March 2026 - Art & Words

Working with Generative AI

Last year I finally replaced my old hand-me-down laptop with a brand-new, modest but still exciting, Lenovo Yoga. I bought this mostly for work, but also to have as my everyday machine. I expected to do a lot with it. One thing I hadn’t really foreseen but maybe should have, was how I would start working with generative AI.

“Learn AI!”

Everyone hears, every day it seems, that we need to learn to incorporate AI into our everyday lives and work. That those with expertise in AI have better prospects for future success. I personally had been more than reluctant to dive into AI. I’d been skeptical of its usefulness or its value, and I’d been doubtful of our real need for it. In addition, I felt it would only be a negative, especially for those of us who create for our livelihoods. Hearing that AI could write articles, blog posts, even books, filled me with a certain amount of dread. It was also irritating to me. This seemed largely out of our control; it would happen whether we liked it or not. My concern of course extended to other creatives in the visual arts or design communities, as well as to society as a whole.

Creating my own images

So when I got started with my new laptop, the last thing on my mind was engaging with its AI features. Well, that changed. I was working on one of my blogs, struggling with ideas for illustrating a few articles. For as long as I have been doing this – blogging (which was originally called online journaling, when I first got started at it) – I have created the vast majority of my own images. Occasionally, I will include photos, maps, or other images that are more meaningful for a particular article than anything I would design myself. But, in most cases, I have done my own art and graphics for my sites. Even when I was a columnist for a print magazine, I designed the graphics for my column and provided the images each issue.

Jumping in with Copilot

I decided to play around a little with Copilot, which was included in my new laptop. When I write an article I often have a fairly solid idea of how I’d like to illustrate it. My imagination typically comes up with several ideas, and from there, I kind of just start working on it. If it requires a new photo, I consider where I can go – if I need to be in a certain kind of place or environment. Or I consider what items I have on hand that might serve as effective “props.” As an aside, I like that this somewhat follows in my father’s footsteps to a degree, since for years in the 1960s and 70s he was a display artist for large department stores. Putting together props or items for an illustrative photograph has its definite similarities to designing and creating a storefront display.

Writing my first prompts

With Copilot I thought of these articles and what needed to be illustrated, what kind of illustration could add to the writing, could reflect the meaning of the writing; something that would perhaps not only draw people in or grab their attention, but also anchor their attention, so to speak. An illustration helps to get across and cement the meaning of the writing.

I was new to this, so I just wrote rather detailed prompts of exactly what I was looking for. And, I was quite surprised. The resulting images obviously weren’t what I would have drawn by hand (besides, my drawing skills do not go that far for illustration purposes), and if I’d tried to put together photos, it would have been nearly impossible. Since my AI-generated images included people, photos would have required far more than I have the capability of doing – setting up a location or studio, hiring models, supplying costumes, etc. I was, therefore, somewhat pleased with the AI-generated results, and they worked well with the articles.

I was also quite surprised. Not just with the results themselves, but with my satisfaction with them. I do tend to be fairly open-minded, which for me, includes being open to change, open to considering other opinions or viewpoints, open to trying new things – including those things I have previously dismissed. But I hadn’t expected to have a positive feeling from having played around with generative AI. Paradigm shift, for sure.

Illustrating memories

Deciding to play around a bit with Copilot, I thought, what if I could generate some images that illustrated moments of my childhood – childhood memories? These of course would not be actual memories (haha), but what would they look like? Would they provide any sense of genuine nostalgia for me? Would they effectively illustrate memories I had that I might share with others? I have a strong imagination and tend to visualize things fairly easily, but that’s not true for everyone. We each are different kinds of “thinkers,” so I don’t see it as a shortcoming if someone has a harder time picturing something.

A day at the beach

*A girl on the beach, with a starfish*. You can see where the AI messed up, if you look at the points of the starfish! they look a bit more like pretzel sticks 😉

I thought of a few memories from my childhood. These were not specific events or occasions, rather, these were simple, somewhat generic moments in time. I first chose the kind of moment I would have had at my favorite beach growing up. My family went there often. The beach was about two hours from where we lived. We’d often go out for a long afternoon, enjoying the quiet, the solitude, the beauty, and the peace.

In my prompt, I described a little girl (representing me, obviously), how she looked, how she was dressed, her emotions at the time, and what she was doing. In this memory, I was holding a small starfish I’d found in the sand. I was quite happy, as well as fascinated in that childlike way, by the little creature. In minutes, Copilot offered an image. I had to laugh, because it was mostly quite accurate (look closely at the picture to see where it really failed). Again, it was not me in the picture. It was not the actual memory, and it was not an actual picture from that time (all obvious), but it got across my experience of such a moment. If I showed someone else I wouldn’t say, “oh, here I am at the beach when I found a starfish in the sand!” but I could say, “this is a lot like what I used to do at the beach when I was a kid,” knowing that the beach actually looked a lot like the one I had gone to, because of the details in my prompt.

On the railroad tracks

*The main issue with this one was how close the houses and factory buildings were to the tracks*. But that was likely due more to my prompts not specifying distance

I did another, fast-forwarding some years to myself as a teen, in a much different place. This was my home, my “backyard,” and I walked alone at dusk, lost in thought, and with a degree of sadness. Again AI took my description and very closely showed me what could have been a snapshot of me at a certain age, in that familiar place that had been home. If I wanted to share a story about spending hours at night walking along the train tracks behind my apartment, I could use this (or a similarly AI-generated image) to illustrate my story. Despite the issue of the buildings being a little closer to the tracks than they really are, this image does a very good job at showing the kind of place I lived through much of my childhood.

Is it creativity?

I wouldn’t want AI to replace any true artistic endeavor. I don’t think of these images as having been my “art;” they were made to my orders, so to speak. These were not drawn or painted by me, by my hand. However, one thing that really surprised me and stood out to me, was how creative it had actually felt. There is creativity in vision, in envisioning itself. When I stand at an easel with a stick of charcoal, I don’t envision anything ahead of time. If there is a model, or an item I am drawing from still life, I suppose that is the vision – the vision is in how I am seeing what is in front of me. I don’t see a finished piece of art when I’m drawing. I let it come through me. In working with AI, maybe sitting with the chat box and creating the prompt is like standing at the easel. I’ve formed a vision of what I’d like to see, written a detailed prompt, and AI has matched it as well as it has been programmed to.

Obviously, these AI-generated images lack the soul of real art. They lack a certain depth or complexity. Many AI-generated images have a certain recognizable kind of lighting; they are a bit unnuanced. They will not evoke the way a great painting might. But they might still communicate a feeling or a mood, which in some cases is enough. For the purposes of illustrating certain articles, I have found them useful and helpful. For such purposes, I am not going for fine art.

A quick glance

I think we know that unfortunately, the average attention span has shortened greatly (are you still reading? wow, thank you!). If the average reader is just skimming an article or post, looking for a TLDR, how much attention are they paying to the accompanying artwork then? With this in mind, I have accepted the idea of generative AI for such needs. At least for now…

Our choices when working with generative AI

AI is still super new to me. I have still only played with it a little bit, and I do not use it for writing, even to clean up or edit. I won’t even use it in replying to texts or emails. And I have only ever used it a few times for illustrating articles (and always note when I have). Each of us, even if we accept AI into our everyday lives, will have our own areas where we will refuse to engage with it. But I am very curious about where we are headed with AI, and its place in our creative lives.

Thanks for reading. And as always, feel free to reach out with any questions or comments, or just to say hi.

~ Nellie

Images: main image created with my prompts for a wedding in the woods, inspired by my Polish heritage; others inspired by personal memories. Created using Microsoft Copilot and Photoshop.

Still in There

Personal

I was watching the Ted Danson show, A Man on the Inside, on Netflix the other day. My husband and I have only just started watching this. It was something I was interested in but was unsure I felt ready to watch until recently. I didn’t know if it would be slightly triggering. I knew this first season took place in a retirement home, and I thought it might focus too heavily on the Alzheimer’s and dementia experience, for me. Seeing what my dad went through with dementia was one of the hardest things I have ever gone through. I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy the show, or if I’d simply be rubbing salt in a still open wound.

We took a chance with it about a week ago. It’s been three years since my dad died, and though I miss him terribly and will always be grieving in a way, I don’t still struggle with the more intense aspects of the grieving process. The show is pretty great; we have both enjoyed it a lot. Although it takes place in a retirement home, that’s what it is – a retirement home, not a nursing home. The residents are far more mobile than the residents had been where my dad was, which was a nursing and rehab facility. They come and go as they please, and live in suites, not constantly attended to by nurses or nurses’ aides. It is a different environment with just a few similarities.

Memory care

It wasn’t until the last episode we watched that the show pointedly focused on memory issues, or “memory care.” There is a memory care unit in the facility, called “The Neighborhood.” In my dad’s facility, there was an Alzheimer’s unit too. Despite his ever-worsening dementia, he was never moved into it.

Becoming the forgotten

In this last episode, the increase in cognitive decline of one of the residents is discussed. Also discussed is the fact that she has begun to lose her friends because of it. They have simply stopped coming to see her. This struck me immediately, since I saw this firsthand. Not just with my dad, but with other residents in his facility. It is almost a blocking out, a removal, a brushing aside, and ultimately (ironically) a forgetting.

People become uncomfortable with seeing their friends and loved ones seemingly disappear before their eyes. I know the pain of this. I first saw it with my husband’s grandmother, who I met when her Alzheimer’s was already well advanced. Everyone in the family told me how different she had become. She was almost an entirely different person than the woman she had been. Because I hadn’t known her previously, I just became close to the person she had become, but I saw the pain etched on my father-in-law’s face, and the discomfort others had in being around her.

The list goes on

Others in my family and among family friends, also went through Alzheimer’s, and a beloved great-aunt of mine had dementia. I hadn’t seen her for several months, and when I next came to visit I had been warned of the changes. I was not prepared. Nothing can really prepare you, can it? I had to hold back tears, and visit with her as if I wasn’t heartbroken seeing what had happened to her, and to her vivacious, witty, and warm personality.

My grandmother also went through Alzheimer’s. It was the first time I actually felt a huge punch in the gut by the experience. She, like my husband’s grandmother, became an almost different person. She also had immense memory loss, and forgot who all of us were. We would visit just as kind strangers. My grandmother had been a very strong, very independent, and very smart woman. In Alzheimer’s she barely spoke, and there was always a look of fear to her.

Unfortunately, this listing of my loved ones who’ve gone through these illnesses and conditions could be far longer. I think at this point we all have had at least one or two people in our lives who have gone through it. If not, then we probably know others who have gone through the grief of losing someone to a memory disease.

Erasure

I have talked about being with my dad through his progression of dementia here on this blog. I don’t need or want to focus on how that looks or feels. Instead, I just want to talk about this removal of the Alzheimer’s or dementia patient from people’s lives, from their everyday, from their own memory.

Early in my dad’s diagnosis and for a short while after he moved into a nursing home, he regularly received visits from his friends. He had had many friends. My dad was fairly well-known in town. He had worked in local media, had worked with local leaders, had lived there virtually his whole life. My dad had also dedicated many years’ work to the town’s revitalization, as well as to running enriching community programs. He also never forgot his friends. When a very close friend of his was diagnosed with early dementia, my dad didn’t let discomfort or sadness govern his actions. Instead, he visited frequently and assisted in his care. It was not shocking but it was upsetting to me, that so many of his own friends then seemed to simply forget he still existed.

Angels

When he first went into the home, he received visits from friends every week. By the time he had passed away, it was down to us – his immediate family – his significant other and occasionally her children, one close friend, and a few cousins once in a while. Old friends would occasionally call, and they would sing and laugh together. Very occasionally, he would receive a visit from out of the blue, from someone he hadn’t seen in years.

As his daughter, this was of such significance to me. Those people who stayed in touch, who remembered him, who still had love and warmth for him, were like angels in my mind.

Not the same kind of remembering

Why don’t people visit? Is it just to avoid the pain of it? Or maybe they’re embarrassed, to see someone who had been so capable, become utterly reliant on others. Perhaps they think the person with Alzheimer’s or dementia simply no longer thinks, or understands, or feels. Certainly, they do not remember in the same way, but this varies. I learned with my dad that he remembered much. It was spotty, and he had his “good days and bad days.” But, he never forgot who we were. He might forget where he was or why he was there, but he always knew us.

Also, although he forgot specific occasions, there was a remembering still tied to those times. For example, he no longer had any memory of taking me to a Van Gogh exhibit at the Met when I was a teenager. But as we flipped through the exhibit program together one day, his eyes lit up, and some part of him remembered. He had sung in the opera Aida with the Connecticut Opera, in the 1980s. It was another highlight of my childhood. During one visit with the whole family, we played Aida from Met Opera on Demand on a laptop. He watched, enrapt, and he sang the songs, from some kind of memory. As he sang, he taught some of the words to my daughter, his granddaughter. He did not remember having actually performed these songs on stage, but he still recognized the opera, and still knew the songs.

These things may not be the same kind of memory, but they still show a deep survival of something, inside. The specific memory doesn’t have to exist the same way it had before, for it to demonstrate that they, our loved ones, are still there. My dad had lost much of his memory. Some of his behavior had changed. He suffered new feelings, new emotions, new internal struggles, but he was still there.

If wishes were horses…

This is what I wish people understood. I wish people would not turn away from the person with Alzheimer’s, dementia, or other cognitive condition. That they would not put them out of their own mind, turning them into just one of their own memories (that they may think they will have forever). I wish they would continue to visit or at least call or send a card. I wish they would continue to come be with their old friends, even if those old friends look at them with confused eyes, can no longer laugh along with shared memories, or might not even speak aloud.

It’s childish, I know, to say “I wish…” But I have heard it from others as well, others who have also gone through this process with their mom or dad, or their grandparent, or sometimes, their partner. It is another part of grieving, this watching as people stop visiting or reaching out.

One of the lucky ones?

I was actually fairly fortunate. Our family had quite a few years after my dad’s dementia diagnosis, and although visits from his old friends waned, he continued making new friends in the place where he lived. Even through covid the facility encouraged socializing, as much as was deemed safe. My dad was spared the devastating isolation that I know many others endure. He had us, his closest loved ones, as well as his new friends, and the dedicated family of the home he lived in.

A larger family

I’ll end on that positive note. The facility that cared for my dad was highly rated, and people there were dedicated to their residents. It became another, larger family. All of us – the residents and their families; the people running the facility; the staff, from doctor to nurse to rec director to housekeeper to cook; we were all part of this family. I think that kept many of us going. Each of those people saw our loved ones as people. They treated them as people. They hadn’t, in most cases, known our loved ones before they were stricken with their conditions, so they got to know them by who they had become. And that was okay. They treated them with respect and with love. They knew they were still people, that they were still in there. That’s all I’m really hoping for, and it was that sentiment that was reflected in the episode of the show. There is still someone in there, and they should not be forgotten.

Thanks for reading, and as always, please feel free to reach out with comments or just to say hi.

~ Nellie

image: my dad took the photo above, of a sunset at Hammonasset Beach in Madison, CT

Thank you for supporting the site by shopping through my carefully selected ads and affiliate links.