Why AI Can't Kill True Art (But Will Destroy Mediocrity)
How the commodification of artistic production will create a premium market for documented human creativity
My YouTube algorithm has recently taken me down an unexpected rabbit hole. Between my usual educational technology videos and pedagogical discussions, I've found myself watching hours of content created by artists. These aren't tutorials on technique or showcases of their work, but rather detailed analyses of suspected AI-generated images masquerading as human art.
These videos feature artists meticulously pointing out telltale signs of AI generation: impossible anatomy, inconsistent lighting, way too many or not enough fingers, or that peculiar "bloomy" aesthetic that marks early AI models. The comment sections overflow with terms like “AI slop," expressing a disappointment and sometimes outright disgust at what many see as a fundamental deception.
This phenomenon connects to something I explored in a previous post, AI Slop is the New Kitsch, where I argued that we might witness a new art movement emerging from the AI slop metaphor. Just as kitsch transitioned from derided mass-produced sentimentality to an acknowledged aesthetic category worthy of critical examination, AI-generated imagery may follow a similar trajectory into mainstream art discourse. But what strikes me most about these recent controversies isn't just the aesthetic debate. It's how they reveal a fundamental shift in where we locate artistic value.
The Flashpoints: Dragon Con and Disney
Two recent controversies have brought this cultural tension into sharp focus. At Dragon Con 2025, what should have been a routine weekend in the Pop Artist Alley ended with police escorting a vendor from the premises. The incident wasn't about aesthetic preferences or artistic snobbery. It was about deliberate deception and the violation of explicitly stated community standards.
The vendor, operating under "Oriana Gerez Art," had secured their booth through what neighboring artists later described as a bait-and-switch. The portfolio submitted for jury review featured clearly human-made paintings with visible brushstrokes and the intentional imperfections that mark authentic hand-created work. Yet once the convention began, the booth displayed something different: prints on acrylic panels bearing the signatures of AI generation. That characteristic haziness, anatomical inconsistencies, and the notorious problem with hands that plagued earlier AI models were all present.
When confronted by convention organizers, the vendor's response deepened the deception. Rather than acknowledging their methods, they attempted to provide a "process video" as proof of human creation. This proof video was itself alegedly AI-generated, a fabricated time-lapse that only confirmed their bad faith. Convention staff created a human barrier around the booth while the vendors were made to pack their belongings under the watchful eyes of both security and Atlanta police. The empty booth later became a shrine of sorts, with other artists leaving offerings and a sign reading "VENDOR REMOVED FOR SELLING A.I. ART #ARTBYHUMANS."
The second controversy elevated the debate from convention floors to corporate boardrooms. James C. Mulligan, an established illustrator for Disney's Lorcana trading card game, faced public accusation at Anime NYC when a fan confronted him about suspected AI use in his artwork. The confrontation went viral when Mulligan allegedly refused to show the Procreate timelapse (a standard feature that automatically records an artist's process) and asked the accuser to leave his booth. Following an internal investigation, Ravensburger confirmed that Mulligan's work was "indeed AI," leading to his immediate blacklisting from all Disney projects.
What makes the Mulligan case particularly complex is the corporate inconsistency it exposed. While Ravensburger enforced a zero-tolerance policy for AI use in Lorcana, a brand built on the appeal of "hand-drawn by human artists," Disney itself has been repeatedly accused of using AI-generated imagery in promotional materials and park installations. This selective enforcement suggests that policies against AI art aren't rooted in consistent ethical frameworks but rather in brand management strategies, applied only where "human artistry" serves as a marketable differentiator.
The Economics of Deception
These incidents reveal a fundamental economic paradox at the heart of AI-generated art. Recent research from Columbia Business School demonstrates that consumers value pieces labeled "AI-generated" an average of 62% less than identical pieces labeled "human-made." This creates an inescapable bind: the very act of honest disclosure (the ethical imperative that the anti-AI movement champions) simultaneously erases most of the work's perceived monetary value.
The vendor at Dragon Con understood this paradox. Their deception wasn't born of artistic philosophy but economic necessity. In a marketplace that still values human creation, AI art is only commercially viable if it can pass as something it's not. This creates a self-defeating economic model where the technology's commercial potential is fundamentally tethered to fraud.
This phenomenon reflects what cultural theorist Walter Benjamin might have recognized as a crisis of "aura," that unique presence and authenticity that gives an artwork its power. In our digital age, where images can be generated in seconds and replicated infinitely, the aura no longer resides in the physical or even digital artifact. Instead, it has migrated to the verifiable process of creation. The timelapse video, the work-in-progress posts, the documented journey from concept to completion have become the new carriers of artistic authenticity and, consequently, economic value.
The Great Revaluation
What we're witnessing isn't simply a backlash against technology but a fundamental revaluation of where artistic worth resides. As AI commoditizes the final image, making the production of aesthetically sophisticated visuals trivially easy, the market is responding by shifting value away from the artifact and toward the process. This shift manifests in concrete ways: artists increasingly monetize not just their finished pieces but their creative journey through Patreon subscriptions, process videos, and livestreamed creation sessions.
Consider how the demand for "proof of work" has become central to these controversies. At Dragon Con, the faked process video became the final evidence of deception. In the Mulligan case, his refusal to show the Procreate timelapse sealed his fate. These aren't merely investigative tools but symbols of a new economy of verification, where the documented human journey carries more weight than the destination. I wrote about the emerging need to be able to always "proof your work" in more detail in a previous post.
This revaluation actually benefits serious artists whose value proposition has always been rooted in their unique vision, skill, and narrative. The technology primarily threatens what might be called "commodity art": functional, decorative, or purely commercial imagery where the final product matters more than its origin. For dedicated artists, AI serves as a clarifying force, compelling them to articulate and market what has always made their work valuable: their individual perspective, their hard-won skills, their human story.
The Accessibility Paradox
No discussion of AI art can avoid confronting its most sensitive dimension: the question of accessibility. For some individuals with disabilities, AI represents not a shortcut but a bridge, a technology that makes creative expression possible where it wasn't before. Lucas Orfanides, who lives with dysgraphia, describes AI art as providing a "sense of freedom to express myself in a way that wasn't possible before." After a lifetime of being unable to translate mental images onto paper, the ability to refine text prompts to achieve his vision represents genuine creative empowerment.
Yet many disabled artists argue that this narrative is often weaponized as what they call an "ableist meatshield," a convenient deflection from legitimate ethical concerns about copyright, labor, and deception. They point out that disabled artists have always created, from painters who hold brushes in their mouths to deaf composers. The suggestion that AI is the only path to creative expression for people with disabilities can feel patronizing and reductive.
The truth encompasses both realities. AI genuinely serves as a vital accessibility tool for some, while the accessibility argument is also frequently deployed in bad faith by those simply seeking to avoid the effort of developing traditional skills. Any honest framework must acknowledge this complexity without using disabled creators as rhetorical scapegoats in a larger cultural battle.
Toward a Framework for Coexistence
The evidence from these controversies points toward clear principles for navigating this new landscape. First and foremost is the mandate for transparency. The common thread in every AI artist drama isn't the use of AI but the deception surrounding it. Clear, proactive disclosure must become the foundational ethical principle, empowering consumers, curators, and collectors to make informed decisions based on accurate information about a work's origin.
Second, we need to recognize AI-generated images as a distinct medium rather than forcing them into direct competition with traditional art. This mirrors photography's historical trajectory. Initially dismissed as mere mechanical reproduction, it eventually gained recognition as its own legitimate art form with distinct standards and possibilities. Creating separate categories, exhibition spaces, and evaluation criteria for AI art would prevent unfair comparisons while allowing the medium to develop on its own terms.
The Democratization and Its Discontents
The proliferation of AI tools represents an unprecedented democratization of creative output. Anyone with internet access can now generate images that would have required years of technical training to produce manually. This is genuinely revolutionary as an assistive technology, opening creative expression to those who might have been excluded by physical limitations, economic barriers, or geographical constraints.
But democratization necessarily implies commodification. When everyone can create professional-looking images, such images cease to be professionally valuable. This isn't a tragedy; it's a market correction that reveals what was always true: the value of art lies not in technical execution alone but in human intention, emotion, and meaning-making. AI cannot replicate the story of struggle and triumph, the years of practice, the personal symbolism, or the intentional choices that emerge from lived experience.
This shift demands that artists redefine their relationship with their work. Rather than locating their worth in the final product (which can now be approximated by machines) they must embrace and articulate the irreplaceable value of their process. This isn't about romantic notions of suffering for art but about recognizing that in an age of infinite images, scarcity lies in authentic human experience and genuine creative journey.
I believe we're approaching a bifurcated market. There will always be demand for quick, functional, "good enough" imagery, and AI will dominate this space completely. But simultaneously, we're seeing the emergence of a premium market for verified human creation, a space where buyers pay not just for an image but for the documented story of its making, the proven skill of its creator, and the authentic human consciousness behind it. This market will likely grow as AI-generated content becomes ubiquitous, much as the slow food movement emerged partly in response to fast food's dominance.
The Real Threat
The controversies at Dragon Con and around Disney Lorcana aren't really about technology. They're about trust, authenticity, and the evolving meaning of human creativity. AI doesn't threaten "true artists" whose work has always been about more than technical proficiency. Instead, it threatens mediocrity: the kind of "good enough" commercial art that exists purely as decoration or filler. When such imagery can be produced at massive scale with minimal investment, its human-made equivalent loses its economic rationale.
This represents both loss and opportunity. The loss is real: many people who made livings producing competent but unremarkable commercial art will find their skills devalued. But the opportunity is equally real: artists who can articulate and demonstrate their unique human perspective, who can tell the story of their creative process, who can build communities around their journey rather than just their output, will find themselves more valuable than ever.
The resolution to our current conflict doesn't lie in futile attempts to ban AI or in uncritical embrace of its capabilities. Instead, it lies in recognizing that AI has catalyzed a fundamental shift in where artistic value resides. The artifact is becoming democratized and commodified, but the process (the human struggle, intention, and meaning-making) remains irreplaceable. Artists who understand this shift and adapt accordingly won't just survive the AI age; they'll find their humanity more valued than ever before.
In this sense, the YouTube videos I've been watching, those passionate dissections of suspected AI art, aren't just expressions of anger or fear. They're part of a collective process of redefinition, a community working in real-time to establish new boundaries and standards for human creativity. The heated debates, the viral controversies, even the terms like "AI slop" that pepper these discussions, all contribute to an essential cultural negotiation about what we value in art and why. As educators and creators, our task isn't to resist this change but to help shape it, ensuring that as we democratize the ability to create, we don't lose sight of why human creation matters in the first place.
The shift from valuing the artifact to valuing the process isn't just an economic necessity; it's an opportunity to reconnect with what makes human creativity meaningful. When anyone can generate a technically proficient image, the real differentiator becomes the why and the how, not just the what. This reorientation might actually lead us to a healthier relationship with art, one where we celebrate not just the final product but the human journey that brought it into being.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this shift from artifact to process. Have you experimented with documenting your creative journey? How are you navigating the tension between efficiency and authenticity in your own work or classroom? What strategies have you developed for helping students understand their value as creators in an age of AI generation? For those watching the same YouTube videos I've been consuming: what patterns are you noticing? Let's build this conversation together in the comments.
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P.S. I believe transparency builds the trust that AI detection systems fail to enforce. That's why I've published an ethics and AI disclosure statement, which outlines how I integrate AI tools into my intellectual work.
As the artist at the center of this, I appreciate your thoughts on it. Sadly, many things have been stated that are provably false. I was never blacklisted by Disney, Disney never said anything of the kind… nor Ravensburger, that my work was AI. It stems from a single person on a Reddit thread, making claims, where they made claims they worked for Lorcana. The claim was deleted almost immediately and her account was taken private. I am currently under contract with Disney on multiple projects. I have worked with Disney brands for 28 years and people can quite easily see my creative process in video as well as live painting in front of thousands at Disney World. The problem with false accusations these days, is that no one reaches out to the source to seek the truth. And also unfortunately, many of the accusations come from bad actors in the art community that have certain ulterior motives. AI in the Fine Art space is a very important discussion to have as I personally don’t believe it belongs. But I also think that a conversation needs to be had with an Artist before making a very blatant accusation, especially when it can easily be proven false (as this was).