WILL AI MAKE HUMAN CREATIVE ENDEAVOUR OBSOLETE?
Approx 5-6-minute read (part 1)
The explosion of Artificial Intelligence (AI) models over the past few years has been highly disruptive across the board. The potential of these models seems boundless and the immensity of this technology should not be understated; from simple system optimisation, data analysis, drug development, and even mind reading. These tools have been made mainstream, available in our pockets and at our desks, giving us mere mortals access to Promethean fire.
Just as fire can cook food, provide heat, and power an industrial revolution, it can also turn all it touches to ash. Perhaps it is right to be wary of something with such polar potentials.
All of the creative arts are concerned, and it’s obvious why. Large Language Models can generate expansive texts in less than a minute. Images which would have taken days to create can also be made with a simple prompt, and video generation is widely available. Apps and even 3D interactive video games appear to be the next pillars of human creativity to fall. We were hoping that technology would iron our shirts and take out the bins, so we had more time for art and creativity. We’ve found we are giving the art to the machines, but still have the laundry to do.
There are criticisms of AI, particularly environmental and accuracy, but that isn’t everything. People are clearly scared. Nearly 50% of writers don’t use AI and don’t intend to. An author at my run club had a few choice words about ChatGPT use in general. The only comment I received on my reels of character generation was ‘Don’t use AI – it’s strongly advised not to and if you’re an up and coming author you need a good name for yourself’. People are clearly scared, but I don’t think they should be.
AI-produced works are soulless. Since entering the creative world and understanding what goes into producing creative works, it has given me a whole new appreciation for the connection between creator and consumer, and what emotion channelled into creativity means. The human element is invaluable and what people connect with in general, but it is especially so with art.
Consider social media. This has been so successful because it has tapped into these human connections (and, granted, weaponised it for insane profits). Every like, comment, and share has a person at the other end of it and that connection is the basis of reward that can be so potent as to be addictive. How many unread emails are in your inbox? Probably a lot. And how many of them were from another individual directed to you? Probably not so many, even proportionally. I don’t know anyone who is fastidious about reading every promotional offer / generic mailing list email but neglects personal emails. The likelihood of you opening an email, I would wager, is proportional to the human element of it. I have recently been getting weekly emails at work on Wellbeing. They are nicely structured, have little pictures with them, and even some rhyming poems. They are clearly AI. I don’t read them.
The most precious commodity we have is time. AI is likely to save us a lot of time in a lot of ways; writing or refining professional or formal letters, reviewing large documents and summarising key points, finding answers quickly, and even doing our shopping and booking our flights. However, the capability of AI to produce endless reams of content is unprecedented and dilutes its value. As a consumer, I am not going to spend my limited and precious time reading something so detached unless there was something very specific that I am interested in – in which case, I ask it myself.
A benefit for creatives is the democratisation of resources for those who are starting out independently. Those who don’t have publishing houses, with resources, editors and artists. Those who can’t afford to pay for these things now have proxy options available to them. I tried an editor and unfortunately felt the feedback was so insipid that it was a waste of money. However, using AI as a tool, I can ask for my work to be reviewed, scene by scene, and for the feedback to be targeted or broad, reassuring or brutal, even before I share with Beta readers and waste anyone’s time. It’s an early second opinion which might just make you think differently, or spark an idea that you might not have otherwise had, and there’s nothing against getting an editor at a later stage of the process.
I am thrilled with my book cover and even more proud that I was able to do most of it myself, but I am under no illusions that it would look even better if I got it done professionally. Quotes for the standard and quality that I was looking for were astronomical. An investment, sure, and one I would be happy to pursue in the future, but this didn’t have to be a stumbling block while I saved money and made financial sacrifices on my path to publication. I’ve also been able to generate character images and videos, which has been incredibly fun to see them come to life. Previously, this would only be available to incredibly successful authors with a wide enough fan base to have fans send their art in, or publishing houses with access to artists, or expensive commissions, or waiting for that most improbable of events, of them being brought to life on the big screen. It is available to everyone now, regardless of success.
Perhaps most importantly, there are good reasons that I believe human creativity will not only survive, but thrive. We still connect with the noble human endeavour in a visceral way. If you have ever hiked to the top of a mountain that others have driven to the top of, you may recognise this feeling. Your experience of the the view and your memory of the day will be tangibly different and more fulfilled. And it’s not just what we act out, but also what we consume. I enjoy the Banff Mountain Film Festival movies which explore these human endeavours – blind speed skaters, endless expeditions in the ravages of a merciless arctic in winter, one handed rock-climbers… Barriers being broken! We want to engage with the human spirit, finding limits and pushing through them, and feeling every bit of hurt and victory along the way. There is a reason that people voluntarily run marathons even though we have cars. And that we share in that sense of wonder and achievement whether it is someone fighting through their first 26.2 miles, or a seasoned pro breaking world records. So too with someone who has put their heart and soul into a piece of art, a novel, or a poem. We are connecting with more than just what is before us on the page.
If you don’t believe me, see how you feel about the essay below covering the same topic, but written by ChatGPT. The essay is readable, technically accurate, and covers ground which I don’t, but it’s impersonal, detached, and lacks the little details connecting it to an author and to the human experience.
So long as AI is properly declared, I see no reason why it can’t co-exist in the creative space. It is a useful tool and will help authors and others in many ways. Some consumers may be interested in AI-generated creations, but I know that the less human input there has been, the less interest I would have in it.
AI might change the landscape, but there will always be space for the humanity in creative endeavours. Machines can imitate creativity, but they can never replace the humanity.
Chat GPT’s take: Why AI Will Never Replace Humans in Creative Endeavours
Approx 3-4 minute read (part 2)
The rise of artificial intelligence has sparked both wonder and anxiety in equal measure. With algorithms now capable of painting, composing, writing, and even generating film scripts, it’s tempting to imagine a future where machines dominate the creative landscape. But while AI may replicate certain patterns of human creativity, it cannot truly create in the human sense. Creativity, at its core, is not just about producing novelty—it’s about meaning, emotion, context, and the lived experience behind expression. And those are things machines simply do not possess.
1. Creativity Is Born From Human Experience
All art—whether a novel, a melody, or a mural—is a reflection of human experience. It emerges from the interplay of emotion, memory, and perception. When a poet writes about heartbreak, their words are infused with personal pain and longing. When a painter captures a landscape, they are not just reproducing what they see, but how it feels to stand in that moment—the chill in the air, the hum of distant life, the ache of nostalgia.
AI, however, does not feel. It does not experience loss, joy, love, or fear. It can only approximate the patterns of these emotions based on data. A model can generate a “sad” poem because it has analyzed thousands of examples labeled as sad—but it has no inner world, no well of experience from which that sadness arises. Its output is an echo, not a voice. Creativity without consciousness is mimicry, not expression.
2. Meaning Comes From Intention
One of the hallmarks of creativity is intent. Human creators make deliberate choices—whether to challenge a social norm, explore an existential question, or simply express something ineffable. Behind every creative act is an impulse: to communicate, to provoke, to connect.
AI has no such impulse. It generates content according to parameters, probabilities, and prompts, not purpose. When an AI writes a story or paints an image, it does so because it was instructed to, not because it wanted to say something. There is no underlying motivation, message, or moral inquiry. Without intent, art loses the dialogue between creator and audience that makes it meaningful.
3. The Beauty of Imperfection
Human creativity thrives on imperfection. Some of the most powerful works of art are those that break convention or stumble into brilliance through mistake. A brushstroke gone astray, a cracked note in a live performance, a line of dialogue that wasn’t planned—these moments are alive precisely because they are imperfect.
AI, in contrast, optimizes. It seeks patterns, smoothness, and statistical coherence. Its goal is to eliminate error, not embrace it. But art needs error. It’s in the flaws that authenticity and humanity emerge. When we hear a singer’s voice quiver with emotion or see the uneven stitching of a handmade garment, we are reminded that a person was there—feeling, struggling, reaching. That human presence cannot be replaced by algorithmic precision.
4. Cultural and Emotional Context
Creativity is not created in a vacuum. Every story, song, and painting is shaped by its cultural and historical context. Humans are born into societies, inherit traditions, and respond to their times. When a writer crafts a dystopian novel, it reflects their fears about politics, technology, or morality. When an artist paints protest art, it is an act of defiance rooted in lived reality.
AI lacks context. It doesn’t inhabit a culture or experience the moral weight of its creations. It may reproduce the style of protest art, but it cannot feel the oppression that inspired it. It may generate a story about injustice, but it doesn’t understand injustice. True creativity emerges from engagement with the world, not detached computation of it.
5. Collaboration, Not Replacement
This is not to say AI has no place in creative work. In fact, it can be a powerful collaborator—a tool for exploration rather than substitution. Artists and writers are already using AI to brainstorm ideas, experiment with new forms, and push the boundaries of their craft. When used thoughtfully, AI can expand creative possibility. But it is still the human who gives direction, applies judgment, and defines meaning.
The future of creativity is therefore symbiotic, not competitive. Machines can assist, but only humans can feel, interpret, and decide what matters. We may use AI to paint faster, write smarter, or compose with new sounds, but the essence of creativity—the spark of emotion and the hunger to connect—remains resolutely human.
Conclusion
AI can mimic style, predict trends, and produce impressive imitations, but it cannot experience or intend. Creativity is not just the arrangement of words or colors—it is the act of being human, of transforming inner experience into outer form. As long as art is a mirror for our hearts, machines will remain on the outside looking in.
The day AI truly replaces human creativity would be the day machines could suffer, love, and dream—and if that ever happens, we’ll have far bigger questions to ask than whether they can write a poem.
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