A professional illustrator ponders the advent of A.I. art.

SketchedOut

By Christoph Niemann

June 23, 2025

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In my bedroom, pinned next to a mirror, are a few drawings that my kids made when they were 6 or 7: birthday doodles, strange stick figures, text riddled with cute typos.

They are some of my most precious possessions.

But recently I asked myself: What if I found out that these doodles were actually made — or even just “enhanced” — by A.I.?

Would I still treasure them?

The advent of A.I. has shocked me into rethinking my entire relationship with art.

Some of my colleagues are enthusiastic about the new possibilities. Most are skeptical. But no one doubts that A.I. will have a huge impact.

There are two parts of the discussion about creativity and A.I. that I consider most urgent. The first is about economics: Will people still be able to make a living making art?

And as that gets harder because of A.I., shouldn’t artists have the right to stop their work from being used to build the systems that destroy their livelihood?

The second question is more complicated — and more interesting. Is A.I. good or bad for the creative process?

Making art is really, really hard.

Who wouldn’t want to just tell a machine what you want, sit back and receive a finished artwork in seconds?

The experience is dazzling — with a few caveats. The first is that I want my ideas to be original. A.I. algorithms (at least the ones we have so far) are fed huge amounts of existing art in order to create new concepts.

This works well for variations of an existing idea, which admittedly is what the creative industry mostly wants.

But for now, it struggles at making a truly original leap.

Whether you are a human or a machine, creative work consists of a thousand tiny decisions.

But how does one decide if an element is good, funny, sad, witty or absurd?

A.I. bases its picks on what’s most prevalent in its training data.

What’s more: This data, like art history and visual culture in general, is compromised by a plethora of biases. The current models seem to perpetuate this problem rather than offer remedies.

Even if these issues can be solved, the biggest challenge is that writing an A.I. prompt requires the artist to know what he wants. If only it were that simple.

Creating art is a nonlinear process. I start with a rough goal. But then I head into dead ends and get lost or stuck.

The secret to my process is to be on high alert in this deep jungle for unexpected twists and turns, because this is where a new idea is born.

I can’t make art when I’m excluded from the most crucial moments.

So what about A.I. as an assistant? As with most artists, there are certain chores that I can’t or won’t do myself, usually because I lack the skill, patience or endurance.

When I first learned about computer tools in art school, I was elated:

All of a sudden I was able to set type, draw animations, create clean vector graphics. Since then, I’ve experimented with every new digital tool available.

Despite my wariness of A.I., I’ve found some amazing uses for it.

Something as seemingly simple as “Fill a 10x20 document with circles of random sizes between 1 and 2 inches without using a repeating pattern” would take days using traditional digital tools.

Now, by using ChatGPT to code a script, I can have different versions in minutes.

I also use A.I. to delete unwanted elements from photos, extend missing backgrounds and boost resolution. I’m sure I will find many more applications in the future.

For most of my art, technical limitation is not an obstacle but an inspiration.

But each and every artist has a different process, and whether A.I. is a creative blessing or a curse very much depends on what we try to achieve.

Take Albrecht Altdorfer’s incredible ‘‘The Battle of Alexander at Issus,’’ from 1529.

Art historians estimate that it contains 5,000 to 10,000 figures. (ChatGPT counts 1,162 full figures, excluding overlaps.)

It’s impossible to sketch such a complex image. With A.I., Altdorfer might have comped a decent preview before committing a year of his life to the final version. Or he might have created something even grander: 50,000 soldiers! Five million!!

Many artists (myself included) can spend days, weeks, even months chasing a concept, only to realize, once the final version is done, that there was a flaw in the plan that makes it useless.

Is this a necessary part of the artistic journey? Or just silly masochism that A.I. could make obsolete?

I like to think that I create art for the benefit of an audience. But I have to be honest: I crave the validation. When someone compliments the artwork, they also compliment the artist.

Tools like rulers or erasers don’t diminish my authorship. Neither does painting on a canvas that was stretched by an assistant. But what if I contribute just the prompt and the idea, and the execution is done by an algorithm?

Many art movements of the last century wanted to take the artist out of the artistic process. It was an interesting intellectual debate.

Now the question is real: Does art require artists?

My favorite artwork may be James Turrell’s ‘‘Meeting’’ at MoMA PS1 in Queens. It’s just a hole in the ceiling, but it does something unreal with your brain, your sense of perception.

When I first saw it, I thought I was looking at a projection. It took me a while to realize that I was looking at the sky. I rarely say this about art: This changed my life.

Would my reaction to the piece be less valid if an A.I. had created it?

I’m very careful with predictions, but I wouldn’t be surprised if an autonomous A.I. soon creates simple color-and-shape compositions so perfectly pitched that they trigger laughter or sadness or a full-blown psychedelic experience.

How can I compete with a creative hyperpower that never gets tired and can produce images with an impact that goes way beyond anything a human being could conceive?

I can’t.

The only consolation is that this situation is not new.

When you draw landscapes, there is a moment when you inevitably wonder: Why bother?

Because no image can come close to the visual magic of an actual sunset over the ocean or a night sky in the mountains.

The power of a Georgia O’Keeffe painting is not that she witnessed better sunsets than the rest of us.

She saw what we see. But then she sat down and spent her life trying to capture the experience in a new and exhilarating way.

The essence of art …

… (according to me!)….

… is that there was somebody at the other end with the intent to express something.

Communicating emotions from person to person through writing, composing or painting is inefficient and inherently human.

This is what makes a love letter, a doodle on a sandwich bag and (some) paintings in a museum precious.

Automating the creation of art is like automating life, so you can make it to the finish line faster.

It seems inevitable that a computer chip will generate more awe-inspiring drawings than I do.

My survival as an artist will depend on whether I’ll be able to offer something that A.I. can’t: drawings that are as powerful as a birthday doodle from a child.

Christoph Niemann is an illustrator and animator. He has contributed stories to the magazine about Brexit, Estonia and the unexpected solace in learning to play piano.

More from the Magazine’s A.I. issue

A.I. Might Take Your Job. Here Are 22 New Ones It Could Give You.

In a few key areas, humans will be more essential than ever.

He Has Months Left. His Son Hopes an A.I. Version of Him Can Live On.

After Peter Listro was diagnosed with blood cancer, his family decided to make a virtual avatar they can talk to after his death.

A.I. Is Poised to Rewrite History. Literally.

The technology’s ability to read and summarize text is already making it a useful tool for scholarship. How will it change the stories we tell about the past?

Everyone Is Using A.I. for Everything. Is That Bad?

Either way, let’s not be in denial about it.

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