Businessman Derek Patterson’s draft mural design for Elmbank Street in Glasgow city center – generated using AI – has sparked a huge backlash.
The proposed mural has been approved by Glasgow City Council and will be installed close to the cultural hub of the King’s Theater and Scottish Opera’s headquarters.
A draft AI image aimed at evoking Scottish heritage includes depictions of a semi-typical worker in a flat hat, the old technology of a steam locomotive, a typically modern wind turbine, and shortbread tins of Highland cows and deer.
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The painting has been ridiculed for the soullessness of its AI-generated aesthetic, particularly its inclusion of a bald eagle, a bird synonymous with North America and not native to Scotland. Patterson responded to the uproar by claiming that the AI image was merely a “suggestive painting”, saying: “I cannot stress enough that AI has nothing to do with the mural…” [T]He will be given permission to be creative within reason and in accordance with the council’s guidelines. ”
An obvious rebuttal to this argument was well articulated by local artist Ashley Lawson. “Murals depicting Scottish heritage and culture should always… be conceptualized, developed, sketched, drafted and painted by human artists,” he says.
Of course he’s right. Patterson might want to consider the wisdom of the old adage, “Once you’re in a hole, stop digging.”
It is not strange for a businessman to take issue with the fact that the AI draft was described as a “suggestive drawing.” Of course, it’s nothing like that.
A picture is created by a draftsman, an artist, and a human being with that most indescribable human characteristic: a soul. Patterson’s draft is not a “painting” but an aggressive and bloodless parody of art. His AI images deserve every amount of scorn.
Firstly, this is a pathetic, one-dimensional caricature of Scottish heritage. Moreover, if, as Patterson claims, his chosen artist has “permission to be creative,” why would he provide such nonsense as a guide to the muralist’s commissioned work? Why not ask the artist himself to provide a preliminary sketch?
The process that led to the release of the AI images in question is reminiscent of both the folly of the rich and the vandalism of Philistines. Rather than ask artists to begin their projects from a point of inspiration, the businessman chose a “pointless, impersonal, cost-saving route,” as Lawson aptly commented.
Imagine if the Roman aristocrat Ciriaco Mattei had been in the position to impose a prescriptive AI “indicative picture” on Caravaggio before the Renaissance master painted his work The Supper at Emmaus. What would have happened if King Felipe IV of Spain had been able to lay out the AI template before he sat down for Velazquez’s portrait?
The resulting work would no doubt be quite mediocre and unmemorable. Perhaps they would not exist at all, because the great artists would have refused to put their brushes on canvas.
Prescriptions that tell artists what to make and how to make it sound the death knell of art.
We know this from the kennels and sycophantic rubbish custom-built for authoritarian states such as Hitler’s Third Reich and Stalin’s Soviet Union.
The danger of using AI is that it will lead to a new 21st century tyranny in art, whether it replaces artists at the start of a project or eliminates them completely.
Indeed, that’s the fear of those who signed an online petition calling on the UK government to “legislate to ban the production of images, video and audio by AI, to protect the British public from misinformation, harmful and harassing content, and protect jobs in the creative sector.”
It’s tempting to agree with the petitioners on a number of issues, from hit soul “singer” Sienna Rose (allegedly an AI invention) to the creation of abusive naked and sexual images of real people. But the danger of their arguments is that they threaten to throw out the baby with the bathwater.
In the arts, a complete ban on AI generation of images, video, and audio would tie the hands of artists who want to incorporate elements of AI into their artistic processes.
Such a ban could prevent the application of AI in ways that could greatly benefit humanity beyond the arts, such as advancing medicine or improving working conditions.
The problem with AI is not that it is inherently bad, but that when it gets into the wrong hands (and it still does to a large extent) it has negative consequences.
In other words, the problem with AI is not the technology itself, but the purpose for which it is deployed.
Humanity has been here many times before. Take, for example, the Luddite movement, which began in Nottinghamshire in 1811 at the height of the Industrial Revolution.
Today, we use the word “Luddite” (quite incorrectly) to mean someone who opposes, or often cannot keep up with, technological advances.
In reality, the Luddites opposed the introduction of machines such as looms into the textile industry not because they were opposed to the technology itself, but because factory owners were using machines to increase profit margins and lay off workers, rather than to shorten the working day and relieve workers’ work.
What we need when it comes to AI is a new Luddite movement that not only defends the role and freedom of artists, but also demands that AI be applied to the common good, rather than the over-exploitation and vast profits of a sleazy billionaire class.
