I spent the entire damn day glued to my iPad. Painting what will become my next exclusive edition print. One of those pieces that come out slowly, without rush, with layers stacking up as if the image had its own rhythm. While I painted, I had some YouTube videos playing in the background. Podcasts, interviews—those things you let run while you work. Not because everything they say matters, but because sometimes a phrase sticks. And today, one of them did.
A concept artist—Spanish—said something like: “In the future, you won’t be able to tell human-made art from machine-generated art.” He said it in this serious tone, like he was announcing the end of the world. And that’s when I put down the Apple Pencil, leaned back in my chair and thought: “Yeah. Maybe. So what?”
Because there’s something a lot of people seem to forget when they talk about art like it’s just aesthetics or technique. When someone buys a piece for 5,000, 10,000, or even 100,000 euros, they’re not just buying a pretty image. They’re buying the story behind it. Who made it. What they’ve lived through. What obsesses them. What it cost them to get there. Art isn’t just the result—it’s the entire journey. The skin, the scars, the doubts. And no AI can simulate that. Not now, not in twenty years.
Now, if what you do is work for a corporation cranking out visuals on a production line, without much involvement, just completing tasks like you were a machine yourself, then yeah… maybe you’ll be replaced. And not because AI is evil, but because that kind of work was already easily replaceable long before AI came along. It’s happened before. With photography. With film. With the printing press. There are always people who complain, and others who adapt and use it to their advantage.
Me? I’m using it to my advantage. Honestly. I use AI every day. More and more. It helps me work faster. Gives me references. Suggests variations. Points me in directions I wouldn’t have thought of. I don’t use it to think for me—I use it to expand what’s already in my head. To accelerate. To explore. And yes, it improves my art. It doesn’t make me less of an artist. It makes me more efficient. Gives me more time to focus on what matters: what I want to say.
More than 80% of the jobs that will exist in the next 20 years don’t even exist yet. That’s not a threat. It’s an invitation. To create new things. To adapt. To understand that not everything that changes is bad. That evolution doesn’t stop. And that if you want to stay in this game, you need more than talent.
You need a personal brand. A recognizable style. A process you can show. A story people want to follow. Because if all you’ve got is technical skill, get ready to compete with machines. But if you’ve got something more—vision, intent, depth—then relax: your place is not in danger.
And if you want to see how I apply this in my own work, take a look at Saturno: Lights & Shadows. It’s not just an illustration book. It’s a map of my process, my references, my mistakes. You can clearly see that tools aren’t the problem. The problem is how you use them. Or if you even dare to use them at all.
AI won’t kill you. Indifference will. Lack of evolution. Fear of trying. Sitting still waiting for everything to go back to how it used to be. That’s what buries you.
I’ll keep creating. With whatever I have at hand. While others curse the machine, I’ll keep using it for what it is: an ally.