Art is dead, not in a good way, but in a way that almost
makes people forget what talent truly is.
The concept of artists has transformed over centuries. There
was once a time when artists were deeply appreciated for their skill and
talent. In a world where cameras did not exist, we needed artists to paint
moments into memory. Artists captured frozen moments in time through portraits
created in real-time, where one would pause, sit still, and an artist would
carefully paint them into history. That was how people were remembered.
Then came the introduction of cameras. Suddenly, we had a
new form of capturing time, a way to preserve reality exactly as it appeared in
a specific moment and space. Yet even with photography, people still searched
for ways to manipulate reality, reshape it, and mold it into their own concepts
and imagination.
But even then, artists were never rendered useless.
There was still an appreciation for effort. For the hours
poured into a piece. For the patience, skill, and emotion behind every stroke
of a brush. People admired not just the final outcome, but the process itself, the
human ability to translate feeling, memory, and reality into something
tangible.
Now, however, we have entered an age where effort does not
always translate into success, money, or even recognition. So how do we make it
count? How do we make our art matter in a world where creativity itself almost
feels reduced to entertainment and convenience?
Because what do you mean someone can type a prompt, press a
button, and art is generated within seconds by a machine trained on the works
of millions of actual artists? A machine that feeds off years of human
practice, failure, experimentation, sacrifice, and talent, only to produce
something "new" from a few words and a click.
And yet, we still call that art.
Art borrowed from the labor of many, stitched together to
impress, and impressive it is. But somewhere in the middle of all this
advancement, something quietly changed.
We stopped valuing effort.
We stopped valuing process.
We stopped valuing the human behind the creation.
And suddenly, art began to feel disposable.
Not just the talent itself, but the appreciation for it. Or
maybe simply the lack of appreciation altogether.
Because we now live in a world where you constantly have to
prove your worth. A world where machines can create faster than you. A world
where millions of people, many more skilled than you, are placed in front of
your eyes every single day.
And we see it.
We know it.
And somehow, we still cannot compete.
Our hands ache from the hours spent creating, but still,
this is who we are.
A lot of us artists are surviving purely on the fact that
our art is us. Our talent is not just something we do; it is who we are. It is
the one thing we know how to give to the world in the most honest way possible.
And so we keep creating anyway.
Even when it feels unseen.
Even when it feels unappreciated.
Even when the world moves faster than human hands can keep
up with.
Perhaps the greatest irony of all is that despite everything
I've said, I still find myself using AI. Not because I believe it is better
than human creativity, but because it is convenient. It saves time. And in a
world where the difference between ten hours of work and ten seconds of
generation often goes unnoticed, convenience becomes difficult to ignore.
And it isn't just AI. Every day, I see art being reposted,
repurposed, reused, and shared without credit. The work continues to travel,
but somewhere along the way, the artist disappears. The creation remains, yet
the creator is forgotten.
Maybe that's what I've been grieving all along. Not the
technology itself, but the loss of appreciation for the effort, the process,
and the human behind the work.
And maybe, just maybe, one day the world will remember what
it means to truly feel something made by human hands.
Because talent is still here.
Despite it all, artists are still here.
We never stopped creating.
We simply stopped being appreciated.
Art did not die because talent disappeared.
It died where appreciation ended.
