The world of Middle Earth as created by J.R.R. Tolkien is something of an indictment of the technological age. I’ve read the books so many times and seen the films almost as much, but one of the many things I took away from the story was a romanticization of pre-industrial era craftwork. 

The Elves in The Lord of the Rings^[1] trilogy are a glorious example, for one, of romantic craftsmanship and the joy that comes from favouring the journey over the destination.

One of the gut feelings I have when I hear about the arts (supposedly) being consumed by algorithmic generative AI is that deep down, simply, is that I feel the loss of the journey.  The artists journey. The journey of learning a skill. The journey of suffering through a life of experiences all to have the frame of reference to translate that experience into something bigger and more persistent than self. That journey.

AI art, it seems to me, is about pushing a button and making a product: something to post, content to sell, goods to put to market as quickly as possible for the end result of making money. That kind of thing is all about a destination.

The Elves were, for all intents and purposes, immortal. They could create without limitation of shorter lives or the wont of more material wealth. They were privileged, sure, but they are also just fictional allegories for an idealized piece of ourselves as human beings back here in the real world. 

Abundance made what they made beautiful and meaningful, and it was not necessarily about turning our backs on all technology—they had forges and light and soft hand-waving magic, after all—but rather it might have been about understanding that the soul is often more nourished by the adventure bestowed by the craft than by the final product itself.