Imagination Mode

Am I asking the right questions about generative AI?

In the weeks leading up to Labor Day, I experienced the joy of time with my daughter, Audrey. A recent college grad, she's teeming with ideas — and anxieties — about embarking on a creative career today.

We talked a lot about AI and what it may mean for her path. She dove deep into it and, as is typical, crafted something thoughtful about what she’s feeling.

I'm sharing this draft with her permission because we're all grappling with questions she’s asked, especially those entering the job market.

If you like, ❤️ below and share!

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I graduated from the University of Wisconsin Journalism School last May. My final semester was a mix of studies (I loved creative campaigns), parties (I miss Whiskey Jacks), and open mics (I bombed a lot on stage). 

Beneath all that, I tried to make sense of AI coming to town. You could say I'm part of the "first ChatGPT class," the inaugural one that exited with it hanging over our heads.

In reality, a GPT right of passage rings hollow. When it arrived in full force, those in the know proclaimed it a superpower. Despite the noise, we were left in the dark. ChatGPT was framed as a cheat machine. Should we use it? Is it ethical? Is it plagiarism? If I get caught, will I fail the class?

No one knew what questions to ask about the “threat.” Administrations all over called it a crisis. Professors threatened or hedged on directing us. We had to sort it out on our own. We got clever and kept using it. But in the end, many applied it for the wrong reasons. Instead of improving the work, lots of people tried not to get caught creating it.

My group texts and TikToks showed a similar drag all over college campuses (The Atlantic suggests it remains the case). That drag is a vibe. Using GPTs to think better or write with flair shouldn’t feel criminal. Yet that's how we felt. I still don’t know how my work will be seen if AI is in the conversation.

Down the AI Debate Hole

Apparently, there's now a name for AI workarounds on the job: "Secret Cyborgs." In the shadows, more and more employees use AI from personal devices without clearance from their bosses. It’s "BYOAI.” Fortune says that 78% (!) of employees play the game. I bet the number of student cyborgs is even bigger.  

So we’re using it; it’s in the water. The question is how. I don't use Gen AI to originate ideas or do the work for me. I want to create stand-up comedy, songs, drawings, essays, and memes. Doing so has originality, choice, and detail that prompts can’t replicate. The monster may be a guide or producer but not an originator or creator.

It does help me explore. It's a ready dictionary and thesaurus. It is a great teacher for musical composition. It can help me take a poem and turn it into a song. It can tell me where to find open mics in Chicago. And it does all of this in a flash. Its basic use misses a bigger point about my questions.

With time on my hands, between job hunting and performing, I’ve gone deep down the AI rabbit hole. In the depths, debates rage about what Gen AI means for creative roles my classmates and I prepared for. A lively one was the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) Debates in AI Symposium. It’s a lens into those leaning toward AI as a creative medium and those hell-bent on fighting it.

Molly Crabapple is a well-known artist and writer whose book Drawing Blood details her journey as an artistic activist. Her illustrations boldly address social and political issues, so her stance against AI is unsurprising. She's a resistor. Her concerns about AI art generators are valid: they exploit artists' work, take jobs away, and starve already struggling artists. 

Her worries landed with me. Will corporations use AI to exploit creatives? Will they homogenize unique styles and mass-produce generic, profit-driven art? Will AI transfer artists’ individuality and power to corporations?

And yet, I couldn't help but wonder if what’s lost over what’s gained is misplaced.

Named one of Time's 100 Most Influential People in AI (2023), Stephanie Dinkins lives at the intersection of emerging tech and social justice. She challenges narratives around marginalized communities, mainly Black and Brown people, and advocates for a more inclusive future. 

In her seminar, Dinkins cited failed systems that don’t adequately portray Black experiences. To address this, she created a sculpture inhabited by a chatbot trained on her life. "Not The Only One" embodies a Black American family's collective memories and experiences. It interacts with users, spanning identity, race, and technology.

It breaks boundaries spanning social issues, storytelling, virtual presence, and physical form. Using a "what can be gained" mentality, Dinkins asks: How do we start making technology work better for us?

Two different talks, two different takes. The split confuses me. Should I get excited about finding a creative job? Or is it better to exit before my show even begins?

I’m tilting towards excitement. Maybe AI can help me create something I’ve never done or even considered. I thank Refik Anadol, a genius media artist, for this push.

Anadol’s work uses vast datasets spanning nature, history, and human interaction. AI analyzes and interprets it to generate new, often unexpected, visual and sensory experiences. He explores unknowns, things humans haven’t considered — let alone visualized— before, like this: Quantum Memories.

Anadol's work changed my perspective. It shows an imaginative path versus a logic of suppression. It makes me think: Could AI help demonstrate the feelings the people in Gaza and Israel feel right now? Could AI internalize the feeling of being sexually assaulted? Could AI visualize the feeling of laughter? He provokes new questions rather than proposing answers.

Isn't this what art is meant to do?

Who’s Serving Who?

We've consistently used technology to push further and farther. We used quills, paper, and paint. We morphed pen and paint into photography. Our pictures moved through TV. Gen AI breathes new life into the internet.

This collective mind may not serve humankind. In the depths, there’s a panic that AIs may eventually create without us. Cory Doctorow, a sci-fi writer and tech expert, has long had his finger on the pulse of technology. He compares AI to centaurs, those mythical creatures with human heads and horse bodies.

He describes a "good centaur" as one with a human head with a robot body. This good one represents a symbiotic relationship between humans and AI. Conversely, a "reverse centaur," a robot head with a human body, depicts a scenario where humans become subservient to AI. 

I can’t for the life of me follow a robot’s instructions to make people smile, laugh or dance. Cyborgs, centaurs, and AIs are all alien to that. Yet, reflecting on Doctorow's analogy, I couldn't help but think about how Gen AI can stir up new potential.

Realizing it brings me back to what this should be all about—getting thoughts out on paper or screen and then letting the messiness begin. It stems from thoughts, visions, pictures, jokes, voices, lyrics, stories, and people swirling through my head. I cling to them, grab them, and play with them. I want to create something new that’s inviting, interesting, and, above all else, human.

I’ll be thinking outside the box, inside the box, around the box, deconstructing the box, opening up to find another box, duplicating the box, and using AI to discover new ways to interpret the box.

— Audrey Perry, September 2024