Human imagination in the era of AI

Why I'm less afraid and more optimistic about our creative future

I sit in awe, taking in three centuries of history surrounding me. I’m in Palau Dalmases in Barcelona, a 17th-century palace turned theatre, waiting for the curtains to rise. The guitarist walks on stage, takes a seat, and becomes one with his instrument. Three dancers enter dramatically, serenaded by singers whose voices reach every ear without a mic.

It isn’t my first time watching flamenco but this evening, I truly grasp the depths of the artistry I’m witnessing. I’m utterly captivated. And then my mind does that thing that we’re all strangely getting accustomed to— I think about how AI might impact this dance form.

This is a picture from the internet. I was too immersed in the performance to take a decent picture.

I spend my days working in tech and my nights defying it by making things by hand. I’m both impressed by the possibilities of AI, excited by limits it can stretch, and worried about the artistic boundaries it is encroaching upon. For, in my heart, I’m a creative and so, I vex.

This evening, the impeccable craft of the dancers, singers, and the guitarist overwhelms and enthralls me. It’s a flawless performance— not flawless in the pixel-perfect way that technology can achieve but flawless in the way that it makes your heart sing with appreciation for our humanity.

Our craft is our humanity.

And that’s the very thing AI questions. We value ourselves by what we can do and what we offer to the world. As many of those things become automated by an intelligence unlike our own, it is unsurprising that we all feel this collective nausea for the future of our creative pursuits. I have questioned my place in the world. I have viewed my writing with trepidation. Haven’t you?

We like to hope; let AI revolutionise science and health, make knowledge accessible, automate mundane tasks— but leave art alone. Don’t copy style that took decades to dream up and compose. Don’t colonise the em dash.

But the truth is that no matter how much we debate the philosophy of preserving human imagination, our world is changing and will continue to evolve. AI will write, create, sing, and many more things.

(I’m fretting) but here’s a rosy prophecy:

Human imagination is likely to become a novelty; something coveted for its authenticity. Amidst the barrage of AI created art and literature, people will crave things made by human minds.

(More quiet looming restlessness) Okay, but how am I to stand out then?

I don’t quite know the answer; but here’s what I hope with a certain confidence:

Those who seek to elevate their craft might just find a way to prevail.

Another picture my the internet, sans headgear.

The refined and exquisite artistry of the flamenco dancers brings every member of the audience to our feet. We feel inspired, animated, and joyful. We talk about it through dinner and zealously recommend it to friends. We (meaning me) write about it and leave glowing reviews.

There’s a moment in the dance when flowers ebb and fall from the female dancer’s headgear onto the stage. The male dancer, noticing them, spins low, picks them up, and offers them to her. He turns a little slip into a beautiful part of the dance.

People will seek out such moments of awe and delight. We will all become art and literature connoisseurs, desperate to enjoy beauty created by living, breathing, and imperfect minds. We will resonate with these minds even more and relish the sense of belonging it brings.

AI, no matter how impressive, cannot make you feel this way.

So, perfect your craft. Do it well. Very well. The world needs great art now more than ever. The opportunities to be discovered may seem slimmer with AI in the mix but we owe it to our art to keep trying. (Besides, creatives have always fought for recognition.)

Keep the flame of human imagination alive in your little corner— in theatres, galleries, concerts, on the streets, and right here, on the internet. Put your heart and soul into it; we’re all counting on it. And in turn, go watch, listen to, and read the work of other creatives. It will fill you with hope.

So, I’ll be here, writing, week after week. See you in the comments. xx

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