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Português Hehe, tava no tédio e decidi fazer o izuku midoriya de My Hero Academia hehe, não ficou top mil maravilhas mas dá de se orgulhar in English Hehe, I was bored and decided to draw Izuku Midoriya from My Hero Academia hehe, it’s not amazing, but it’s good enough to be proud of, owo
you know, recently at my school, people have been annoying me saying that my art is bad but also a I ar is better and i’m about to say something i like traditional art because it actually feels handmade. But also I hate AI. Art, because of how much people are abusing it and the fact that it’s kind of ruining artist, reputations and a lot of people are calling me a hypocrite, saying, your art is so good. Why do you keep on hating AI? Art, since it’s technically good, I don’t give a f*** about AI and one I’m about to say is gonna be true to everything. I don’t give a f*** if my art style is bad. I don’t care if it looks cartoony, or if it looks too janky, I don’t care if it looks like stick figures, I don’t care. If it looks bad all I care about is that it’s made with love. And care, even if it’s just a simple drawing or a simple doodle. I love it with all of my compassion. I love all type of art. I love abstract art. I love children’s art. I love box art. I love sculpted art. I love everything that is art, but AI. Because you are putting actual time and effort into this. For AI you’re just typing, that’s all you do. And I don’t care if you have bad art. All I care about is the love and attention that you give it. I don’t hate people’s art. I hate how the abuse it. But I don’t hate art. I only hate AI art because it is not made with love care or anything. It is just made, just so they can laugh at us. And say that how easy art is and we don’t get it, but no, we get it. Those people who constantly try to keep you down and say that your art is bad. Don’t listen to them. You’re only feeding into the multiple things that they are saying. And if you crash out, they will say thy, they are right. And that you are wrong in traditional art is bad, but don’t care about them. Don’t feed the trolls. Let him go away to their sad lonely caves and 1 day, maybe they’ll get a f****** brain cell, but art, regardless, where it comes from is still art. I don’t care where it comes from. I don’t care what method you use. I don’t care if it’s bloody terrifying. Or disturbing, it’s still your art and if you’re happy with it, it’s your art.
reminder that their is no such thing as an “ai generated artstyle”, that is impossible on a conceptual level, for an ai generated image to have the artstyle it does, it has to already exist, because ai can only “”“create”“” something by copying it from something else So no, you can’t just declare an image as certainly ai generated based on the style alone, this thought process is only going to lead to more real artists getting falsely accused at best, it can work as supporting evidence paired with evidence that is undoubtedly a sign of gen ai
Just received another update on a piece I paid an amazing artist to create for my first fic. If you are into crossover fan fics where Clive lives and ends up in Faerûn, please check it out! Loving seeing this come together! https://archiveofourown.org/works/80558386/chapters/216058706 “When Clive turned the corner, time seemed to stop. He saw a vision of a face. Soft features that always stopped his breathing but here, now, it was a shock that reverberated off his chest. By one of the fires sat a lone figure, small and still. At first it is only a shape, something familiar that he cannot yet name, but then she turns and the light finds her face. She wears the same blue leather and white garments he remembers, but time and hardship have stripped them of their brilliance. The blue now dulled and scuffed, the leather cracked from wear. The once white fabric no longer clean or structured, now black with soot and frayed along the seams, hanging loose in places where it has torn. Her hair has grown longer, its silver strands tangled and uneven, dimmed by dirt and neglect. It falls across her face in loose, unkempt locks that catch in the corners of her lips when she breathes. Her face makes his chest tighten. She has aged in a way that speaks of strain, not years. Her features are thinner, her cheeks slightly hollow with faint lines tracing her eyes and brow. Those eyes are still the same clear blue, but dulled with exhaustion, their sharpness softened. There is dirt on her skin, a healing cut near her temple, and her lips are dry and cracked. She holds her hands close to the fire, fingers trembling faintly as she draws what little warmth she can. Her posture curves inward, conserving strength, every movement measured as if anything more might break her.”
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