黑料不打烊

Since OpenAI launched ChatGPT in November 2022, we have had to contend with the uncertain risks and benefits of allowing artificial intelligence to saturate a society already overwhelmed by the implications of social media and the Internet. Will AI solve problems in ways we could never imagine and allow us to engage with technology in an ever more intuitive, human way? Or will it begin to degrade the very foundations of truth, making it impossible to tell fact from farce and rendering our most human attributes increasingly obsolete? What are the ethical implications of large language models using everyday people’s photos and information for training with only limited consent? Who deserves the credit for the “art” that results? Does it even count as art?

Creating art, be it visual, auditory, tactile, or written, involves an endless series of decisions on the creator’s part; it is a relationship between the craftsperson and the materials they employ. While our current stereotypical conceptions would deem “art” to be nothing more than the product of an individual artist’s creative process, history will quickly reveal that that is not necessarily true. Art can be anonymous; it can be communal, as with the enigmatic cave paintings that gesture us toward prehistory; it can be continuous, as with many theater productions that change with each passing year and generation; it can be fleeting, as with carefully curated gardens of East Asia, which grow and decay from moment to moment. 

 Art can be many things – so many that it is sometimes hard to distinguish it from nature. But from the roots of the word in ancient Latin and Greek (perhaps even earlier), there is always one thing it has signified: the presence of human skill. A god causes the earth to quake and the seas to rage; a human immortalizes it in song. Art is and has always been an incarnation of human thought, idea, and imagination; it is, in its broadest and most sweeping sense across the ages, the closest we can get to mirroring the totality of our own personhood, the pinnacle of our own minds. It is so profoundly and necessarily human that defining it completely would require us first to define ourselves. That is why so many arguments about art devolve so quickly into the axiom that we “know it when we see it” – and when we don’t.

Hiba Ali, Song of the h's, Video installation, Lullabies for the stars in our eyes exhibition, 2024

Like many people, my instinct is to put AI-generated images in an entirely different category from digital art. No matter how intricate and detailed the prompt, the process of trial-and-error dictation strikes me as more parallel to that of medieval patronage – where others’ imaginations and desires provided the raw material for artists to create – than to the artistic process. But even in this regard, Midjourney seems a poor substitute for Michelangelo. Artificial intelligence relies on the work of the artists it feeds upon; it cannot add to them substantively. It does not “understand” our world or our experience; it can only approximate it. It can foster a creative spirit, but it cannot embody it entirely on its own – it just can’t “know” art’s rules. And as we’ve all probably heard countless times from that one stickler high school English teacher, “You have to know the rules before you can break them.” It’s an axiom, but I’ve never found it to be anything but true.

I certainly don’t mean to say that people, including artists, shouldn’t give AI prompting a (non-commercial) shot. But given the ongoing, heated ethical questions behind this debate and my own deeply-held convictions about the beauty and necessity of art for our shared flourishing, I want to be clear about what I don’t mean before I make this article’s real claim: Despite the risks, AI and other modern forms of computation are also opening some fascinating avenues for artists to pursue new modes of expression and explore what it means to be human.

Hiba Ali, Watering the somatic oasis, Dreaming Beyond AI exhibition, 2023

Is this completely contradictory to the argument I just made? I’d say it’s not. While certain kinds of AI image generation may be an entirely different kind of process from that required for arts and crafts, there are also modes of engagement that I would say are a difference of degree. While I would still hesitate at some of the moral issues surrounding image sourcing, there is still a strong case to be made that using some AI-generated art pieces as part of a broader composition is a high-tech form of collage. And as someone who has all too recently found myself drowning in the coding kiddy pool of HTML and CSS, I am more than willing to champion coding and developing algorithms as art forms involving an astounding level of human intuition and skill.

This equivocation may be one of the most significant problems facing the art world’s engagement with artificial intelligence – and related technologies promising (or threatening) to “revolutionize” yet again the field. We are, in a sense, fighting a two-front war against one opponent: working to integrate what is good and beautiful in technology while combatting attempts to allow it to dilute the worth and meaning of our art. Many artists today are standing on the front lines of this conversation, and their work will have long-lasting repercussions for the shape of art for generations to come.

Among many artists who are going beyond what we might even call “traditional” modes of digital art by comparison, the artists at the festival running from June 4-22, 2025 in New York City are pushing the limits of our relationship with technology in directions many of us haven’t yet begun to consider. The “Embodied Algorithms/Collective Mechanics” Track Showcase aims to present a “counterpoint to increasing contemporary critiques of technology’s purported role in the sterilization of human experience. The featured artists leverage the potential of algorithmic systems as tools for grounding us in our bodies and enhancing our conscious connections with others and the surrounding world.” With technological advances, might it be possible for art to act upon our experiences as we act upon it?

Ivan Zhao, Wild Beast Poster, 2025

Artists and were kind enough to speak to me about their preparations for the showcase. Hiba is an artist and teacher specializing in digital somatics, which they define as a way to “embody the body-mind-spirit connection through body-based practices such as scent, breathwork, and bilateral stimulation.” Having spent much of their life online, they have long been fascinated by technology’s capacity as a world-building tool – and with modern advances, they have come to mean it all the more literally. “I recognize,” they say, 

that fundamentally technology is not neutral; neither is the way we use it. This goes into tools such as AI, 3D animation, virtual reality (VR), augmented reality (AR), and digital art sculpture installations. I think through my body when it comes to digital art; I think about my art as a way connect more deeply to the world around me rather than separating me from it. There is such a depth of all forms of life surrounding us – the earth, living beings, and the atmosphere – we must have the insight to see it. The power of noticing, that is what my art cultivates.

Hiba Ali, Lullabies for tears, VR installation, 2024

Colloquially, we tend to see our “online” lives as separate from our “offline” experiences, and we are often disturbed when the two seem to meet. Whether it be the cringeworthy farce of well-known brands trying to be relatable on Twitter/X, the shocking tragedy of radical online forums breaking out into tangible violence, or even the subtle discomfort of admitting you met your most recent romantic partner online, we are inherently inclined to see our digital experiences as less “real” the rest of our lives.

But is it possible for technology to enhance rather than suppress our natural experiences? For Hiba, digital somatics is a means to “[challenge] the perceived disconnect between our bodies and digital life, … to use technology to heal and connect somatically to our bodies.” At DEMO2025, they will unveil a newer iteration of their project, , which uses immersive technologies to create a space for a “somatic body-processing journey.”

If Hiba’s work is focused on technology’s impact on the human body, then Ivan Zhao’s is generally more interested in the “technical nature of creation.” He has always enjoyed delving into the processes behind creating art. As he entered the digital world, he realized that “digital art gives you many affordances and ways to think about these manners of creation, and also gives you access to worlds unbounded by human affordance.” He believes art must evoke real, human responses in the viewer – and looks for unique ways technology can help achieve them.

Ivan Zhao, det. At the end of the earth, I find {}, 2025

As an artist, professional designer and programmer, and poet, Ivan is also fascinated by microtranslation: “how do we as artists and humans move between mediums, creations, and forms of communication, and what are the unique differences and implications that each specific medium has, and how do they influence each other?” Microtranslation, too, has implications for the digital space: Is computer technology inherently alienating, reducing us from flesh and blood to mere concepts on a screen? Or is there space for us within it? He deals with these questions in some of his multimedia work, such as , and in his typeface design work for . In DEMO2025, he will feature an interactive video poem, “,” in which the body’s pulse plays a key role in developing the poem’s meaning.

Ivan Zhao, At the end of the earth, I find {}, 2025

Artificial intelligence, augmented reality, virtual reality, and other cutting-edge technologies are among the most difficult to tackle in the contemporary art space. Everyone has strong opinions on the issue, which are often only heightened by our underlying fears that they might be used – either by nebulous human opponents or, in some dystopian future, by the technologies themselves – to attack the core of our personhood and its inherent dignity. Surely, as with any new phenomenon, we can encounter risks and exploitations anywhere. And as an artist and art historian, I recognize that I am not qualified to discuss the intricacies of these technologies beyond the clear and present impacts I see them having on the artistic landscape. 

Hiba Ali, Warming the tones of our heart and spirit, Augmented reality filter, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, 2022-2023

But artists like Hiba and Ivan present an alternative posture to the fear that so regularly pervades us. Their deliberate openness and enthusiasm towards our changing world offer a positive way forward amid a tangled discussion filled with trepidation and doubt. Though, for my part, I will continue to watch these emerging technologies with a cautious eye towards their safe and just integration into society, it is refreshing and inspiring to see in so many corners of the art world glimpses of hope and optimism for how they might enhance, rather than hinder, our shared future.

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