A stoplight and the artistic process

+ what's missing in AI

I was planning to write this after I’d actually finished the painting, but after I saw emma 🐞⋆˚꩜’s post earlier I decided I might as well write it now before I lost track of my yellow notepad with the outline. And besides, I am out of one of the paint colors I need and I have several other projects going on, so it might be a while. You should absolutely read her post (and subscribe to Bramble House) if you haven’t, as it neatly lays out many aspects of what art is, how art relates to humanness, and why AI fails to become an artist—all supported with quotations. This short piece will, by contrast, be a journey through my internal process as I work on a the aforementioned painting.

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Sometimes an image, be it from real life or a photo, captivates me. It could be a complex natural element like the trunk of a tree;¹ other times, it can be a picture someone posts. Or, in the most recent case, a still shot from a TV show. More specifically, a freeze frame from part 6 of the Twin Peaks return, where a stoplight is shown swaying in the wind on a pitch black night. This is, coincidentally, the cover photo for this post.²

I can only offer guesses and half-complete truths as to why certain shots speak to me more than others.³ I won’t bore you with my theories here. What is more relevant is that—when I am lucky enough to notice such inspiring pictures—something flickers inside of me. A deep feeling in my soul beyond mere intellectual curiosity. A need to learn more about it through observation or recreation. And I keep it alive as if my life depended on it until I can eventually turn the spark into an all consuming fire of creation. At risk of this metaphor overstaying its welcome, the kindling is discovering the right medium and the logs are the skills I need to execute on the idea.

I will use this painting of the stoplight as a scaffolding for the rest of this piece. As I work on a project like this, I find myself asking many questions. “What are the core shapes?” “How is the light reflecting?” “What mediums should I try”

Despite the relative simplicity of the image, I’ve already spent multiple hours zooming in on the image to look at subtle shifts in value and determining where and how much of two colors could bleed into each other to generate the desired boundaries. I’ve created many sketches of the core shapes, most of which were woefully inaccurate or disproportionate.

But I love having a project like this to mull over in the shower, on the way to my office, or as I lay down in my bed. And occasionally I’m frustrated that I cannot get a shape right, or that I am unable to properly mix the colors. And then as soon as I step away I’m almost magically grateful those problems.

I can become obsessive over details. I’m a chronically unsatisfied perfectionist in many areas (hopefully at this point I can reasonably add ‘recovering’ as an additional adjective modifying perfectionist). Art projects force me to confront both the limitations of a medium and my own lack of talent. No matter how much I think, I am limited by the confines of a brush stroke, and the result of that stroke is contingent upon the precision of motion of my arm, my ability to accurately translate the image in my mind or on a sheet of paper into the correct motion, and the physical properties of the paint and canvas. Will I become infuriated with inaccuracies? Certainly. Will I be forced to accept imperfection? Definitely. Will I improve with each attempt? Absolutely. But will my ever-growing ability to notice shape, value, and color⁴ give me a deeper appreciation for the intricacies of objects, light, and nature. Without a doubt.

As of now, I’ve only completed some basic studies and sketches of the shapes that I will eventually translate onto the canvas. When I have finished the project I will of course feel a sense of accomplishment. I might even hang it up if I feel it fits well in a spot on my wall. If I’m lucky someone might comment on it. But what is more important to me is that, with each step, I fall more and more in love with the image and the art making process. Perhaps above all, I train myself to see more details in the world around me. And, similarly, to notice the intricacies—both physical and emotional—of the people in my life. I find myself spending more time staring at a leaf on a tree or a shell on the beach, completely awestruck by the incredible number of details each object contains. The people I love become ever more beautiful. I drift off to sleep envisioning shapes or colors in higher fidelity. My gratitude to be in a world full of such beautiful creation deepens.

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What does this have to do with AI? (That was in the subtitle after all). I ask you, could a machine experience all of that? And more importantly, would you if you asked a chatbot to generate a picture of a red stoplight? Would you lose your ability to notice when your heart nudges you to take special notice of something?

Click for the note and article

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Thank you for reading as always <3

1. Dawn redwood trunks are some of my absolute favorites in my city, but of course the weeping willow trees have my whole heart

2. Sorry for the bad crop rip

3. To be clear this is NOT the only Twin Peaks frame I would like to recreate. f I ever become skilled enough, I hope to create a high fidelity charcoal version of shots of the convenience store.

4. yeah yeah yeah hue chroma etc.