Art and AI

Art has always been a conversation with its tools. The chisel, the brush, and the pen have shaped what is made as much as the artist does. Today, the dialogue has shifted. The tools are digital and often intangible. These tools extend our hands into the ether, reshaping the act and nature of creation.

AI, for one, has turned the artist into a collaborator with the machine. In my artwork, I use AI to learn about new styles, how to blend colors, and analyze my compositions. I’ve also made AI create something after I supply the initial butterfly effect of brushstrokes. Sometimes, I am stunned by what has been created. I feel guilty. Can I say I did that when AI did most of the work? 

There’s also augmented reality (AR), where art spills beyond the frame. Paintings no longer hang on the wall but hover, shift and 

grow as you move around it. It occupies space in your mind as you interact with the piece that no museum would allow you to do. Virtual reality (VR) takes AR even further, building entire worlds from the artist’s portrait. Imagine stepping into “Starry Night” or “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.” 

Traditional practices—oil painting and charcoal sketches—might be raptured into the interactive, finding new life there. A digital sculptor might one day use VR controllers to carve virtual clay, while AI assists in rendering hyper-realistic textures. At some 

point, disturbing questions must be answered: what if art no longer requires artists anymore?

I wonder if, within a generation, the human hand becomes obsolete. There will be devices that will achieve accuracy and control that exceed any artist’s skill. What then happens to the nature of art? Does it still tell a story? Does it still leave a trace? Or does art become the latest testament to our increasing irrelevance?

What a Waste

Waste. It’s the unspoken child born out of the wedlock of our creative processes. Waste in the form of shavings of paper, hardened acrylic blobs, and forgotten scraps of canvas. As artists, we transform raw materials into beauty, while the leftover is just another proof of the universe’s tendency toward entropy. Do these leftovers say anything about us? More and more, I find myself drawn to the challenge of art with purpose. Can we create without leaving a trail of excess behind?

Perhaps we need more mindful, sustainable art media. For watercolors, we can use handmade, natural pigments. Beam Paints, for instance, crafts vibrant colors from sustainably harvested tree sap and powdered minerals. Nothing had to die for you to create.  Then there’s the question of paper. Legion Stonehenge, made from 100% cotton, offers smooth deckled paper for printmakers. The quality rivals European mold-made papers but at a much more reasonable cost.    

With our sustainable materials, we can craft our art. Stretch the life of a tube of paint by reviving dried pigments with a little linseed oil. We can also incorporate imperfections—those off-cuts of canvas or sketchbook paper can be collaged into something new. The Japanese concept of mottainai—the regret you feel from wasting things—should be a concept we abide by in the studio. 

For other sustainable practices, we can look to brush cleaner alternatives like The Masters’ Brush Cleaner, which is non-toxic and long-lasting. Or, better yet, ditch the single-use mindset altogether: refillable paint markers, upcycled frames, and reusable palettes should be part of our artistic vocabulary.

Art isn’t just what we create—it’s the impact we leave behind. Our art has the potential for impact beyond the aesthetic sense. In fact, artists need to go past the visual color spectrum. We need to recognize our duty as caretakers of the environment. Yes, we are creators first and foremost, but every stroke of our brush should also carry a gesture of goodwill for future generations. 

Yoon’s Six-Hour Martial Law

I didn’t want to believe it. South Korean President Yoon declared an “emergency martial law”, accusing the opposition party of paralyzing the government with anti-state activities. A blaring statement in the middle of the night, which would now settle in the annals of history as an infamy in the Korena peninsula for years to come.

I was ready to go to bed when I heard the news. Wondering what was going on, I turned on the TV with my dorm mate, and soon, one by one, our friends crawled out of their beds, huddled around a TV set in the lounge. Glued to the screen, we couldn’t sleep, as we tried to follow the news. After all, we were in Jeju, an island most remote from Seoul, which made it more difficult for us. Though safe from the danger that could brew in Seoul, I was unsettled by the feeling that something could happen to my home in Seoul, and of course, my mother.   

I have only heard of martial law from my dearest mother. She was merely in primary school when the former president Chun declared the martial law on May 17, 1980. His resolve meant sending troops to far corners of the country to suppress any protest. The next day, on the 18th, the citizens of Gwangju paid the price, as troops stationed in the city fired on its people, killing some 200 civilians, including women and children. 

To this day, 5.18 is known in Korea as the Gwangju Uprising. The uprising began when Chonnam University students demonstrating against martial law were fired upon, killed, raped, beaten and tortured by the South Korean military. Some Gwangju citizens took up arms and formed militias, raiding local police stations and armories, and were able to take control of large sections of the city before soldiers re-entered the city and suppressed the uprising. While the South Korean government claimed 165 people were killed in the massacre, scholarship on the massacre today estimates 600 to 2,000+ victims. Under the military dictatorship of Chun, the South Korean government labelled the uprising as a ''riot'' and claimed that it was being instigated by "communist sympathizers and rioters".

Does our history teach us nothing?  

Korea is a robust nation, a country thriving in the world, offering the best of its K-culture to the world. The dark underbelly is what its history couldn’t remedy all along. The polarization between political parties cannot be reconciled. Too many ills from the past continue to haunt us, unrelenting to the forces of democracy. Yes, democracy is that fragile. 

Shockingly, of course, the martial law was retracted as quickly as it was declared. The whole thing now seems like a farce. International media outlets are confounded by what just happened in Korea. But what is done is done. And for that, Yoon is done. He is on the chopping block, whose choice is one or the other – face impeachment or resign from presidency. 

Today is another day. What awaits this morning?