Some argue that the more competent artists would embrace AI and develop new ways to produce better and more progressive art. I find this social Darwinist idea questionable.
It should be pretty evident that this conflict between AI (more accurately, people who choose to develop these AI with drawing abilities) and artists revolves around “consent.”
While artists are ripped off of their rights to give conscious consent and are not paid for having their hand-drawn artworks fed to AI as input data, artists need to pay to use this technology and many other tech products. While artists struggle to figure out where they may find their next gig and the next affordable apartment, enterprises pay machine learning engineers highly above-average salaries to develop this so far disrespectful technology that feeds on artists. This systematic unbalance is the evidence of exploitation.
You may argue that the request to submit images to AI automatically is written in whatever updated user agreements of the platforms artists use. If we are not happy about it, we can simply decline the agreements and quit the platforms. There is a significant difference between hiding and bundling the additional right to give permission to AI model training in 10,000 words and opening this matter to incorporate various possibilities by making it a stand-alone choice. Offering only one option is not asking for consent. Instead, it is making a condescending threat.
Discussing morality in arts, literary, and cinematic productions always puts the speaker in a vulnerable position of arrogance and conservatism. Still, it is honest that I think technology shouldn’t be “advanced” to compete with humans. Even if this is a competition, it is not a fair one.
In 1974, science fiction writer Ray Bradbury wrote a letter to Brian Sibley to address the latter’s fear of robots. In the letter, he juxtaposes robots, books, and films as “extensions of people, not people themselves.” As he points out, he is not afraid of robots. He is afraid of people who use machines with unknown ill means (“Letters of Note: Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience” 86–87.)
I am afraid Bradbury’s fear of people might have come true.
AI drawing technology is able to not only survive but also flourish because it is directly draining life energy from artists by taking advantage of their helplessness. At the same time, artists in the animation industry (and beyond) try so hard to advocate for inclusion and community support. Many artists can only reconcile with the development of the employment of AI technology by giving up their own wishes and boundaries. Only through voluntary giving up can artists free themselves from the uncomfortable identity of being the victims in this case. I wonder if it has ever occurred to any of these platforms that they are not only damaging artists’ commercial values but also, on a personal level, their mental health.
Ever since last year, I have run into quite a few software engineers who are eager to discuss AI and animations with me when they hear I am some sort of animator.
They always ask me with enthusiasm glittering in their pupils, “Have you ever tried to use AI to draw? How do you think AI benefits the animation industry? If you haven’t tried AI yet, I highly recommend you do. It can save you a lot of effort.”
I struggle to force out a bitter smile whenever that conversation happens. I honestly don’t understand why those specific programmers would assume how I appreciate AI so far is a good ice-breaking question to ask. I tried to tell them why we animators wanted to produce animation by ourselves, but they were never satisfied with the reasoning, so I often ended up telling them the story of The Little Prince.
In a way, animations to us artists are the same as the rose to the little prince. It is the time and the manual efforts that we invest into our projects that give the stories significance. Time allows us to grow artistically with the development of our projects. Time also allows us to bond with other artists with whom we collaborate. This establishes a positive feedback loop between our arts, peers, and us. There is a positive relationship that we have been trying to cultivate and protect between us and our work. Asking us to submit our art and our respect to AI is asking us to abandon our rose on B612 and call the mass-produced rose garden home.
Animations are not even natural resources like flowers. They can not just be found and gathered. They are entirely artificial. Their purpose of existence is given by the people who pour their feelings, thoughts, and lives into them. Have the people who scrap artists’ work from the Internet ever considered this?
Of course, all of these hurting feelings expressed above come from me speaking from the point of view of the threatened party. I am only speaking up for myself and people who are hurting in the same way. It is possible that others who directly benefit from using or creating these AI and those who are disengaged from this community may find my and my peers’ rage irrelevant. Regardless of how this discussion may feel unrelated to some people, I want to say that it does not nullify the significance of the feelings of those who care about this situation.
I don’t expect writing this article would be compelling enough to change the direction our future unfolds. Still, if it can be of any help, I want to say that, fellow artists, your anxiety, despair, rage, and desire for a better artistic environment have every right to exist. All of your feelings are inherently justifiable.
Work Cited:
Letters of Note: Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience. Edited by Shaun Usher, Canongate Books Ltd, 2019. pp. 86–87.
