In recent years, the creative industry, in all its fragmented glory, has been grappling with the increasing presence of artificial intelligence (AI) in various fields.
In music, AI-powered tools like Amper and Aiva are enabling users to create original compositions with ease. In the visual arts, algorithms like GANs (Generative Adversarial Networks) are producing stunningly realistic images that blur the line between human and machine creativity. Even in literature, AI models like GPT-3 are capable of generating coherent and sometimes compelling narratives.
Two recent developments have underscored the rising dissonance between content creators and technology platforms. Spotify CEO Daniel Ek’s comment that “the cost of creating content is close to zero” justifiably rankled artists, many of whom were quick to propose that great music will live on long after Spotify is a distant memory (while concurrently taking him to task for his callousness). And when Apple debuted (and quickly shelved) its latest ad, “Crush,” depicting a mechanical compactor destroying all manner of long-cherished physical objects — toys, books, musical instruments, to name a few — as a means of promoting its latest iPad Pro, the battle lines were even more starkly drawn.
As someone who has worked in and around advertising for several decades, I’ve witnessed firsthand the impact of AI on the creative process. While some see it as a threat to human creativity, I believe that the real challenge lies not solely in the rising capabilities of machines, but in the staggering erosion of human taste.
In the world of advertising, we have a technique that aims to get at real insights and deep wisdom. It’s called “the three whys,” and it’s quite simple: when we think we have something, an insight, we ask why. And then we ask it again and again.
For example, if we think our insight is that 1) “creativity is dead or dying,” we ask why. Is it because machines and AI are replacing human intuition? Okay. Why? Is it because AI can generate content faster and cheaper than humans? Why does that matter? And here’s where we arrive at the crux of the issue: It matters because people seem to be losing the ability to discern between high-quality, truly creative work and mediocre, generic content.
If you’ve ever tried to use ChatGPT or Claude.AI to write poetry or even creative headlines, you know that AI is not yet ready to replace human industry and inspiration. To call these AI chatbots ham-handed is generous.
(And, if you’ve ever tried to write fiction or poetry and share it with the masses, you also know that, with some exceptions, most people view reading your creative product as a burden or a favor. If they do read it, it’s rare (but not nonexistent) that you’ll receive some simple feedback: “It was good” or “I liked it.” And this isn’t just the case with aspiring novelists like me. The audience for ambitious poetry and fiction — stuff with literary rather than commercial merit — is nearly nonexistent.)
In an era where comic-book movies have replaced deeper storytelling, and “beach reads” and formulaic romances and thrillers are what pass for popular literature, I don’t think I’m overstating it when I say: Our taste is, I fear, increasingly in our collective asses. We simply don’t want to work very hard.
Some may argue that AI could democratize creativity by making it more accessible to the masses. Others might say that AI tools can help creatives work more efficiently, freeing up time for more high-level, strategic thinking. While these points have some merit, they don’t address the fundamental issue of declining human taste.
To truly preserve the value of human creativity in the face of AI, we must invest in education and exposure to the arts from an early age. We need to cultivate a society that values and appreciates complex, nuanced, and challenging creative work. This means supporting arts education in schools, funding cultural institutions, and promoting media literacy to help people navigate the overwhelming landscape of content.
As a “creative” myself, I wrote the first draft of this article, but I also collaborated with AI to refine and expand on my ideas. For example, I used AI to generate alternative wordings for certain phrases and to suggest additional examples to illustrate my points. However, the key ideas, the structure, and the final decisions about what to include and what to cut were all mine. This partnership between human creativity and artificial intelligence can be virtuous, but only if we, as creatives, remain in the driver’s seat.
Ultimately, the rise of AI in creative fields is not just a question of technological capability but also a reflection of our own cultural values and priorities. If we want to maintain the richness and diversity of human creativity, we must first look inward and ask ourselves what we truly value in art and culture. What are we willing to invest in education and exposure to the arts? How can we cultivate a society that prizes originality, depth, and artistry over quick consumption and instant gratification? The answers to these questions will determine the future of creativity in the age of AI.
