Photo: Doli Photography

Every generation invents a new way to tell artists they aren't real artists. For mine, it was photography. Today, it's AI. The funny thing is, my story starts long before either argument.

As a kid, I was obsessed with stories. I thought I wanted to be an actor. I loved improv. I loved becoming someone else for a little while. But somewhere along the way I realized I wasn't just fascinated by the people on stage — I was fascinated by everything that made the performance happen.

At nine years old I was mailing away for film production guides so I could learn about every job on a movie set. Not just actors. Editors. Set designers. Costume departments. Lighting crews. I wanted to know how all the pieces came together to create something bigger than themselves.

I was accepted into a fine arts school. I didn't go. Instead I chose a respected acting school that quietly killed my dream of acting. Sometimes school gives you direction. Sometimes it convinces you you're headed the wrong way.

A few years later I enrolled in film school. I left convinced I'd end up in post-production. Video editing was fascinating. I loved the mechanics of storytelling. But it still wasn't quite it.

So, through a series of strange left turns that only make sense in hindsight, I became a photographer. Only... not the kind most people imagine.

Many photographers chase the perfect light. The perfect bird. The perfect expression. The perfect moment.

I found models who treated photo shoots like improv. We'd build sets. Hunt for wardrobe. Paint props. Invent characters. Create little worlds that had never existed until that morning. The camera wasn't the art. It was simply invited to the party.

After the shoot, I'd spend hours — sometimes days — bringing those worlds to life. I once spent four hours painting individual blades of grass into an image. Not because anyone would notice. Because I would. Then I'd hide tiny toys inside those blades of grass, hoping someone would stumble across them years later.

Was every piece successful? Absolutely not. But every piece was mine.

Years later I found myself working in an art store as a custom framer. One afternoon my manager, a traditional fine artist, loudly announced that photography wasn't "real art." According to him, cameras did the work. Photographers were fooling themselves.

I waited until he finished. Then I asked one question.

Because every object in those photographs had been chosen. Every person had been directed. Every costume had been found. Every prop had been placed. Every story had been imagined. And everything else had been painted by hand afterward. The camera didn't make those decisions. I did.

I eventually left that job. But I never forgot the conversation. Because here we are again. Now the conversation is about AI.

Here's where I land. AI is a tool. So is Photoshop. So is Illustrator. So is a camera. So is a paintbrush.

Photoshop already uses AI to do things that used to take me hours — or days. Sometimes I still do it the old way because the mistakes are interesting. Sometimes the long route teaches me something. Sometimes the unexpected accident becomes the best part of the piece. And sometimes... I let the tool help.

Using a camera never made me less of an artist. Using Photoshop didn't either. Neither does AI.

The hard part has never been pushing the button. The hard part is having something worth saying before you do. Ideas still have to come from somewhere. Taste still matters. Humor still matters. Story still matters.

No software has ever had the strange collection of experiences that became me. No software grew up loving improv. No software spent childhood memorizing movie credits instead of just watching the ending. No software spent four hours painting blades of grass because hidden details made it smile. Those choices are still mine.

If someone decides they don't want to use AI, I genuinely respect that. Every artist gets to choose their tools. What I don't accept is someone deciding that my tools determine whether I'm an artist. I've heard that argument before. It was wrong then. I think it's wrong now.

And for the record...
If you crochet a teddy bear from a pattern someone else wrote, cut off its head, shove a mason jar down its throat, call it a "cookie jar," and sell it on Etsy...
You don't get to tell me I'm not an artist.
Everyone knows those aren't cookies, Dolores.
Get over yourself.

Xoxo,
DOli