Visual Arts, Creativity and Gen AI

When it comes to AI, everyone has a crystal ball. So do I. Today, I asked mine to tell me what the future holds for all visual imagery being created by the likes of Midjourney, Stable Diffusion, and their cousins in the world of AI.

It thought long and hard—and this is what it said:

Generative AI will emerge as an independent art form, like painting, photography, digital painting, and visual effects. It will draw inspiration from these existing disciplines but mimic none of them.

Knowing well my penchant for a reasoned answer rather than mere soothsaying, it went on:

Let’s examine some traditional and current visual creation mediums along multiple dimensions and see where AI art fits on them.

Abstraction vs Realism Axis: A Picasso cubist painting is his imagination on canvas, with only a passing reference to the human form it depicts. Contrast this with Steve McCurry’s photograph of the Afghan Girl or Jeff Widener’s photo of the Chinese man standing during the 1989 Tiananmen Square uprising—they are as real as it gets. A painter lives in the abstract while a photographer creates very close to the physical world. Perhaps a VFX artist operates somewhere in between, often moving back and forth along this axis. What about AI art? While future advancements may blur these distinctions, at current levels of technology, AI art is easily distinguishable from a photograph. But this does not reduce its aesthetic appeal. As time goes by, AI artists will likely embrace the unique characteristics of their medium rather than be embarrassed by them, positioning their creations at points along this axis away from the extremes of total abstraction and physical realism.

Degree of Control and Flexibility in the Creative Process: A painter has maximum control, manipulating every brushstroke and colour as desired. A digital artist has a vast, yet finite, array of controls embedded in software menus. A photographer works with the few controls offered by the camera. When it comes to Generative AI, the artists have the least control. Even with rigorous prompt management, they must accept how the model interprets their textual or voice commands.

Human Instruments of Creation: Painters convey their ideas using their hands. Photographers use their eyes, looking through the camera lens. AI artists only need to type or talk. These different human mechanisms used in the creative process suggest that the art forms will also be inherently different, each with its own evolutionary cycle. The simplicity of AI art creation may invite a broader range of people to explore and contribute to this new medium.

Iteration and Reproducibility: Most painters create iteratively, starting with basic sketches and refining them until they are satisfied. They can redo parts of their creation if needed. However, even an accomplished painter would find it difficult to reproduce their own work. A photographer captures images instantly and can quickly decide if a retake is necessary, though their ability to make selective corrections is limited. AI artists, akin to painters, require iterations, but like photographers, their output is available for immediate evaluation. Their ability to correct parts of the creation falls between that of a painter and a photographer. Additionally, AI artists can never be certain that reproducing their work will yield identical results.

At this point, I wanted to get into the topic of copyrights but the crystal ball ran out of battery life. I will ask it more after I have recharged it.

But you get the drift. We have a new art form being created as we speak albeit with some ifs and buts.

The Thursday Murder Club Mystery - Richard Osman. A review

Imagine, if you will, a book where Wodehouse's humour ambles hand in hand with the intrigue of an Agatha Christie novel. Enter the realm of "The Thursday Murder Club Mystery", the inaugural instalment in a series of novels by Richard Osman, an English TV presenter and comedian turned novelist.

Set in the tranquil retirement village of Coopers Chase, deep in rural England, the novel centres on four septuagenarian residents—Elizabeth, Joyce, Ibrahim, and Ron—who assemble every Thursday to immerse themselves, just as a pastime, in the delightful business of piecing together murders that lie buried in police files. Hence the name "Thursday Murder Club".  It's as though the spirited children from Enid Blyton's mystery series (remember Fatty, Larry, Bets et al.?) have journeyed through a time warp and are now confronting the perils of old age with unchanged enthusiasm for crimes in their backyards.

The setting of this secluded village in the verdant English countryside, nestled against a chapel, a forest, and a graveyard atop a gentle hill, appears idyllic—a full-service terminus for life's natural conclusion, and as we soon discover, for some premature endings as well.

The residents of Coopers Chase, each bearing a backstory as rich as the next, are united by their stage in life as well as a shared determination to protect their haven from disturbance. The humour here is dry enough to necessitate a refreshing sip, but refrain from overindulging, for the plot thickens at a brisk pace, with new characters frequently entering the fray (and some readers may justifiably bemoan their abundance)—you'll want to stay clear-headed to keep track of the comings and goings.

Our spirited club, under the leadership of Elizabeth, starts connecting the maze of dots, with a dexterity that belies their years, earning the reluctant friendship and admiration of the local police duo, Donna and Chris. Osman unfolds each revelation with the flair of a conjurer revealing rabbits from a hat—if, that is, the rabbits were red herrings and the hat the list of suspects, young and old.

This is a story that elegantly bridges the cosy and the clever, the light and the poignant, in a uniquely lovable and funny way. It's a tale that recognises life's value at every stage, suggesting that the purest joy comes from shared laughter amongst friends, ideally nestled in a comfortable chair, with a tantalising murder mystery to unravel before bedtime.

If you are looking for something to read that is light and yet engaging, put this one on your shortlist.

I have the next three adventures of the Thursday Murder Club quartet, waiting on my bookshelf, but before them, I must get back to reading yet another non-fiction book, which I had paused a few months back—"The Pashtuns: A Contested History" by Tilak Devasher.

“Anger Management” by Ajay Bisaria - Former High Commissioner of India to Pakistan - Book Review

The enduring hostility between India and Pakistan, initiated by the partition in 1947 followed by traumatic violence, and marked by four conventional wars, the bifurcation of Pakistan, proxy sub conventional wars in Kashmir and Punjab, nuclear tests, acts of terrorism, and surgical strikes, has become a seemingly permanent fixture in South Asian geopolitics. The relationship has oscillated between cautious optimism and intense hostility, yet it has consistently deteriorated over the decades. Despite the long history of these two nations, a lasting resolution seems as elusive as it was at the outset in 1947.

To an outsider, the protracted India-Pakistan diplomatic stalemate may seem intractable, a perpetual case study in failed diplomacy. For those less invested, it's a narrative to bypass in favour of more hopeful news. However, for the 25 Indian High Commissioners to Pakistan, even in the most trying times detachment has not been an option. These diplomatic stalwarts have been at the coalface of Indo-Pak relations.

Bisaria’s recently published book "Anger Management" offers an insider's perspective, chronicling the endeavours and intricacies of diplomatic engagement with Pakistan. The author himself was the Indian HC to Pakistan from 2017-2020.

One might wonder if Bisaria’s narrative can shed new light on a subject already thoroughly dissected in public discourse. The answer is a resounding yes. Bisaria successfully brings to the fore elements that merit re-examination in light of shifting political and economic landscapes within both nations and the changing dynamics of regional and global politics.

The book delves into India's policy-making decisions, underscoring a general consensus on the nature of the issues at hand but highlighting the divergent approaches recommended by various interlocutors, influenced by their unique experiences and beliefs. The proposed strategies have spanned a wide spectrum—from the early, somewhat naïve suggestion by India’s first High Commissioner, Sri Prakasa, to consider ceding Kashmir to Pakistan (he was promptly pulled up by Nehru for this), to the more aggressive stance advocated by HC Satish Chandra, which included imposing punitive measures against Pakistan, such as passing a resolution in Parliament declaring Pakistan as a Terrorist State. Some others have prescribed actions which could be labelled more centrist or nuanced. Bisaria himself advocates for a “structured dialogue”, a sustained engagement with the Pakistani army, combined with "a disproportionately strong active defence" against any terrorist action emanating from Pakistani soil.

Bisaria navigates through the differing stances of various Indian Prime Ministers, particularly Nehru, Narasimha Rao, Vajpayee, and Modi. Each leader's approach was shaped by past events, their individual assessments, and the specific geopolitical context of their tenures. The approaches from the Pakistani leaders, while being centred around the primacy of Kashmir issue were also dictated by their fluctuating and often unstable hold on political power internally. The self interests of US and China in the region have directly and indirectly influenced the course of events, particularly on the Pakistani side.

After detailing the chronology of diplomatic ties, Bisaria presents the nuanced lessons history has imparted, albeit often ambiguously.

The book explores the breadth of engagement strategies debated by analysts, ranging from security, trade and economics, people-to-people ties, the sanctity of the Line of Control (LOC), and the risks of crossing the nuclear threshold.

A lesser-appreciated yet significant aspect highlighted in the book is the peril faced by diplomats and their families stationed in Pakistan. Accounts of physical violence, firebombs, cars being set alight, stone-throwing, mental and vocal harassment, abductions, and other threats to personal safety punctuate the narrative, underscoring the serious risks involved in diplomatic service in inimical countries, often with little more than the 'paper shield' of the Vienna Convention for protection. Bisaria himself faced expulsion from Islamabad in 2019 amidst escalating tensions.

The book is remarkably accessible, written in clear, engaging prose. It maintains focus on diplomatic history, steering clear of well-trodden topics and maintaining an objective, measured tone—providing a refreshing departure from the often sensationalist mainstream and social media discourse.

Bisaria’s talent for writing is evident; his career in diplomacy has been complemented by his skill as an author.

At a recent chance encounter with Bisaria, I half-jokingly suggested that his subsequent experiences as High Commissioner to Canada—where he found himself handling a diplomatic ruckus, following allegations by the Canadian PM linking India to the assassination of a Sikh separatist—might provide rich material for a similar book on the Khalistan issue. He quipped wittily, that if he ever did that, 'Anger Management' would be an equally fitting title for such a book.

This book comes highly recommended for anyone interested in the complex web of Indo-Pak relations.

(For the sake of readability of this review, I have taken the liberty of discarding convention, by referring to the author by only his surname rather than prefixing his name with “High Commissioner” or “Ambassador” or the honorific “His Excellency” – No disrespect is implied or intended.)