As AI progresses, I sense a decline in the value of my artistic work. Is it time to throw in the towel? | Provocative Queries

As an artist navigating my 30s, I’ve found myself without any significant achievements to show for my efforts. Prior to the pandemic, I was fortunate to have a range of opportunities that built my career. However, COVID-19, alongside unforeseen political and personal issues, disrupted both my work and social connections. With the loss of these networks, I struggled to find the time and energy for networking.

My artistic journey has mirrored my life, shifting from purely conceptual work to more narrative-driven and accessible art. One of the highlights in recent months was unexpectedly giving an illustration to a local cashier, a moment that brought me a sense of joy and fulfillment. Nonetheless, I find myself grappling with doubts about my ability to connect with others through my art.

I feel lost when it comes to reaching out to people without investing endless hours on social media—a practice that leaves me feeling drained. Additionally, the rise of generative AI is increasingly alarming, as it threatens to diminish the financial viability of art. Even though I pour my heart and soul into my work, my creativity and well-being aren’t limitless. I see more established artists facing similar challenges, especially as their works are incorporated into AI models without consent. This situation makes me question: “What’s the point?” It feels as if society no longer values artists, cartoonists, or illustrators. Should I just walk away?

Eleanor says: Remember when you first began creating art, perhaps as a child? When you first held a pencil, there was likely a spark that encouraged you to keep going. It probably wasn’t motivated by the desire for financial gain or external recognition. Instead, something intrinsic to the artistic process captivated you.

If I understand you correctly, you’re now uncertain about whether to continue your artistic journey due to the lack of financial gain, cultural recognition, or industry success thus far. This perspective is entirely valid; anyone would feel disheartened under such circumstances. However, it’s curious how money, success, and accolades may not have been the core reasons you started creating art. You simply loved it, and that passion seemed to generate itself endlessly.

In adulthood, however, the term “artist” often seems to equate to making a living from art, which implies a form of success. It’s crucial to separate the idea of pursuing art as a career from the act of making art itself. So, let’s consider a couple of essential questions. The first one is: “Should I continue striving to make art a significant part of how I earn a living?” This is fundamentally a financial question. The extent to which you devote time and resources to art must depend on the broader context of your financial situation. Areas like long-term housing or retirement aren’t spaces for capricious financial gambles.

A separate inquiry is: “Should I continue creating art, even if I might not receive recognition as an artist?” We all yearn for acknowledgment of our skills, desiring that our carefully crafted works are seen as valuable. Of course, you’re right to be concerned about the recognition of artists in this AI-driven age. Yet, your experience in gifting that illustration signifies genuine recognition—a moment of joy that reminded you of the power art can hold. Connecting with people through your art transcends mere digital metrics or commercial success.

Marketing oneself does impose certain standards upon us—encouraging thoughts of “impressions,” audience size, and grant applications. The more reliant you are on your art for income, the more likely you are to measure your worth by these limits. However, try to gauge your accomplishments based on the human connections made, the days spent creating, and the meaningful experiences crafted along the way.

Lastly, we come to the fundamental question: “Should I keep creating art?” Even if it doesn’t yield financial rewards? Even if current algorithms seem uninterested? Despite the pervasive sense of indifference toward craftsmanship in culture, why would you choose to stop?

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