Scribble – March Edition

Recently, OpenAI released an updated image generator, and one of the big showcases was its ability to create images in the style of Studio Ghibli. Social media went wild. Suddenly every post, every meme, every image on my timeline was Ghibli-fied. The frightening part wasn’t just how good they looked—it was how quickly it felt like the original works lost its value.

What’s always pulled me towards Miyazaki’s work is the purity and simplicity of the worlds—as well as the astonishing dedication to the art form. I feel enormous respect for people who create and spend so much time, energy, and care on their work. That kind of deep focus, that devotion to building something meaningful, feels like one of the most human things we can do. Every frame of a Ghibli film is thoughtful, deliberate. You could pause it anywhere and hang it on a wall.

Running something through this AI “Ghibli filter,” even though it’s technically impressive, feels like the opposite of what Ghibli represents—hollow and soulless. And while the end result might look similar at a glance, there’s something off. It lacks the intention, the quiet care, the humanity.

A lot of this stems from fear—partly from my own insecurity. I’ve spent my life learning, refining, struggling—building a creative skillset from the ground up. It’s hard not to feel like all that effort is being undermined when a few typed words and get something “good enough.” It’s not even the output itself that bothers me—it’s how quickly and casually the work is cheapened.

But the worry extends beyond my own craft. Why pay a human to do what AI can now achieve in a fraction of the time? And with the output already so polished straight out of the box, how are people just beginning their education or careers supposed to train, to improve, to build confidence—if the stepping stones of real, paid projects are no longer there? What kind of culture are we creating if art becomes nothing more than free, lazy, instant content we drag our ideas through?

People defending AI art will say it’s all about taste and direction—that the idea is what really matters, not the execution. Which feels like a convenient way to dismiss the value of actually doing the work; of putting effort, time, care and yourself into making something that lasts. Disregarding the craft is disrespecting the work. I’m not against AI, as part of the process. Used well, it can be an insanely useful tool. However, there’s a difference between collaborating with a tool and letting it do the work for you. Especially when it’s used to mimic artists who’ve spent lifetimes mastering their craft.

I am hopeful that this is just a phase, that we as people will naturally progress past this generated slop and yearn for truth and substance.

Things made for humans, by humans.

Upwards and onwards,
Will