI Art Actually Good?
But in the time that has passed, fear over AI art in fine arts spaces has started to recede, and one truth has become increasingly obvious. It is not very good, at least in my humble opinion.
Yes, it can look impressive at first glance, and it often appears polished and technically convincing, but when you spend more than a few seconds with it, something begins to feel off. AI art and videos usually have subtle tells and inconsistencies that make part of your brain pause and think, hey, wait a second. Maybe it feels too perfect. Maybe it lacks coherence. Maybe it looks finished but not considered.
Whatever it is, it rarely holds your attention for long. It does not invite slow looking. It does not reward curiosity. It does not feel grounded in lived experience.
More importantly, it does not feel intentional. Real artists make choices constantly. We decide what matters in a scene. We decide what to simplify. We decide where to slow down and where to take risks. AI does not do that. It imitates patterns. It predicts what might look plausible. It assembles something that resembles art, but it does not understand why any of it matters.
Will AI Replace Artists?
So, will AI replace artists?
In my experience, no. Not in any meaningful way.
AI can generate images. It can imitate styles. It can produce endless variations. But it cannot build a body of work with intention. It cannot develop a long-term vision. It cannot form a relationship with an audience. It cannot grow through failure, doubt, and discovery.
It does not learn by struggling. It does not refine its voice through years of trial and error. It does not care whether a piece succeeds or fails.
Artists do.
That difference matters.
Why Skill Still Creates Value in Art
One of the main ways value is created in any field is through difficulty of replication. We place higher value on things that are hard to reproduce, that require time, patience, and sustained effort.
This connects to the idea of cultural capital, a concept developed in the late 1970s to describe the traits and resources that society places value on. Some easy examples are youth, beauty, wealth, and power. But the one that matters most for artists is skill.
We admire mastery. We respect discipline. We are drawn to evidence of deep practice.
This is why craftsmanship still matters in an age of mass production. It is why original paintings, handmade objects, and thoughtful design continue to hold value. We recognize, often intuitively, when something reflects years of learning and attention.
Why Human Artists Still Matter
I often think of artists like the late Richard Schmid, who deliberately used as few brushstrokes as possible to evoke mood and atmosphere through careful control of value and form. His work looks effortless, but that ease was built on decades of practice. Every decision was informed. Every simplification was intentional.
That level of mastery cannot be produced by a few hurried prompts. It cannot be shortcut. It cannot be automated.
It is the result of thousands of small failures, quiet breakthroughs, and patient refinements over time. It comes from learning how to see, not just how to render. It comes from understanding materials, light, proportion, and atmosphere in a way that only experience can teach.
Your skill, story, vision, and ideas are what drive the value of your work. Your perspective is shaped by your life, your struggles, your curiosities, and your growth. No algorithm can replicate that.
AI mimics humanity, but that is all it is. An imitation of life. It reflects what already exists through statistics and probability. It does not wonder. It does not doubt. It does not hope. It does not care.
You do.
You are the real thing.
Never forget it.
Happy painting!
xx Marianne
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