Not really…They woke me up at 5 a.m. to cut wood, make a fire in the fireplace, and prepare the breakfast in the very basic cuisine. My tasks were to keep the house clean and to serve them until I find what I want to do in my new life. After that, I could work and trade my goods. Then, I could become a real ManFirst citizen. That wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t heaven either.
A week passed, and Dismar didn’t show up. I can’t contact anyone from here as we are, by definition, here to self-isolate. On top of that, I was forced to join the weekly gathering for prayers. I was amused as it was in the Church of the Talking Child.
Damn you, Oina! What have you done?
Two weeks later, I started to feel that life is harsh when we limit ourselves. Everything was cured by herbal tisanes that didn’t cure anything. I could catch the flu and die here easily. Everything is hard, and it’s for sure that the words “hard,” “harsh,” and “difficult” came from places like this. Cutting wood, making a fire, and preparing a meal required a tremendous effort. Working in the fields without sophisticated tools required a Herculean kind of motivation. People here are emulating the first humans, but those people could make it as they didn’t have any other choice. Most importantly, they didn’t see what they could have. That was the only way of existence, so faith and acceptance were instinctive.
Lucky me, the nights were full of entertainment at our place. The artists presented their work to each other and now, to me too. I thought, even as mediocre as it is, in these circumstances, it was genius.
The actor wasn’t an actor anymore, but an imitation of an actor. The musician forgot to read the solfeggio and was just improvising with his flute. The poet was reading his poetry, or let’s say he essays, as they sounded like an easy-going small report in the weekly local magazine. The painter was a tragedy. I did see his first paintings when he arrived here, and his current paintings are a shameful mirror of his decay. What a waste of talents, I thought. Nevertheless, with good weed, they are all great.
I was thinking that I need to stop calculating and comparing everything, as probably this habit will go away if I would stay longer. My mind will give up sooner or later because, in the end, one must show some empathy to these guys. They’ve been replaced by AI-performers that have the knowledge of every living artist. It is impossible to compete with them as they outperform them in every aspect. The roles got inverted. The AI-artist is the perfection, and the real one became the imitation.
I sat back comfortably with a roll in my hand, scratching my head as this needs a little bit of analysis because it can’t possibly be correct. The creation can’t surpass the creator. Banume summarized that in one of his memorable sayings, “A lower consciousness can’t create a higher one. That is paradoxical.” If he is right, that means an AI can create a better quality of the existing art but not art itself, as that is simply out of its reach. Computers can astronomically calculate every pixel of an image, create a graphic actor and direct him to play a movie. They can assemble all the best scenes that we loved throughout the history of cinema to create the best scene ever, one that has all the best ingredients that could touch us deeply, mixed to perfection. They can assemble the best virtual, philharmonic orchestra, based on the best artists who played through all the music history. They can play an infinite number of amazing compositions that will indeed touch our inner feelings to the point of believing that the AI is a living being that is conscious, smart and a god-like creation. It could write the best poetry, sculpt the most precise sculptures with a unique style and subject depiction. They could paint the most amazing paintings, create the most iconic movies, and so on. But is it art? Or is it just an amazing art performance?
Will we see any AI creating art for the sake of it? And if yes, that means it needs to be alive and aware of the very basic meaning of being here, now. Doing this for the sake of it. Were basic survival needs placed second to creating something not needed for anything? Thinking about it now, it’s an odd human phenomenon. The most fundamental question of why we do this when basic needs are not even fulfilled is still unanswered.
Another problem with an AI creating art is originality. It is true that every artist gets inspired by something or someone, then performs his art based on that inspiration. But an AI is not inspired, as inspiration requires the same process of creation, the awareness of a being, a watcher aware of his own existence who can interpret and transform the witnessed experience into a totally different one. This means an AI can never create a summer song based on a photo of summer. Still not convinced?
How about making the analogy between the taste of a fruit and a poem. Unfortunately, an AI can only make a poem based on other poems, a summer song based on every best summer song. The poem will sound fantastic, and the summer song will be the best hit of all time, but only for an average person. These would be like the one
