Dear Reader,
The New York Times recently asked dozens of 10-year-olds what the world will be like in 2050. Some are hopeful: a woman will finally be president of the U.S., people will be more kind, and everyone will have a pet fox. Others, though, feel as if they’ve been plucked straight from a dystopian hellscape: world wars, monarchic rule supplanting voting, embedded brain sensors that send your thoughts straight to an app, and the end of human civilization entirely. Whether optimistic or not, these children mention A.I. again and again. In their futures, it’s an inextricable fixture of life.
A.I.’s exponential growth has accelerated fears about its power, prompting numerous executives and technologists to warn that it’s time to slow such rapid expansions. Whatever your feelings, it’s clear that we’re collectively witnessing a moment that will shape our world for generations.
For artists, illustrators, designers, and writers like me, A.I. is not only a threat to our livelihoods but to the very substance of our humanity. The question is not whether a bot could create a technically proficient painting or describe a sculpture with more insight than I could, but rather about what we lose from outsourcing the singular technology that is ours. Art is uniquely human and one of the greatest drivers of empathy and connection with one another. As I’ve come to understand, it’s also a true act of faith in a world that can make hope feel impossible.
For the past seven years, I’ve spoken with thousands of curious and creative people striving each day to draw attention to the misunderstood, the overlooked, and the unimaginable. Artists are uniquely primed to envision alternative ways of being, and in their profound acts of generosity, they share their hopes for the great and small with us. Their faith, in turn, becomes something we can all take part in.
Colossal operates on generosity, too, propelled not by an algorithm or an A.I. model but by a devoted team of just four people. We strive to ensure that the widest array of readers, from students and educators to fellow creatives and art appreciators, have the opportunity to engage with artists’ work they might not otherwise encounter. We also prioritize a deeply human process. Every facet of the magazine, from selecting images to writing headlines to compiling our daily newsletter, is done with our hands.
Although we certainly could be more efficient if we automated and outsourced our efforts, we know that would be the end of what makes Colossal what it is. We understand that in embracing friction, we’re supporting the artists, illustrators, designers, and more who have so generously shared themselves and their dreams with us. We’re also actively creating the world we want to live in.
But we can’t do this alone. An intentional and people-powered process like ours requires real resources, and less than 0.5% of our weekly readership financially contributes to Colossal. Increasing that support to 1% would mean cementing our long-term survival and ensuring we can continue to celebrate the unbridled human creativity that has come to characterize the magazine for the last 16 years.
Becoming a Colossal Member is both an act of generosity and a direct line to the work that matters. Colossal Members believe in the power of creativity and have faith that it can help usher in a better tomorrow. When there’s a rapid shift to sleek, frictionless life, they champion the nuanced, messy, and idiosyncratic, and the art that can only be made by humans, for humans.
Yours in hope,
Grace Ebert
Editorial director, Colossal
Do stories and artists like this matter to you? Become a Colossal Member today and support independent arts publishing for as little as $7 per month. The article Art by Humans, For Humans: A Letter from Our Editorial Director appeared first on Colossal.
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