In today’s world, we witness a burgeoning employment of Artificial Intelligence, or AI, tools, either to enhance productivity or foster creativity. Nevertheless, a notable backlash targets AI-generated content, particularly concerning images or video.
The argument against AI “artwork” resonates strongly. When AI utilizes images sourced from the internet, original artists may find their work appropriated in ways they neither intended nor consented to.
On the flip side, in defense of AI artwork, one grapples with the blurred boundary between being “inspired by” and outright “stolen.”
As a species, we’ve traversed a considerable distance from the era of manual craftsmanship, where every creation bore the unique imprint of individual labor. Now, computer-driven fabricators can reproduce items endlessly, constrained solely by material availability.
Yes, with CNC machines, laser cutters, and similar fabrication tools, human intervention is requisite. Yet, how does this fundamentally differ from employing AI tools for creation? In both cases, humans input design specifications and direct the technology to execute.
When contemplating what constitutes an original creation versus appropriation, the question of being “inspired by” cannot be ignored.
How many of us genuinely birth something entirely original? Art, tracing back to primitive cave drawings, stands as a continuum of inspiration. Should we then acknowledge and compensate the descendants of those primitive artisans? How feasible would such compensation be, given the vast lineage of humanity?
In the realm of music, should the progenitors of each chord demand a share of subsequent profits? Similarly, with storytelling, where only a handful of basic plot points exist, does each creator of these plots merit compensation?
In my estimation, AI tools for creation have seamlessly integrated into our world and the tapestry of human civilization. Reverting this integration would entail unwinding substantial technological progress, possibly stretching back to the genesis of the internet. And where would this regression cease?
Consider individuals who devise templates, even for manual labor tasks. While they may receive payment for these templates, reverse engineering has likely occurred since the dawn of invention.
Expanding beyond AI, how do libraries fit into the discourse of intellectual property? Borrowing media from libraries, individuals find inspiration to craft their own creations. Why is this deemed inspiration rather than theft?
Even recent instances, like the parallels between “Dune” and “Star Wars,” provoke contemplation. Should creators pay royalties for drawing inspiration from predecessors’ works?
I empathize with artists’ frustrations. They invest time and effort into their creations, yearning for recognition and compensation. However, the onus to share their creations ultimately falls upon them. If humanity habitually hoarded the fruits of its labor, progress would stagnate.
Conclusively, I echo the sentiments of Banksy: individuals confront a world where advertisers wield sophisticated technology to inundate and manipulate. The concept of ownership is turned on its head, as the masses are bombarded with advertisements without consent. In such a landscape, reclaiming and repurposing these advertisements becomes an act of defiance, a reclamation of agency in an increasingly commodified world.