The rise of generative AI forces us to confront an uncomfortable question: what happens to the value of human-created art when machines can produce it faster, cheaper, and on demand? We’ve seen this pattern before. Digital photography democratized image-making, flooding the world with countless snapshots of varying quality. The same transformation now looms over every creative medium.
I believe we’re heading toward a world where anyone can generate professional-quality movies and television shows with nothing more than a casual prompt. “Make me a sci-fi thriller with strong female characters” becomes a command that produces a full-length feature in minutes, not months. But this is only the beginning of the disruption.
The next phase will be even more radical. We won’t even need to formulate our own prompts. Instead, we’ll turn to our AI companions—our personal Knowledge Navigators—and simply express a mood or preference. “I want something that will make me laugh but also think,” we might say, and within moments we’ll be watching a perfectly crafted piece of entertainment tailored to our exact psychological state and viewing history.
This raises profound questions about the survival of traditional entertainment industries. Hollywood as we know it—with its massive budgets, star systems, and distribution networks—may become as obsolete as the telegraph. Why wait months for a studio to greenlight and produce content when you can have exactly what you want, exactly when you want it?
Yet I wonder if this technological flood might create an unexpected refuge for human creativity. Perhaps the very ubiquity of AI-generated content will make authentically human-created art more precious, not less. We might see a renewed appreciation for the irreplaceable qualities of human performance, human storytelling, human presence.
This could drive a renaissance in live theater. While screens overflow with algorithmically perfect entertainment, Broadway and regional theaters might become sanctuaries for genuine human expression. Young performers might abandon their dreams of Hollywood stardom for the New York stage, where their humanity becomes their greatest asset rather than their liability.
The irony would be poetic: in an age of infinite digital entertainment, the most valuable experiences might be the ones that can only happen in real time, in real space, between real people. The future of art might not be found in our screens, but in our shared presence in darkened theaters, watching human beings tell human stories.
Whether this vision proves optimistic or naive remains to be seen. But one thing seems certain: we’re about to find out what human creativity is truly worth when machines can mimic everything except being human.
