The Ethics of AI Image Creation: A Thoughtful Reflection on Loss and Authenticity
AI is everywhere now – in our phones, our computers, our lives. It’s easy to get caught up in the hype of what AI can do, from creating art to composing music to designing websites. But when it comes to using AI for creating images of something as personal and intimate as a passed pet, I find myself grappling with some uncomfortable truths.
What Happens When You Upload Your Photos?
Every time you upload an image to an AI generator, it’s no longer just yours. Your image data is processed, sometimes stored, and can even be used to train future algorithms. This means your images may end up in places you didn’t intend, with the potential for misuse or loss of control. While some platforms claim to delete your data after it’s processed, there’s no way to fully guarantee that your photos won’t be used for purposes you never agreed to.
In a way, uploading a photo of your beloved pet (or even your favourite animal) to an AI service to generate a portrait of them feels a little like letting go of a piece of them. What happens to the intimacy of that photo when it’s fed into a system that treats it as a data point, not a memory?
AI and the Loss of Authenticity
I feel deeply mixed about the growing use of AI in creating images, especially for something as profoundly human as commemorating the life of a passed pet. The power AI has to generate art in seconds can seem like a miracle, but there’s something hollow in that speed. It’s a shortcut that bypasses the slow, painstaking process of real human connection with a subject. When I draw an animal, I’m not just creating an image—I’m connecting with that animal. Whether it’s the nuances of their expression or the quietness of the bond you share, that connection matters. It causes art, one of the most authentic things we as a species, to lose exactly that.
But AI doesn't feel that. It doesn't see your pet. It doesn't mourn them or celebrate their uniqueness. It just mimics patterns. It can take your photo and regurgitate an image, but the soul of the animal, the personality, the presence you want to remember—they get lost in translation.
The Ethical Dilemma
AI can generate endless portraits, and in some ways, that’s wonderful. It makes art more accessible. But is it really art if the feeling behind it is lost? Does creating an image of your pet through AI dilute the significance of the real thing, the act of witnessing and carefully observing them?
For me, the answer is a clear yes. Art is the most authentic thing we can do as humans. It’s a language of feeling, of presence, of connection. When AI steps in, it risks turning that authenticity into something mechanical, detached, and easily reproducible. A generic image of a beloved pet is not the same as one that’s hand-crafted with the time and intention of a person who has spent hours reflecting on the character, the habits, the love you’ve shared.
That’s where my ethical discomfort lies: in using AI to replicate something so personal, I worry we begin to devalue the true meaning of art itself.
Why I Still Choose to Create With My Own Hands
I’ve always believed that art should carry weight. Whether it’s the pencil strokes on paper or the brush marks on canvas, every line should be a decision, every tone a reflection of my connection to the subject. For me, AI art doesn’t carry that weight. It’s too efficient, too perfect. It doesn’t stumble or hesitate—it doesn’t learn through failure or grow from effort. And, frankly, it can’t carry the emotional depth that comes from real, human-created art.
That’s why I choose to keep things hand-drawn. When you commission a portrait from me, it’s not just about getting a likeness. It’s about getting an image that is a reflection of your pet or animal, one that speaks of their spirit, their place in your life. It’s about honoring their uniqueness with a human touch, not a pre-programmed algorithm.
AI has its place in the world. But when it comes to something as personal as preserving the memory of a loved pet, it risks stripping away what makes art, and life, real.
So, while I understand the appeal of AI in the creative world, I will always prefer the slow, deliberate process of creating by hand—because in that process, something irreplaceable is created: authenticity.
