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Who is using who?
Am I using the AI? Is the AI using me?
Andrea Nastac writes poetry, which was the starting point of this project.
Poems... 100% authentic emotions, pure, felt by a human, sentient being.
In the role of a middle-man —Ruxandra, human being as well.
After she read Andrea's poems, she synthesized everything into a short "prompt". Basically compressing the poem into a short descriptive text.
This compressed form of the poem —which we call a "prompt", was fed into the machine, called "AI", in order to generate an image based on the given prompt.
On the other side —I, Șerban (a real human being), received the very same "prompt" as the machine, from Ruxandra, in order to generate an image, within my capabilities.
My fingers melt beside my bed -
the liquor of narcissi climbing down
the bee's trunk is hurried death. They were the divers in the purse, where every sun was a coin, the coin, a golden
vacant breakup. I have not meant to touch so stark an ersatz.
The cold circularity in lingering
flesh frills. It made my mouth turn brief,
a copy of the hammered, clean sun.
It standing by, round as an eye,
spying on the jilted fingers.
The hanging gardens could not
have disembarked like that, carrying
such falling and erosive effect.
But there they were, now,
and they were none.
- Andrea Nastac
prompt > a girl sweating, laying down on concrete, almost draining while using a coin to shelter from the sun
shot by șerban;
DALL-E is a software based on artificial intelligence, which generates images based on your input.
Once you quit asking yourself if the AI is using you, or you are using it —and you see the interaction as a two-way informational exchange, the creative process gets easier.
You'll need to find an even ground for talking to the machine, which might get tricky as you can start feeding the AI terms that are easier to understand, in order to get what you wanted, thus failing the purpose of the project.
It was essential that neither Șerban, nor Andrea should know what images the AI generated, to not affect their final outcome.
& neither for myself to see what photos they shot, not to look for similar images in the AI pool.
A locui cu tatăl şi cu tatăl tatălui meu pe
A fi cerească fără a fi murdară de intemperii sau
de vreo patimă pentru care să nu poți să calci melcii. Sub frunze. Frunzele primăverii.
Aceasta este ora în care oamenii devin calzi. Pentru că stau la soare, pentru că soarele le stă în cap.
Raze ale templului văzut de pe coridor în
Ora la care se coace vinul în struguri.
A fi de lut, a fi idol, a fi de soare. Voi
toţi care aveţi iniţialele lui „M” la nume, blânzi ca pieile de vacă, cu ugerul alăptând o parte de umanitate din alţii, cu laptele care
Ca tot ce e alb și necesită chemare: „La oase”, spun metafizicienii, adică taică-miu.
prompt > woman guarding her eggs in a mud hill
Today, dad told me that the AI will get the better of me.
And I got scared.
What if the AI will, in fact, get the better of me?
I haven't seen yet what the AI did, but somehow I trust that he did better.
But it can't be... I have all these thoughts. I am, after all, afraid.
Where does the AI scratch when he's trying to come up with something? How long after he generates an image, he dismisses it as "garbage"?
Who is cheering for him to achieve his goals? Does he care if it has already been done before? Does he need validation? Does he know we are using him?
After all, I think I got the better of him. I think.
Ține minte trupul acesta,
tălpile reci îmbuibate de un anumit somn. Ochiul gol al soarelui
care ne-așteaptă - o cămașă strânsă pe gât,
mâna ta fermecată în poziția lacătului. Plăcerea e a noastră, pe întuneric, tăcerea, inconfundabilă.
Pielea ca o gogoașă de mătase
se derulează cu încetinitorul sub
burice moi de degete, ale mele.
Și numai tu le caști pe toate acestea
cu gura neagră ca o cagulă,
Și nici corpul subțire amestecat cu vin, nici apa de la capătul patului
n-ar șifona beția alunecării
într-un vis mai drept decât corpul.
Unde era capătul patului, tu,
rămas bun, adormi dus lângă tremur.
prompt > woman wearing slippers, tights and a long knitted scarf around her neck soaked in a puddle of her lovers spit
prompt > the inside of the mouth as a place in which a couple lives
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