An informal discussion by two artists
By Dorian Winter and Holly Carter-Turner
This piece first appeared as a featured article in volume 95, issue five of Pelican. You can view our print archive here.
With the dystopian uprising of AI art, the algorithmic dictatorship of Instagram and similar platforms, and the general pressure on artists to create the “right art”—where does that leave us? At the centre of all things ‘art’ and ‘creation,’ a discussion is brewing: Are societal structures and events stifling creators into producing what we might call ‘fake art’?
This (very) informal discussion will follow a winding path of anecdotes centred around the pressures of creation, standards set by customers and the internet, and some advice on how to live and create in a world that has begun to dehumanize and reduce creators to something lesser-than the new, compliant AI overlords. (Oh—too soon?)
Stop Right There!
All Art is Real! What Qualifications Do You Two Troublemakers Have Anyway?
Dorian:
Art has always been a part of my life—whether I was staring down the illustrations in picture books or defacing a kitchen wall (yay, my first mural!). I’ve always considered myself more of an aesthetic scientist than an artist, though. It’s either a full figurative painting or a strange, disjointed conceptual work that takes me 12 hours to explain. I went to John Curtin College of the Arts (wow, it’s even in the name) with the bright-eyed desire to become an actor, then an artist, and then a psychology-neuroscience enthusiast, fascinated by how humans can do all these creative things in the first place.
Holly:
I was branded “an arty kid” from a very young age, anything I could get a hold of could become part of my artworks. Bluetack sculptures, mushed berry paint and I even recall using tissues (clean I hope) to practice sewing! As my label got shared I then got access to real supplies, so many goddamn art supplies, as every birthday after became “Ah yes Holly likes art, we should get her some art stuff!”
As I grew up, I was lucky enough to get into the Applecross SHS Gifted and Talented Program which gave me access to so many different mediums. Painting, clay, glass work, woodwork, sugar sculpture, textiles…. A true creative’s playground!
As wonderful as it was, I realised I didn’t really like making art for a mark and so instead of continuing it into university, I opted to go for Architecture, graduating with my Masters last year.
People close to me still know I’m creative, but the branding is now a little more hidden from the rest of society.
Creatives, or Anyone Who Has Done an Art Class/Been Around Creative People—Get Ready to Shudder – We Have a Question for You:
What is art?
Dorian’s Definition:
The better question is, what isn’t art? But to be serious, art is anything that makes that primitive hindbrain jump, makes your heart feel tender—or even the opposite. Art is like a washcloth saturated with emotions and hormones that we humans love to wipe everywhere.
Holly’s Definition:
For me, a big part of it is if it can manipulate you into feeling a certain way—often done to help you understand the artist’s point of view which could be making a commentary on some element of society. The feeling could also be as simple as “omg it’s so silly I love it” or more deep and meaningful “wow so this is what womanhood feels like”. I also think that it should be able to speak for itself and create feelings without needing to be explained. Explanation should deepen the feelings the art has already created in the experiencer.
Holly – Is Some Art ‘Fake Art’? What Separates Bauhaus from Bullshit?
The following anecdote will make me sound like I’ve got the biggest ego ever, but I promise I know I’m not the hottest shit.
A friend and I were walking past one of those pop-up stalls in a shopping centre, and I pointed out that some of the paintings being sold just weren’t that good. My well-trained eyes know how to spot a meaningless painting. One that might be technically aesthetic and definitely requires skill, but feels empty. One that feels like it was made because the artist was told to, not because the artist actually wanted to or had something to express.
To me, it was clear this pop-up artist was taking advantage of their ability to make artless art for a bit of extra cash, and it was working. Many passersby were gawking at the pieces… that, to be honest, are probably best suited to the back wall at a dentist’s office.
Now, before you call me harsh or mean, I don’t mean to shit on their work but rather to embrace the fact that every type of art has a different setting that’ll best make it shine.
I don’t think people acknowledge that there is art for inside the home and then there’s art for a gallery. As amazing as the statue of David is, I don’t think he would be quite as impressive hanging out in your backyard as he is to embrace when you see him in the middle of the gallery.
If you make art to fill spaces, not to evoke feelings, are you still an artist? The dentist’s office does look a lot better with that vague blob of colour on the wall, and I’m glad it’s there, but I don’t know if I can call it art?
But maybe it is art because it completes the space and makes you feel something, comfortable because the room feels complete. Art still should be able to hold its own and express itself, but how it is placed and sold to viewers is another talent. Between you and me, while I’m grateful for the skills my studies helped me refine, I’m more grateful for the training in self-expression.
They call it a bullshit artist for a reason—making stuff up on the fly takes talent. So maybe successful artists are just the best bullshitters? The ones who can convince people to buy their work because they can push its story out and make you see it too, so that ball of plastic isn’t just the glad wrap from their sandwich, it is a poetic piece about the fragility of masculinity. So touching, 10,000 money bucks please!
Maybe I’m jealous of the fact my morals get in the way of me creating/selling/making soulless art because even though others might eat it up, I’d know that I could do better or that I was overcharging. But then I also know maybe I’m underselling myself. What I can now make in minutes, once took me hours, so the price is for the years of effort honing my skills to get to this point. I have continued to make art, but now that it is on my own terms I can talk about it with genuine passion rather than fabricated B.S.
Dorian – The Curious Case of Instagram-Artist-Induced Peter Pan Syndrome
I got my first social media account on my new iPad Air at age 12, but that definitely wasn’t the first screen that consumed me for hours on end. No, that was the endless cartoon slurry of Ben 10, Gravity Falls, and Steven Universe that made me genuinely envision a new life for myself—by golly, I need to become an animator! (The logistics of such a job soon made this a pipe dream for me). This account was aptly named after myself and consisted of some sketches made on the archaic ‘Paper’ app on iPad, which is like Procreate if it wasn’t Procreate and sucked instead.
It was easy to get popular—just spam 30 hashtags and DM everyone who follows you and you’re essentially Picasso. Well, until every other 12-13-14-year-old starts to advance at a rate never seen before and you feel scared to ever pick up a pencil again. Instagram, and Tumblr too, set up this strange expectation for me—I need to improve exponentially every single year of my adolescence, or else I’m not a “real artist.” No breaks, no excuses, just sketch SOMETHING and you’ll be golden.
In the pencil-shaving limbo of all of this, I was becoming increasingly impatient. I was binging art improvement videos, tracing over anatomy books, but I couldn’t seem to advance at the pace of the others. What was wrong with me? Was I just not meant to draw?
Around age 14, I was improving but stagnating. Hamilton animatics were all the rage, and I was watching in horror as people years younger than me were creating videos with 1.2 million views with the expertise only seen in late-career Michelangelo. I was burnt out. I was scared to tell people my age on this account, knowing that the relationship between my skillset and developmental stage wasn’t ‘right.’ A 14-year-old needs to know how to build the Earth from scratch, apparently.
It continued on, and I improved. The improvement wasn’t enough, and the attention was diminishing. I drew fanart for media I didn’t know, I spoke to people who wouldn’t give me the time of day—I sold my soul to an algorithmic devil, and all I got were 300 bot followers! It took a wake-up call, namely an accident that involved smashing my iPad on my tiled bathroom floor, to make me step away from the screen and just draw what I wanted. The improvement emerged quietly, subtly, but I was happier than ever without the constant comparison.
Now at 19, I can confidently say I don’t really care as much—if I draw, I draw—and you might get to see it. Art is so deeply personal, and so is individual progress, that nobody operates on a standardized scale for how well they can sketch the distance from the cranium to the clavicle. My advice—calm down! The fact that you’re having fun, or at least doing something new, will always be more important than the subjective ‘value’ of the work you produce.
Dorian & Holly – People, Pressure, Picasso! How the Freelance Commission Life Can Drain the Artistic Soul
I’ve got a blank space baby ~ and I’ll write your name….and my name, and your dog’s name, and draw a lil’ stick man jumping on a trampoline anything to fill this empty canvas….!
There is something to be said about the overwhelming pressure to make art just because someone is looming over you. The presence of others, as well as the cash in their pockets, can make art somewhat of a marionette act. Innervated in the arm is that pure aesthetic drive to make something beautiful, something full of feeling. And then that pencil cramped within your palm has the energy of something different—create, create what they want.
A lot of beginner artists, and even more experienced ones, try to make a breakthrough into the art world by offering commissions—usually underpriced masterpieces that allow the customer whatever they desire. A painting of a dragon, a stained-glass window depicting a fat uncle—whatever! However, the ferocious speed with which this demand is flung at creators, and the inherent patience needed for the artistic process, are at complete odds with each other.
If only making art were as easy as ordering a coffee: “Hi, yes, I’ll take one artwork, please.” Oh, how convenient! Let me just whip that up for you. No need for creativity here—just flash some cash, and I’ll paint you something that looks like art but feels like nothing. Cue painting noises.
And voila! Here’s your painting. It’s artsy, sure, but does it mean anything? Probably not. Might I suggest tucking it behind your couch for safekeeping?
Keeping up with the demands of others is difficult enough, and ensuring that meaning is laced throughout every brushstroke is even harder. And whether that meaning is even noticed, or appreciated, is another battle in itself. The real challenge, though, isn’t about bending to what society expects. It’s about wrestling with your own brain, trying to tap into your creativity on your own terms—not whenever your brain decides to play nice and let the ideas flow.
Well, That Was a Lot to Digest. So, What the Hell Do I Do?
A Sorry Statement from the Authors—We Aren’t Quite Sure!
However, if this piece has told you anything, it’s that artists should consider stepping away from external expectations and demands if it prevents them from feeling authentic or at least creatively free, and prioritize what you want to get out of being an artist.
Real art does, in fact, exist—but unless you’re in the right place at the right time, it is oftentimes discouraged, especially when it comes to paid projects. The patrons of the Renaissance are long gone, and big polluting computers happily sketch for free.
There is a psychological tightrope of compromise at play: Do I create authentically, or make money through inauthentic expression?
Well, what would you do?