The Creativity Drought

In the name of authenticity, I openly admit that I find myself in a constant tug-of-war with artificial intelligence. At times, it has organized my thoughts, sparked new ideas, and helped me be more efficient in completing time-sensitive tasks. More often, it has stolen my drive, dampened my creativity, and distorted my voice. Its persistent and annoying convenience has threatened my intentionality, not only in academia but also in life. If I wanted to write a song, I could just ask ChatGPT to suggest a chronology of notes that might be satisfying to the human ear. It may very likely come up with something that some people find appealing. And so there you go. Why put in effort when you don’t have to? 

Not only has AI tempted me with its path of least resistance, but it has also disincentivized my desire to bleed my life experience into a beautiful mess of imperfect art by insisting that things must be perfect the second they exist. Things can’t be perfect the second they exist. Things can’t be perfect at all. 

Creativity aside, AI depletes the literal lifeblood of the planet, pumping precious potable water into its cemetery of overheated servers, all in the name of “intelligence.” 

How perfectly ironic. 

Good Things Take Time

AI is an important catalyst in the attention economy, quietly working to ensure that we become impatient with the pace of reality. ChatGPT can generate a prompt for just about anything you can think of in a matter of seconds, but the principle of this has no direct translation in reality. This sentiment of instantaneity is not reflected back to us often in our lives, and if it is, it is usually not healthy. Think about it; seeing results in the gym takes months of discipline and healthy habits. Fruit trees need years of sunlight and water to bear even the smallest of fruits. Even tea needs time to steep. 

I wrote a poem two years ago. I did not write it down on paper but workshopped it on the “Notes” app on my phone. It is easier this way. No need to erase or cross out insufficient words; just a simple backspace and the original attempt is wiped from existence, just like that. Fast-forward a few years, and I have taken the time to create something with the poem. I have decided to honor the words with a physical medium—a much more intentional act in this age of technology.

Creating this piece was a grueling process. Cutting out each letter made me realize how many of them we have chosen to put into each of our words. I sacrificed my entire evening and morning of the following day in order to make this exist, and it would’ve taken me about 20 seconds to type out the exact same words. Would the impact have been the same on my viewers? I would imagine not. The block letters make for an arguably dizzying read, requiring more intentionality and engagement. But who can really say? Regardless, it is my obvious expenditure of energy and effort that has made this piece so special to me. I had time to soak up the words again, paint detailed pictures in my head, and taste the syntax of my somewhat rudimentary writing style of two years ago.

AI is to creativity as ___ is to ___

I am grappling to think of an analogy…

AI is to creativity as predator is to prey

This doesn’t work because this relationship implies one of necessary satiation. The lion does not kill the zebra to collect its information and regurgitate it back. It kills the zebra because it needs to feed itself in order to live. It is an act of death to perpetuate life. And though there are forms of killing that don’t involve redeeming justifications, it implies that this relationship is part of some natural order. Perhaps the relationship does not involve killing so much as omission.

AI is to creativity as smartphone is to landline

The progression of technology has turned common objects obsolete. Many of our fondest memories as kids involve things that don’t exist anymore. Much of the media we consumed came from CDs, DVDs, and old box TVs. Now nearly everything is incorporeal and impersonal. The idea that AI replaces human creativity is an enticing comparison, but it doesn’t quite sit right. It is by the very hand of human innovation that AI exists, and its creative ideas can only be made possible by the wealth of data input by its users. It is easy, then, to conclude that AI will one day (and maybe that day has already arrived) become so “creative” that it will erase any need for human creativity. While this makes logical sense, I’d argue that humans will never stop exercising their creativity because it is a necessary rite of passage in life. Art is a process. It is expression. The art you create is an honest declaration of your imperfect and miraculous existence. And thus, I believe it will persist. AI cannot replace human art because it is not human. 

AI is to creativity as flame is to moth. 

Transverse orientation. It is a behavioral mechanism used by insects to navigate by maintaining a fixed angle relative to a distant natural light source, most often the moon. Nocturnal moths are a prime example of species that have adopted this habit. In the wake of artificial light, however, this once beneficial behavior has now become maladaptive. Such kinds of light disorient the moth, causing it to circle toward the source in a “death spiral,” often resulting in fatality due to collision or exhaustion. 

We’ve come to romanticize AI. Entranced by its advancing algorithms and impressive capabilities, we cannot help but fall for all the wildly exciting implications it has for our lives. I will not argue that there are no benefits. I know that there are. I do, though, firmly believe that it has no place with respect to creativity. In fact, I believe it is the antithesis of creativity. The more we use AI to “spark new ideas” and “build off” original thoughts, the less equipped we become to do that work on our own. How dizzyingly deceiving AI is. It seems like it would enhance our thinking. It is bright and shiny and alluring. We all fall into its trance, and we dance in circles. But like moths to a flame, we forget where we are, and we burn because of it. 

I’ve landed on this analogy, at least for now. The only difference here is that moths didn’t create their own demise. And if they did, what would we think of them as a species?

 Keep it Real

There may be controversy reading this, and I would hope that there is. It keeps things personal. And when things become personal, intentionality is usually involved. 

What is the way that you want to live your life? For me, I’ve discovered that putting in the work and giving myself to the slow process of life has brought me more happiness than all of the time I accumulated by taking shortcuts ever could. Why do we go outside? Why paint? Learn new things? Why travel to places we’ve never been before? Smile at strangers? If there is a tool at our fingertips that can essentially do these things for us, why bother doing them at all? At that point, why even exist?

Exactly.