I refuse to call what LLMs (like ChatGPT) produce ‘art’. It is imagery, yes. But art? No.
While some folks might be convinced (or concerned) that LLMs are conscious, I don’t believe them to be so. They were designed to operate like a large-scale predictive text model, designed to simulate that it could be conscious, or skillful, or have a creative imagination. But it was all based on training data, and patterns.
I’m not a fan of the images LLMs and other Generative AI produce; I don’t know how to describe it aside from: ‘they lack soul’. And while some images are becoming harder to distinguish from real life photographs, there is a flat quality to much of what’s been produced to this point, and a conformity throughout these images that starts to reveal itself the more you’re exposed to the images generated by computers, trained off of real human artists work.
Anyways, that’s why the title isn’t: Bad Art is Antithetical to GenAI Art 😅
Let’s explore, shall we?
What is AI Imagery—As in: Who is Using it and Why?
Generative AI imagery fans tend to tout the benefits of using GenAI to be advantages like it’s speed or efficiency, and it’s accessibility.
But why are our goals when it comes to creating “art” to be fast, cheap, and easy?
I know why we’re still valuing speed and efficiency, but WHYYYY?!!!
I’ve given some more thought to the accessibility aspect, because I do value accessibility. And it’s not that I don’t think things should be fast, cheap, or easy either… but it’s neglecting the core aspect to how I understand art to be, how many of us do—the process is as much the art as where it ends.
I do agree that mainstream art education is largely inaccessible, but the issue I have with this stance is that it still feels rooted in a hierarchy of good/bad or an idea of ‘real’ artists, so much of the time. I read folks claim they can’t draw**, which is why they use Gen AI tools… but you’ll never be able to draw without experiencing the core aspect: PROCESS if you let a machine do it for you.
Practicing does indeed lend itself to improvement. But it never has to be good. That’s the conditioned voice, not yours.
** This is of course, if one is physically able and the claims of ‘can’t draw’ are based in perceived skill, application, or technical ability, rather than a physical inability.
I myself experience arthritic-type sensations in my dominant wrist. It severely limits my ability to work on my artistic endeavours for long periods of time, and to be fair I could see how people in similar situations may want to still be able to express themselves visually.
I think what’s not being said plainly here is that some of the defenders of GenAI as ‘art’ are prioritizing the avoidance of discomfort, avoidance of effort, and/or learning. Surely that sounds privileged to many, as effort and learning do cost (at least) time, which not everyone has a lot of. And sure we’re a culture of convenience, I can’t and won’t ever fully blame the individual. We’re all products of our environments to some degree, and we’re all on a different journey, with different priorities and values. Yet, we are creatures that largely take the path of least resistance.
As an artist at heart, I don’t understand the appeal to skip over the fun and joy and play of making. And, I acknowledge too, that the voices that judge and criticize can be loud, or sneaky, or crippling. And that not everyone enjoys the process, or is driven by the tension between them and the process. So GenAI gets used like a toy, and to fill the gaps for the folks who have been made to believe that they’re not an artist, and not capable of being one.
‘Oh, and have you heard the good news?! GenAI SOLVES for creative block, too!’, they claim. But what if creative block is actually needed or important, somehow? If that too, is part of the whole process, the ecosystem of the art landscape. What if that’s where we learn great lessons? What happens if we simplify and make everything convenient? Will we learn to stop doing anything that requires depth, effort, commitment to an uncomfortable process?
I’ve become weary of convenience and instant gratification—it feels like a call-and-response to the continued push towards late-stage-consumer-capitalism; where large populations of folks are feeling the wealth disparity, being forced to hold multiple minimum-low wage jobs, that come no where close to covering the cost of living. It’s necessary, for many, the convenience part, but I always wonder how we can divest from this and shift directions; since even small actions add up.
What is Bad Art, in this Context?
Pulled straight from When I Say Bad Art, This Is What I Mean (And What I Don’t)
I hesitate to provide a fixed, concrete definition of ‘bad art’ when I use it, simply because this is a living, breathing concept. Bad art isn’t a style, it’s a refusal to audition. It doesn’t ever need to resolve into excellence… Nothing has to happen next if that’s what we as the maker, wants.
‘Bad art’ is what happens when we allow ourselves to make without conforming to the idea that we need to perform excellence. ‘Good art’ can happen this way too. But intentionally reaching for bad creates less pressure, and an openness to have an experience, instead of measuring a final output, which is only a moment in time anyways. Your art has lived hundreds or thousands of iterations—each new line, dot, or colour added is a new result where we could elect to stop and call it done. It would live on as that “final piece”. But that’s not all your art is, nor is it all it ever was. We’ve been trained to value the “final” output and finished product more than the journey. Capitalism wants this, but what about a pre- or post-capitalist world where our worth isn’t tied into our output?
Bad art refuses to conform to rigid rules that make visual art visually compelling, whether those are known and practiced by the artist, or not.
Bad art is art that doesn’t need to justify itself by becoming better.
Bad art isn’t about rejecting skill — it’s about refusing to make skill the price of entry.
So if skill isn’t the price of entry, and your art no longer needs to justify it’s existence, nor be visually compelling— you can still call it art, because you lived the process.
Why GenAI Imagery Conflicts with Bad Art Philosophy
Bad art is defined by its commitment to process over perfection. It’s an exploration, a willingness to make mistakes, to struggle, to iterate, and to grow—all without the pressure to produce something visually “excellent.” Generative AI imagery, in contrast, bypasses the process entirely. It generates polished, sometimes convincing images in seconds, but it does so without struggle, without learning, and without the lived experience that informs human creativity.
Where bad art embraces imperfection and personal exploration, AI imagery borrows the effort, creativity, and emotional labor of countless human artists without ever experiencing it. It can imitate style, composition, and even emotional tone, but it cannot be the process—it cannot wrestle with a stubborn line, rejoice in a happy accident, or learn from failure. In short, it produces outputs that are technically “finished” but devoid of the journey that makes art meaningful.
GenAI imagery is antithetical to bad art philosophy because it removes the core of art: the act of making. Bad art isn’t about creating something visually perfect—it’s about showing up, engaging, experimenting, and living the process. Anything that bypasses that journey, no matter how visually compelling, misses the point entirely.
What’s Worth Reclaiming?
Art is alive in the doing, not the done. Bad art reminds us that creation is about engagement, exploration, and the willingness to be imperfect. GenAI images are about results, no matter the cost. It can never replace the messy, joyful, challenging, and deeply human process of making.
By embracing a Bad Art practice, we can reclaim the value of struggle, the beauty of failure, and the freedom to create without judgment. This safe container for these types of tensions and trials may be of more value to our overall wellbeing than we current realize. GenAI Images may offer convenience, but it cannot truly give us art, or the friction where we grow as artists.
What might happen if we remembered that our worth as creators/artists, and as human beings, isn’t measured by speed, polish, or output, but measured by the courage to begin, continue, and live the process?
What do you choose to value in the creation of art? And in life?