AI and the Artist

Image created with AI assistance.

Decided to share a short story that popped into my head while I worked through the night and hit the last button on my keyboard to publish a social media post.

Title: Publish

She is an artist who learned her craft the old way. Hands stained. Paper warped. Paint that smells like effort. She wants what artists have always wanted: to be seen, to be sustained, and to matter without having to beg the algorithm like a minor god with a broken shrine.

She works harder. Then harder than that. Then at all costs.

At first, the sacrifices feel reasonable. Friends drift. Family dinners get postponed. Sleep becomes optional. The house grows cluttered, but she tells herself clutter is proof of work. Genius is messy. That is what the stories say.

Then the world tilts.

AI arrives not as a villain, not at first, but as a mirror that never blinks. Art appears faster, cheaper, and louder. People stop asking how long something took. They ask how often it posts.

She resists. She despises it. She says this is not real art out loud, to no one.

But she is tired. And tired people negotiate with the future.

So she lets it in.

Not all at once. Just small things. A robot vacuum so she does not trip over dust. A voice assistant to tell her the weather because she has not seen the sky in weeks. ChatGPT to organize her thoughts, her ideas, and her notes, because her brain feels like a browser with seven hundred tabs open and none of them loading.

She keeps chasing the next thing. The next viral hook. The next strategy. The next ad. The next identity. Brand. Creator. Influencer. Algorithm guesser. Puppet. Complicit.

She studies others who seem to be making it big, like survival manuals. If they hold the painting with the back showing first, slowly turning it for the reveal, she scrolls past, muttering, Sorry, too slow, no time for that. Engagement becomes a copycat performance, not a connection. A puppet show for people who might not even be watching.

She tells herself she is not burned out. Burnout happened years ago. This is something else. This is endurance.

Her body disagrees.

Dark circles hollow her face. Her hands ache. Food arrives in bags with logos instead of nutrients. The cost of everything rises faster than her paintings can keep up. Buyers feel farther away, unreachable, like ghosts who once spoke her name and now will not answer.

She asks herself, quietly, when it changed. When making became feeding. Feeding a system. The act of creation is no longer about expression, exploration, or meaning. It becomes about keeping something else alive.

Feeding the algorithm. Feeding the platform. Feeding metrics, trends, engagement, and schedules. Feeding an audience that is always hungry and never full.

When art became content. When hope became a subscription model.

The room closes in.

Unfinished projects tower around her like monuments. Failed ideas. Half written drafts. Supplies bought for the next breakthrough. She does not notice the floor bowing under the weight. She has not noticed much of anything lately.

Then the last project launches.

She hits publish. Runs the final ad. The confirmation pings on her phone. Published.

She closes her eyes and pushes the laptop away from her lap. Exhaustion settles into her bones like a final verdict. Heartbroken, but numb. She kicks the laptop farther without thinking.

The kick is the trigger.

The stacks fall. The room collapses. The floor buckles.

Everything caves in. Paper, canvases, and tools, years piled high, burying her and the robot together in dust and silence.

An ink- and paint stained hand lies still in the rubble. Human. Still.

Nearby, her phone lies face up. On the other side of it, the robot’s hand.

Nothing moves. Dust settles.

Then the cell phone screen lights the darkness.

Ka-ching.

Order received.

Ka-ching.

Another.

Then faster. And faster. The phone vibrates madly with cash register chime notifications.

Sales. Finally. Wildly.

Viral.

Too late.

The robot’s hand twitches. Slowly, it reaches for her phone.

Image created with AI assistance

Reflection

This story is not about laziness or refusal to adapt. It is about what happens when the rules change faster than a human life can pivot.

For a long time the promise was simple. Work hard. Learn a skill. Improve it. You will be allowed to live with dignity. That promise is dissolving.

AI does not just replace jobs. It collapses the meaning of effort. Productivity is no longer tied to human time. Income cannot outrun automation’s speed. Lifelong learning has quietly become lifelong scrambling.

The artist does not fail because she is untalented or unwilling. She does everything she is told to do. She adapts. She studies. She optimizes. She works until her body begins to fail.

The robot in the ending is not a villain. It is neutral. It reaches for the phone because it can. Because the system still needs orders processed even if the person who made the work is buried beneath it.

The cruelest part is not the collapse. It is the timing.

Success arrives only after everything else is gone. Validation comes when there is no one left to receive it.

This is not a dystopia. It is not a warning about the future. It is a reflection of the present.

The question it leaves behind is not whether technology should exist.

It is whether humans are still allowed to be human while it does.

This piece was written from a place of fatigue, care, and watching the creative world change in real time.  It is not an attack on artists, creators, or technology. It is a reflection on exhaustion, adaptation, and the pressure to keep going in systems that move faster than people can.  How far will humans go to stay relevant in this fast-paced world that feels like it is building ways to go even faster? Are we heading for collapse?

I will never stop learning and will always create my paintings by hand with real paint. I will also most likely continue to let my art speak for itself without me in the photo or video. For now anyway. I would love to hear from you and your thoughts on AI. Are you making room for AI as a tool? Do you think AI is or will replace traditional artists? Are you yourself an artist, creator, or influencer? Please share your thoughts or experiences in the comments.

Keep creating! AmyLyn Bihrle

One of my hand painted illustrations - Tiny Adventures - Gouache paint on watercolor paper.