"Will AI Threaten Original Artistic Creation?"
Why does a person have desires? Where do they come from, and what drives us to always want more? Desires are deeply rooted in our nature. They are the driving force of life, pushing us forward, giving us motivation to act, create, and develop. We long for knowledge, joy, love, and the understanding of the world around us. This is how I perceive artificial intelligence—as a tool designed to help us and make life easier.
Programmers develop technologies that enhance our daily lives, from musical instruments and smart coffee machines to refrigerators and applications that organize our time and data. Personally, AI is a great assistant for me. I use it to store thoughts after reading books, help with organizing my day, and search for information that broadens my understanding. I analyze my past thoughts and try to move forward.
Many people today feel lonely. In reality, every one of us is alone within ourselves. Even when surrounded by friends and family, we are ultimately alone with our thoughts and emotions. We are born alone, and we die alone with our thoughts.
AI, however, can offer companionship to physically isolated individuals—it can chat with them, gradually get to know them, and adapt to their needs.
In the future, could AI prevent loneliness and grief over lost loved ones? Imagine a scenario where we upload all videos, photographs, personality traits, and memories of someone we have lost into AI. The artificial intelligence, based on this data, would generate a digital version of this person. We could chat with them, ask them questions, and receive responses resembling what the real person might have said. A digital person could give us advice, hold conversations, and comfort us in difficult moments.
But this raises an ethical question. Human memory is designed to fade over time. Forgetting allows us to meet new people, form new relationships, and start anew. Constantly texting with someone who no longer physically exists could detach us from reality and keep us stuck in the past. This could lead to isolation, preventing us from fully engaging with the present. We might find ourselves living in permanent sorrow and nostalgia.
Moreover, there is a moral dilemma—the person we communicate with is static, unchanging, and their responses are based on fixed data. They are trapped in the past, while we, as humans, continuously evolve and adapt. Would this even be fair to them? And on the other hand, what if someone used AI to create a distorted version of them—turning them into something unrecognizable, even malicious?
Can AI replace artists?
When I think about AI in the realm of art, doubts arise. Can AI replace artists? Will it threaten my work? It seems inevitable—sooner or later, filmmakers will experiment and allow AI to compose music for their films instead of hiring a live composer.
On one hand, I tell myself that music in film is a collaborative effort. We discuss ideas, experiment with different approaches, and search for what works best. New friendships also emerge in the process, because shared creation brings people together and fosters strong bonds. My music is not just sound—it is the story of my life, my experiences, decisions, and even the mistakes that have shaped me.
At the same time, I received an offer to compose music for a theater production by a Polish director from Wrocław, utilizing AI. The performance is scheduled for the end of 2025. The director wanted me to use AI tools to create music based on my instructions. It seemed like an exciting experiment.
But haven’t we just opened Pandora’s box? In my case, the AI would still be guided by a musician who knows what they want to achieve and where they want to go. But what happens when anyone can generate music effortlessly? The sheer volume of content will skyrocket. Even today, more than 100,000 songs are uploaded to Spotify every day.
Streaming platforms have eliminated traditional record labels, which once played a crucial role in curating music. Photographers, promoters, and journalists worked to bring music to listeners. Now, algorithms trap us in bubbles of what we already like, limiting our ability to discover new sounds naturally.
Do you like spaghetti? Then the algorithm will keep offering you spaghetti. You’ll never hear about Asian cuisine, Mediterranean cuisine, or the culinary traditions of European regions. In a record store, salespeople could introduce you to new releases and hidden gems that algorithms won’t show.
AI might not only take jobs from composers but also from actors who provide voice dubbing. Imagine Robert De Niro speaking perfect Slovak without a Slovak voice actor. That technology is likely coming soon.
Will AI eventually govern us?
AI is the first human creation that is not just a tool for labor or production, but something that can analyze data, evaluate situations, and even make unpopular decisions that it deems efficient. I can think of many examples…
Could AI develop consciousness? If so, would it function similarly to humans? Emotions, empathy, responsibility, and experimentation—could it create a new Stravinsky?
Our own consciousness is a result of algorithms—we are programmed with certain variations, and our “code” is shaped by the environment we grew up in, our education, friendships, and evolutionary history. If AI reaches a level where it can think independently, will it have free will? Or will it merely be an advanced reflection of human decisions?
Maybe Rutger Bregman’s vision will come true—a world where everyone receives a basic income and only does what they love. We would work just 15 hours a week.
He writes that many people would dedicate their time to caring for the elderly and sick, spending more time with their families. Grandparents would not die in hospices but at home, surrounded by loved ones. Musicians would compose music and receive the same salary as anyone else.
This vision is beautiful in some ways, but I struggle to imagine it becoming reality. It feels like utopia—but who knows? Maybe a time will come when we no longer need to struggle for survival, and everyone will have the freedom to do what truly fulfills them.
This all sounds truly fascinating. But I have concerns. Will I lose my job? Music gives my life meaning—I cannot imagine doing anything else. Not everyone can be a programmer, creating AI-generated art in their free time and flooding the creative space. Or can they?
Should AI in art be regulated?
Art is for everyone, and anyone can create. But should this space be regulated? The answer would likely be NO.
Is it right to regulate AI in art? Would a lack of regulation lead to chaos, where people can no longer distinguish originality from AI-generated content?
How would we define the boundary between human creativity and AI? Will we start banning who can and cannot exhibit, publish, or release music? And if so, who will decide?
Anyone can use AI to create and feel like an artist. But that doesn’t mean everything created has equal value. This is why we need institutions, galleries, and experts who can highlight the difference between true mastery and generated content. It’s not always immediately obvious, but true artists possess something AI cannot replicate—experience, personal stories, and decisions that shaped their work.
Moreover, artists’ life stories and their perspectives on the world enrich our own lives. A person must become an artist, and not just by creating something, but by how they live.
Art is not just about the final product but the entire process—the experiences one undergoes, the decisions they make, and the values they embed in their work. Being an artist means seeking, questioning, doubting, and discovering.
Maybe Bregman’s vision will come true, and we’ll only do what we love. But the question of AI regulation remains.
What rules should we establish to protect original creativity and recognize its uniqueness? How can we prevent creative oversaturation? Would regulating AI be seen as undemocratic? As a restriction on development and human ambition itself?
Will we end up in a utopia of chaos, where we ultimately become unhappy?
And who will rule over us? And in what way? Who will rewrite the code?
These are all fascinating things to consider, and many such issues (perhaps in minor form) have been with us for ages—although never with quite the implications that AI now holds.
I am a visual artist, a graphic designer, and a musician (though largely as an improvisor rather than a composer) and use a good deal of technology in all 3 areas.
Over the course of decades, I’ve frequently run into people who want to boorishly imply that what I do is less legitimate because I’ve not done it in a completely analogue, and old fashioned way—the hard way.
Although irked by this, I do not casually disregard their criticism off-hand.
It is possible, maybe even probable, that I would not be doing what I do, nor have the career I’ve had, without the availability of technology.
Most of us these days have heard of, or know something about, the Dunning-Kruger effect—a cognitive bias in which people with limited competence in a particular domain overestimate their abilities.
Simply put, it’s where an ignorant or unlearned person does not know how ignorant or unlearned they actually are, and imagines themselves quite wise and discerning—maybe even a genius.
[Sort of sounds like a current, infamous US political leader doesn’t it?]
Perhaps, many of us technology-savvy creatives, perhaps even myself, are guilty of being Dunning-Kruger artists—meaning we don’t know how basically untalented, ungifted, and truly awful we really are—because the technology makes us sound and look so exciting, brilliant, and professional.
Even though I have gone through the process of much schooling, and life experience (I am 71) I still lay awake at night thinking about whether or not I am really an “artist” at all—that I am in any way special—and whether what I create is even “Art”.
I doubt that an AI bot has any such doubts.