I have written "Sledgehammah Mahn." It is a 120,000-word manuscript that I hope, one day, will become a best-selling novel. For what it is worth, it is 100% AI-free. For me, that is worth more than money. It is worth everything.
Artificial Intelligence, for all of the hoopla, is just another form of steroids. How can an artist proclaim his work, "My creation!" when he knows it is tainted by AI, whose very intrusion turns all art into mere construction? We reject steroids in sports because their presence taints the excellence of competition; it distorts the final outcome, and leaves us wondering, "Does that count?"
Nothing is worse in sports than cheating. We abhor it. Yet, is not AI in the arts cheating ourselves? Have at it in business, politics, and the sciences. Build the best dams because of AI; build the best bridges, too. Just, hands off our arts. We got this.
Imagine if we discovered that Shakespeare kept an A.I. device in his cellar, one that enabled him to generate such eternal lines as, "To be, or not to be..." Imagine the same of Leonardo da Vinci, or Mozart. How deflating that would be. How soon before we lost faith in ourselves?
Artists hope to achieve God's benevolent design in their work - to portray the essence of us and our surroundings until the public sighs and says, "Now I see."
That hope is an intrinsic part of our spiritual makeup. With every musical note, with every stroke of the brush, or flourish of a pen, we seek the ideal God, himself, envisioned.
When it comes to art, bypass A.I. and go to the source; tap into the divine you. It is there that the makings of your masterpiece await.
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