A dear friend of mine teaches a high school graphic design class. Upon returning to her classroom, she’s been thinking critically about the future of the arts, and the importance of her class in a world where human-made media is becoming inefficient, imitable, and obsolete. 

Last year, she found that her students were really challenged when tasked with describing, in their own words, the art they had made or were observing. She quickly realized that this struggle was about more than a lack of interest or of writing skills, but a lack in the skill of expression. AI has amplified the issue, allowing students to rely on generated answers when writing papers or analyzing educational media. Her response? Bringing pen to paper, and teaching her students to explore creatively without the screens. It may not be as immediate as AI, but she believes there’s merit in taking the long way. She plans on nurturing individual thought and creation. 

AI comes up in folk school classes, too. We talk about its ability to support craftspeople that are running a small business independently, and how helpful it can be when learning a new skill. We also talk about how much water data centers use to run, and how important it is to continue to be mindful and informed when we seek information online. Sometimes it feels silly to talk about AI while weaving tension trays or dipping fabric into an indigo dye bath. There we are, in that very moment, doing something real and tangible as we ponder the existence of artificial intelligence. 

One of the perceived benefits of AI is its immediacy. It saves time, and in a culture where time is money, of course this would be valuable. Through efficient use of time, we are able to do more and to be more successful, but in the wise words of David Orr, “the plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind.” These roles make us human, cannot be replicated artificially, and take time. 

Making, writing, thinking, and researching without AI is one pathway that nurtures our humanness. It may not be as efficient to ask a real person for help, to show us a skill, or to talk through an email draft, but it will add connection to our lives. It will promote understanding and empathy. The easy way isn’t always better. 

In folk craft, we often don’t have the choice. Take, for example, basket weaving. Woven baskets cannot be made by machines. I learned this alongside other folk school students in Michael’s Tension Tray Weaving class a few weekends ago. This means that every easter basket, or basket in the thrift store was made by hand. To create a woven item, one must find themselves in touch with their materials, entering into a flow of over…under…over…under. Baskets should be honored and valued for the effort and time put into them. 

It’s tough to insist on taking the long way when we’ve been programmed for immediacy, and when so many shortcuts exist. Just yesterday I found myself drawn to a worn patch of grass between sidewalks, omitting the section around the corner. How much do these shortcuts really save us? And how much do they cost us? 

When it comes to things like writing and handcraft, perhaps it’s very clear that the easy way doesn’t always produce the best results. More so, we lose the process of trying, failing, learning, and connecting to one another while we do it. 

This fall, whether you’re heading back into a classroom or not, take a look at the ways that expression and learning are happening organically around us. You may be delighted to find that AI cannot replace the wisdom of a loved one, or the knowledge of a seasoned maker. Listen to what others have to share, invite creativity in, and maybe even choose to take the long way home.