I find myself in the constant defence of art. I am uncertain if this is a result of nature or nurture – but regardless, it feels inherent within me. Have you ever considered for yourself whether art is something you are for or against? The question feels loaded. It asks you to draw a line, take a stance, pick a side. Such questions arise when something is under siege; when the thing that is threatening to be lost is greater than the thing we are set to gain.
It was asked by the artists and critics of the late nineteenth century, in a revolt against influences of the Industrial Revolution. John Ruskin responded to the mass-production of machine-made goods with cautious criticism, observing a swift devaluing of human craftsmanship across the decorative arts. His opinions would be influential across the Arts & Crafts Movement, a campaign which advocated for traditional handicraftmanship and quality of design. Ruskin’s awareness of what humans were set to lose by mechanical advancements is a notion that I keep returning to on this dawn of a new digital age. As artists grapple with the consequences of AI, I pose the question once more – Is art something you are for or against?
In his writings, Mechanical Advances Of The Age, Ruskin positions us on the journey to worthwhile creation;
“The great mechanical impulses of the age, of which most of us are so proud, are a mere passing fever, half speculative, half childish. People will discover at last that royal roads to anything can no more be laid in iron than they can in dust; that there are, in fact, no royal roads to anywhere worth going to; that if there were, it would that instant cease to be worth going to.”
His position is layered with direct responses to tangible advancements of the era (iron production which gave rise to the railway networks) and a philosophical approach to the fate of humanity. Re-contextualising his perspective into our modern age, the phrase passing fever, struck a sense of accuracy as I watch AI infect our creative industries. The rush to outsource our creative pursuits to software programs on the grounds of efficiency and cost-effectiveness feels lifeless. Art is made as an expression of our humanity; as a means of understanding the human experience of ourselves and others. To sincere understanding, there are no shortcuts, no royal roads. And if the path to understanding our humanity required no journey at all, well perhaps, it wouldn’t be worth embarking on in the first place.
Ruskin continues that, like all things worth acquiring in life, the journey to worthwhile creation comes at a price;
“There are two classes of precious things in the world; those that God gives us for nothing – sun, air, and life; and the secondarily precious things, worldly wine and milk, can only be bought for definite money; they never can be cheapened. No cheating nor bargaining will ever get a single thing out of nature’s ‘establishment’ at half-price. Do we want to be strong? – we must work. To be hungry? – we must starve. To be happy? – we must be kind. To be wise? – we must look and think. No changing of place at a hundred miles an hour, nor making of stuffs at a thousand yards a minute, will make us one whit stronger, happier, or wiser.”
In this passage, Ruskin touches on the innate duality of the universe, of nature’s own cause and effect. In the basis of this natural rhythm arises a simple question: Does the justification of the artist come from the existence of an artwork or in the creation of the art? The question of authorship reframes the above rationale of the human journey. If art has served as a means to understand our human experience, it sits as an empty vessel, if no journey has been taken at all.
“There was always more in the world than men could see, walked they ever so slowly; they will see it no better for going fast. And they will at last, and soon too, find out that their grand inventions for conquering (as they think) space and time, do, in reality, conquer nothing; for space and time are, in their own essence, unconquerable, and besides did not want any sort of conquering; they wanted using.”
In this final summary Ruskin pinpoints that the true cost of mechanical advancements may be the purpose of life itself. At the heart of our digital age is the illusion that the phenomenon of AI is freeing us of our earthly duties, saving us time and money and perhaps in some small ways it is. But in the case of the artist, to relinquish these duties is to live no life at all.
As the age of AI continues to reach a fever pitch, a decision must be made – are we, as a collective humanity, for or against art? If the answer is for, then we too must live in the defence of it; by championing the creatives, advocating for craftsmanship and critiquing the institutions which threaten it. As Ruskin did in the nineteenth century, and many others before him, we owe it to our artists to protect their freedom to create. AI is only the latest threat on the work of the artist, of which there will be many more, and it is during these moments in history where it is up to us to decide if our society values art enough to defend it.
teaghantique 
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