AI advocates often argue that the process behind a work is irrelevant, and that only the final product matters. Only that. Nothing more. If the end result is beautiful, isn’t that enough?
But of course, it isn’t. The context of a piece, including how it was made, why it was made, and who made it, can matter more than anything. That background is where the human lives. We connect with art not just through aesthetics, but through intention. A creator’s story can deepen our appreciation for something that’s not aesthetically or aurally pleasing, or turn us away entirely from something that is. If the “only the result matters” argument held true, then we’d see certain artworks more often on posters, on gallery walls, or framed in people’s homes. But we don’t. Take a look at these:
But the reason we don’t see those paintings everywhere is because the background does matter. It matters so much that simply knowing Adolf Hitler painted them irrevocably alters how we perceive them. Taken on its own, I actually love the third one, the one with the man at a back window with a giddy woman. But once the artist’s identity is known, everything changes, and it’s not possible to look at it and see something adorable. It’s also not possible to look at the last one and see a mother cradling her precious child. Among other reasons, the baby’s blond hair and blue eyes become sinister considering Hitler’s views on ideal humans. The creator, the intent, the process—all the things AI advocates insist are irrelevant—are something no rational person can just forget. Once you know who made it, or how, or why, you can’t un-know it. To be able to do so requires turning off one’s own humanity. Otherwise, the work becomes a symbol of something else. In this instance, it’s suffering, and none of these pieces are still beautiful no longer beautiful.
That’s not irrational. It’s human to recoil from any work when its origins are steeped in something repellent. Who wants to feel a connection to someone abhorrent? Who wants to hang something on their wall that was born of cruelty, exploitation, or hate? Even if the piece is visually compelling, the knowledge of how or by whom it was made creates a rupture that can’t be ignored.
And then you look at another piece, not painted by Hitler…
This piece was painted in 1941 by two Jewish men while in a concentration camp. Karl Robert Bodek was murdered in Auschwitz a year later. Kurt Conrad Loew survived. When you know this, and that it was painted as a symbol of hope and freedom of escape, the piece becomes not just beautiful, but outright devastating, especially when you consider that Bodek didn’t escape.
Of all the artworks mentioned here, the one most likely to hang in the home of a reasonable person is also the one that would be the easiest to replicate. That tells you how much the background matters. It matters more than the technical polish or visual complexity. It matters more than perfection.
This doesn’t just apply to paintings or still images. It holds true for music, video, books, and every other form of creative expression. The creator matters. The context matters. We care who wrote the lyrics we cry to at midnight, or who filmed the scene that left us wrecked. We care about why something was made, how it was made, and what it cost to create it. That context shapes meaning. It gives the work emotional weight. There’s a real difference between something born from love, grief, resistance…or exploitation.
Here’s something uncomfortable: even Hitler painted his own work. As hard as it is to acknowledge, those pieces were made by a human hand. The creator showed up and did the work himself. That’s more than we can say for the wave of AI-generated songs, videos, books, and images we’re now flooded with. In those, no one took a risk. No one struggled, studied, or poured any part of themselves into the process. No one had to.
To be clear, I used visual art in this post—even though this page is usually about writing—because images are immediate. You don’t need to sit through a song or watch a two-hour film. A painting confronts you all at once. But the point applies just as much to music, books, and film. Who hasn’t been more impressed by Beethoven after learning he was deaf? Or more disturbed by a painting after discovering it was made by Hitler?
That’s why it matters, and this is why I’m deeply concerned about this.
The more we normalize AI-generated content, the more we teach people to ignore the truth behind what they’re consuming and to overlook the exploitative labor, the scraped data, the stolen voices and styles that made that machine output possible. We’re conditioning people not to ask where something came from, or who got hurt in the process, or whose labor produced the unpaid fruits there stolen to put them out of work. We’re encouraging them to push past discomfort for the sake of convenience and to shut out the truth if it disrupts the aesthetic.
The more we say this is “good enough,” the more we chip away at the humanity that gives art its soul. That kind of disconnection is dangerous. Do you know what else thrives when no one questions the origins of what they’re consuming? Human rights violations. Exploitation. Underpaid and invisible labor. We’re already disturbingly desensitized to that. Are were really going to let it tear own the arts as well?
We need to stop!
Think about this: the most perfectly produced song in the world can never, never compare to an off-key melody your child hums for you, or a silly tune your partner sings just to make you smile. But in a world where only the polished end result matters, that moment…the voice of your child or someone you love…becomes meaningless. And if we lose our ability to see the beauty in those flawed, genuine, irreplaceable moments, then we lose something vital. This is heartbreaking. “Sorry, kiddo, AI does it better and what matters is the end result without regard for anything else.”
That’s not just bad for art. That’s conditioning people to shut off humanity itself.
Usually, I’d say you can enjoy whatever you like. but this time, I can’t sit back quietly, not with what’s at stake and with what I’m already seeing.
We have to support what’s human. If you like the sound of an AI song, stop for a moment and think about where it came from. Think about what it cost, and how that cost makes you feel. Then go find human-made work, the real stuff. Do the same with books. With film. With images. If it matters enough to you to make something, then invest the time in learning to do it yourself. It doesn’t have to be flawless. It just has to real.
I’m begging you to keep the humanity in the arts.