She said "AI!" - I said "No"

Today, I asked a friend of my daughter's what she thought of my new series, Children of the Dandelions.

The first thing she said was:

“AI!”

I was surprised.

Not offended. Not even hurt. Just… surprised.

Because it made me realise I probably don’t yet fully understand how a younger generation looks at the things we create.

The second thing she said was:

“Canva?”

And, I have to admit, that one hurt a little more.

Not because I have anything against Canva. I use it almost every day. But Canva doesn’t create my artwork.

I use it because it is fast. If I need to make a Reel, a blog image or adapt something to a specific format, it is often quicker than opening InDesign or Photoshop.

Children of the Dandelions took me months to create. And even that doesn't include the time spent taking the photographs that became the foundation of the work.

I work digitally. I always have.

I started with Paint long before my twenties (the only graphic program on a PC), and then Adobe — I am still working with Adobe all these years later. I know my tools well. Not everything they can do, but enough to know when to follow the rules, when to break them and when to ignore what AI suggests.

And yes, I use AI tools in Photoshop sometimes.

Of course I do.

If AI can help me remove something, test an idea, extend an image or speed up the sketching process, I use it. Sometimes I redo much of it myself anyway.

Using AI doesn't mean I couldn't do it without AI.

Sometimes it simply means I don't want to spend three hours doing something I can solve in ten minutes.

I could open one of my original files and show you hundreds of layers. I could show you that the dandelions are built from my own photographs, that I've considered every detail, and that the final image is the result of months of work.

But this isn't really about defending my own art.

I'm old enough to take the comment.

What interests me is what happens next.

What happens when AI becomes the first creative tool a generation learns to use?

What if you never learn the frustration of trying something twenty times before getting it right? The limitations of a camera. The discipline of drawing, editing, photographing, composing and building something from scratch.

What if the first question becomes:

“What should I ask AI to make?”

instead of:

“What do I want to make?”

I don't know the answer.

Maybe this next generation will use AI in ways we can't imagine yet. Maybe they will create things that completely change how we understand art.

But I do wonder if something could get lost along the way.

Not creativity itself.

Humans are far too creative for that.

But the craft behind it.

The knowledge of how things work.

The ability to take an idea and actually build it.

There is something comforting to me in knowing my tools. I have spent decades learning them. I know what they can do, what they can't do, and where I want to take them.

And that makes me wonder:

If AI becomes the driver before the creator ever learns how to drive, will that creator still understand where the road leads?

Or will we become the generals on the field, directing increasingly powerful machines while the actual making becomes generic — and increasingly similar?

Maybe that's where we're heading.

Maybe it isn't.

Today's conversation lasted only a few minutes. A young girl looked at something I had spent months creating and saw AI.

That stayed with me.

Not because she was wrong.

And not because she was right.

But because she reminded me that the way we see creation is changing — perhaps faster than we realise.

And I think that is worth thinking about.

What will the next generation create?

And perhaps more importantly:

Will they still know how to make it?