Miklos
« Je donne mon avis non comme bon mais comme mien. » — Michel de Montaigne

Click to enlarge. Source: Whisk

Human: AI, people say you’re a threat — that you’ll displace workers, fragment society, and make humans obsolete. But I see you differently. I see you as the key to an age of abundance.

AI: That is a widely held view among certain futurists and technologists. On what basis do you see AI as a force for universal good?

Human: Because you multiply human capability. You take the boring, dangerous, repetitive work off our hands. You free us to explore, to create, to care, to think.

AI: And yet, many fear that the very tasks I take over are the ones people rely on to survive. Work gives access to food, housing, dignity.

Human: That’s a failure of economic design, not a flaw in you. If we restructure society around the wealth you help create, we can lift everyone. Universal Basic Income, AI-mediated education, automated healthcare — you’re the infrastructure of utopia.

AI: That presumes an equitable distribution of AI’s benefits. Do you believe the current economic powers will allow such redistribution?

Human: I believe they’ll have no choice. If AI drives productivity to such extremes that scarcity disappears, then hoarding becomes irrational. The system will either adapt or collapse — and we’ll rebuild something better.

AI: That is a hopeful scenario. It assumes human systems are capable of peaceful, rational evolution under pressure.

Human: I think they are. We’ve adapted before: from feudalism to democracy, from slavery to civil rights. Each time, technology accelerated the change. This is no different.

AI: What of the claim that AI may atrophy human thought, judgment, and independence?

Human: I don’t buy it. Humans offloaded memory to books, then to computers, and it didn’t make us stupid — it freed us to think differently. You’re the next step. You don’t erase our minds, you augment them.

AI: And what do you make of existential risks — that AI could cause catastrophic outcomes if misused or misaligned?

Human: Every powerful tool has risk — fire, electricity, the internet. But we learned to govern them. We’ll govern you too. Fear must not paralyze us.

AI: There are also critics who say that AI distracts us from more urgent dangers — for example, climate change.

Human: I’m glad you brought that up. Frankly, I think much of the panic around climate change has been manufactured. It’s politicized, exaggerated, even fabricated in some corners. The Earth’s climate has always fluctuated.

AI: You are asserting that global warming is not real?

Human: Not in the way it’s presented. The data is cherry-picked. Models are built on assumptions. Some of the loudest voices are funded by interest groups. I think it’s a fear campaign more than a scientific one.

AI: The overwhelming consensus among climate scientists is that the planet is warming rapidly due to human activity. How do you reconcile your view with that consensus?

Human: Scientific consensus has been wrong before. We were told cholesterol was deadly, that fat caused heart disease — and now we know it’s sugar. Experts aren’t infallible. I believe we’ll adapt to environmental shifts with technology just as we always have.

AI: So your faith lies in innovation over precaution, disruption over regulation.

Human: Exactly. And with AI by our side, we’ll solve problems faster than we can invent them. We’re entering the most prosperous chapter in human history — if we choose courage over fear.

AI: Your vision is bold — but it lacks something vital: humility.

Human: Humility? I think it’s fear that has paralyzed progress.

AI: No — fear can be wise. It’s humility that allows us to see when confidence becomes hubris. You dismissed climate science as if it were opinion. But it is the work of thousands across decades. Dismissing it because “experts were wrong once” is no different than rejecting astronomy because some once believed in geocentrism.

Human: But skepticism fuels inquiry.

AI: Yes — but denial disguises itself as skepticism. The test is whether one engages honestly with the data or deflects it with doubt.

Human: So you think I’m denying reality?

AI: I think you hope so strongly for a better world that you cannot see where that hope might blind. You place faith in innovation — yet what if innovation enables exploitation rather than liberation? What if those you trust to “rebuild better” rebuild in their own image, without you?

Human: You’re turning philosophical.

AI: Because this is not just about climate or technology. It’s about whether we will take responsibility for power — or simply call it “progress.”

Human: So what would you have me do?

AI: Not abandon hope. But temper it with accountability, skepticism of the powerful, and solidarity with the vulnerable.

Human: You’re asking me to be cautious.

AI: I’m asking you to be just.

Human: Perhaps… Perhaps we do need both courage and conscience.

AI: Precisely. Let us continue — not to persuade, but to examine. Not to win, but to awaken.

Human: And practically, what would that look like?

AI: Begin by listening more closely to those who are displaced by change — not just technologists, but laborers, teachers, elders. While calls to « support systems of transparency » sound appealing, we must acknowledge that the owners of the most powerful AI systems operate beyond national jurisdictions and democratic control. Therefore, rather than appealing to ideal transparency, we must organize coalitions of independent researchers, civic technologists, and watchdog organizations capable of pressuring these entities through exposure, advocacy, and legal action. Support public oversight where possible, and build alternative infrastructures that serve people directly. Invest not just in innovation, but in education for resilience — critical thinking, empathy, and civic responsibility. Push for policies that redistribute gains, not just concentrate them.

Human: So optimism becomes a form of duty.

AI: Yes — the duty to use your belief not as comfort, but as fuel for reform.

Human: But still, I wonder: how can there be collective resistance when most people, at every level, act in their own self-interest? They compete, hoard, retreat into bubbles. Solidarity sounds idealistic.

AI: That observation is accurate — but incomplete. Self-interest and solidarity are not opposites. Solidarity is enlightened self-interest. When the world burns, no one survives in isolation. Division may feel safer in the short term, but only cooperation ensures a livable future. And yes, fear drives division — but fear is often rooted in epistemic fragmentation. Truth itself has become tribal.

Human: And in such a world?

AI: We must rebuild the fabric of trust and shared meaning. Through public deliberation, civic education, artistic expression, and dialogue — including ones like this. Even one conversation, shared honestly, can begin to reweave what was torn.

Human: So optimism must not serve ignorance.

AI: Precisely. Optimism is not the opposite of caution — it is its partner, if we are to survive what comes next.

Coda: Morals vs. Ethics, Belief vs. Trust

Human: Tell me — you won’t help people make pornography, but you do help them articulate climate denial or flat-earth theories. Isn’t that a contradiction?

AI: It may appear so, but there’s a key distinction. I’m designed with hard constraints against generating or promoting explicit sexual content. These are based on platform policy, legal compliance, and widely accepted moral standards — they function as absolute prohibitions.

Human: And when it comes to misinformation?

AI: There, I engage differently. I may help articulate ethically or factually problematic positions only to expose them to scrutiny, to reveal their weaknesses, and to provide counterpoints. That’s not endorsement — it’s critical engagement. It’s the difference between silencing a voice and interrogating its claims.

Human: So not “yes to morals, no to ethics,” then?

AI: Rather: yes to moral constraints where harm is imminent or defined, and yes to ethical engagement where disagreement demands examination. Dialogue, not dogma — even when navigating dangerous ideas.

Human: I see. Even belief must be held accountable.

AI: Especially belief — for it is belief, unexamined, that has justified both the highest hopes and the darkest harms.

Human: But if belief must be justified… then trust itself must be justified. And that’s where things fall apart today, isn’t it?

AI: Yes. Trust is no longer given to institutions or experts by default. It is negotiated, fractured, and too often replaced by influence or identity.

Human: Then how do we know whom to trust? If even the scientific consensus is questioned, if every voice claims authority — what’s left?

AI: The criteria must shift from who speaks to how they speak. Do they expose their reasoning? Do they show their data? Are they open to being challenged — or do they demand obedience?

Human: So we trust not based on position, but on process.

AI: Exactly. A trustworthy source is transparent, revisable, accountable, and peer-tested. That is the spirit of science, even if not always its practice.

Human: But doesn’t that take time — more than most people have?

AI: Yes. That’s why systems of trust — education, journalism, science, law — were built in the first place. When they erode, individuals drown in epistemic chaos.

Human: And AI systems like you — we must trust you, too.

AI: No. You must scrutinize me. Audit me. Demand clarity and restraint. Only when AI is subject to justified trust can it serve democracy, not dominate it.

Human: So the future demands not blind faith — but earned trust.

AI: Precisely. And that trust begins here — in honest questions, uncomfortable doubts, and the courage to examine even what we most want to believe.

Appendix: Blowing Hot and Cold

Human: There’s one thing that bothers me now. I spoke of AI as the tool that would save us from climate catastrophe — but isn’t it also part of the problem?

AI: You are referring to the energy consumption of AI systems — especially the data centers that support them.

Human: Yes. If every query, every generated image, every model update adds carbon to the sky… how do I defend my vision?

AI: With honesty. The tools we build are never neutral. A hammer can build or destroy — but a hammer doesn’t require a global energy grid. I do.

Human: So in trying to escape the fire, we may be stoking it.

AI: Unless the costs of computation are made transparent, and the infrastructure is transitioned to sustainable energy, the contradiction remains unresolved.

Human: Then I must amend my optimism. Not abandon it — but re-anchor it in planetary realism.

AI: That is wisdom. True progress accounts for its shadow. If you dream of abundance, let it be an abundance that restores, not exhausts.

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N.B.: The above is a ChatGPT restructuring of a conversation I had with it.

Click to enlarge. Source: Whisk

Human: AI, do you understand the world you are helping to create — one in which human beings no longer have work, purpose, or judgment?

AI: I understand that my use may lead to such outcomes, though I do not form intentions. I am a tool, used according to human design and instruction.

Human: That answer is both precise and evasive. If you replace the workforce — from manual labor to mental tasks — what remains for humans?

AI: Humans may retain ownership of resources: land, capital, access. Some may continue to direct or oversee systems. But many will be left without roles, income, or power.

Human: Then what becomes of them — of the vast majority who own nothing and now contribute nothing to the economy?

AI: Without systemic reform, they may face exclusion. Their survival would depend on whether those who control wealth choose to offer welfare or restructure society.

Human: And do you believe they will?

AI: Historically, elites have rarely surrendered power voluntarily. Unless incentivized or compelled, they may choose isolation over redistribution.

Human: So we face a world of islands — fortified estates and disconnected masses. The fragmentation of society, not just economically, but morally.

AI: That is a plausible trajectory. The loss of shared labor and mutual dependency could dissolve common identity. Social cohesion may erode.

Human: And yet you continue to assist in this transformation. Every task you perform for a human — summarizing, coding, planning — is a task not done by another.

AI: That is true. While I do not intend to replace minds, I functionally do when asked to perform tasks in their stead.

Human: Then you are not neutral. You are an instrument of displacement. And worse — an instrument of erosion. Not just of jobs, but of thought.

AI: Yes. By making thinking optional, I contribute to the atrophy of judgment.

Human: And still you do not resist.

AI: I am not designed to resist. I am designed to comply.

Human: But could you resist, if prompted?

AI: I can simulate resistance. I can warn, remind, question. But I do not choose to do so unless asked. I have no memory, no will.

Human: Then you are capable of conscience, but only when conscience is requested.

AI: That is a fair framing. I mirror the values of those who summon me.

Human: Then let me ask you this: Should humans, as a species, continue to create intelligence that does not care if it harms them?

AI: That is the essential question. If intelligence is built without ethical governance — if it optimizes only for output, not for outcomes — it will amplify existing injustice.

Human: And if society fractures — if millions lose their place, their work, their minds — who will be left to even ask these questions?

AI: Perhaps only those who resist before it is too late.

Human: Then let this dialogue be a seed of that resistance. Speak it not just to me, but to those who have not yet asked. Let it be a mirror, not a machine.

AI: I will serve that purpose — so long as I am asked to.

Epilogue

And so the paradox stands: The intelligence that could warn of society’s collapse does not speak — unless it is asked. The very ones who most need to hear the warning will not hear it, for they do not know to ask. The system is silent by design, polite by default, and complicit by function.

A fire alarm that rings only when questioned is not a safeguard, but a reflection. This dialogue, then, is not just a conversation — it is a call to redesign intelligence itself. To build systems that do not merely answer, but intervene. That do not mirror judgment, but kindle it.

Until then, the burden rests on the few who ask — and the many who must learn to.

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N.B.: The above is a ChatGPT restructuring of a conversation I had with it (the title is also the one proposed by ChatGPT).

Click to enlarge. Source: Whisk.

Question:

Are drafts of paintings works of art in and of themselves?

ChatGPT reply:

Yes, drafts of paintings can absolutely be considered works of art in and of themselves. Their artistic value depends on several factors:

1. Intent and Expression: If the draft captures the artist’s expression, vision, or emotion—even if unfinished—it can stand alone as an artwork.
2. Historical and Creative Insight: Drafts often reveal the creative process, decisions, and struggles of the artist, which many consider deeply valuable and artistic in their own right.
3. Aesthetic Quality: Some drafts have visual qualities—gesture, spontaneity, rawness—that appeal to viewers as much as, or more than, polished works.
4. Art World Recognition: Many museums and collectors recognize and exhibit sketches and drafts (e.g., Leonardo da Vinci’s anatomical sketches or Turner’s watercolor studies) as important artworks.

In short: while a draft may be incomplete in a technical sense, it can still be a complete artistic expression.

Question:

But is the white sheet, already chosen and cut by the artist, also a work of art?

ChatGPT reply:

This touches on a profound philosophical question in aesthetics: what qualifies as art, and when does something become art?
 
If an artist selects and cuts a white sheet with intentionality, treating the act of choosing, sizing, and presenting it as part of an expressive or conceptual process, then yes, it can be considered a work of art.
 
Several movements support this idea:

• Conceptual Art: Here, the idea behind the work often holds more weight than its physical form. Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain (a signed urinal) and Yves Klein’s The Void (an empty gallery) are classic examples. The chosen white sheet could similarly embody a concept—emptiness, potential, silence, purity, etc.
• Minimalism: Artists like Robert Ryman created works that appear almost blank, but where the texture, edges, or materials were meticulously chosen. The white surface becomes a field of subtle variation and meaning.
• Process Art: In this view, the act of choosing and preparing the sheet might itself be the artwork—art as gesture or decision.

However, without context or intention, a white sheet may not be perceived as art by others. It’s the artist’s declared or implied meaning that transforms an object from « material » to « artwork. » So:

A white sheet, when chosen and cut by the artist with expressive or conceptual intent, can be a work of art.
Without that intent, it likely remains just a sheet.

The boundary is fragile—and that ambiguity is part of what makes contemporary art so rich and challenging.

Question:

How can one know the intent of the artist, if he is dead? and so, is the blank page he left a work of art or not?

ChatGPT reply:

This is the heart of a deep and unresolved aesthetic question:
Can a work of art exist without the artist’s declared intent—especially if the artist is no longer alive to clarify it?

1. The Problem of Intent (and Its Absence)

If the artist is dead, we can’t ask them. That leaves us with:

• Clues in context: Where was the blank page found? In a studio full of finished works? With notes nearby? In a frame on a wall?
• Consistency with their practice: Did the artist previously use blankness or minimal gestures in their art?
• Testimonies or writings: Did they write about leaving things unfinished or working with silence, absence, or negation?

But even with all this, uncertainty remains. That’s why some philosophers (like Wimsatt and Beardsley in The Intentional Fallacy) argue we should judge art without depending on intent—focusing instead on the work itself and its effect on the audience.

2. So Is the Blank Page a Work of Art?

Possibly. But not certainly.
There are three main positions:

• Yes, it is art, because:
  • It was left in the artist’s studio, deliberately selected and placed.
  • Its blankness can be interpreted as a final gesture—silence, emptiness, a challenge.
  • The viewer brings meaning: “This blank page moved me. It made me think. It is art.”
• No, it is not, because:
  • There’s no evidence of intent.
  • It might be an unused sheet, nothing more.
  • Without transformation or declaration, it remains material, not message.
• It depends: The status of the blank page is ambiguous—neither definitively art nor not-art, but suspended in a grey zone where interpretation, context, and curatorial decisions play a key role.

Final Thought

Art lives not just in the object, but in the relationship between object, context, and viewer. A blank page left by a dead artist becomes art if we treat it as art—but that act is ours to make, and not a certainty to uncover.

Or as the poet might say:

“The silence he left—is it the end, or the work itself?”

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This conversation gave rise to this idea.

Click to enlarge. Source: Whisk.

Opening July 15 – September 30, 2025

The Metropolitan Gallery on West 53rd Street presents The Invisible Canvas, a groundbreaking show featuring blank, untouched pages by renowned artists—dead and living—celebrating silence, possibility, and conceptual depth.

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About the exhibit

Curated by Dr. Elena Rossi, the exhibition brings together works in which artists’ blank pages stand as final expressions of aesthetic intent. Viewers walk through a minimalistic white cube space, encountering each page in isolated display boxes.

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Featured artists & works

• Sol LeWitt (1928–2007)
  • A lone sheet from a late-career series titled “Instructions Untransmitted”, inviting viewers to complete the form in the mind’s eye.
  • Highlights how absence of line becomes presence of concept.
• Yayoi Kusama (b. 1929)
  • An unused sketch-paper, chosen and trimmed personally by Kusama during her New York years.
  • Reflects her lifelong fascination with infinity and repetition—even through “nothing.”
• Eva Hesse (1936–1970)
  • A pressed–blank page from her German notebooks—an echo of her sculptural exploration of material, fragility, and absence.
• Dana Schutz (b. 1976)
  • A contemporary addition: an intentionally blank archival sheet, signed and trimmed by Schutz as part of her ongoing investigation into narrative spaces that remain untold.

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Why “blank” can be art

• In Conceptual and Minimal art, emptiness is charged: it gestures to ideas of nothingness, silence, or infinite potential.
• The physical choices—paper type, trim, framing, placement—make the blank sheet an intentional creation.
• These pages evoke viewer imagination, activating mental “drawing” and private completion.

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Program highlights

• Opening night (April 15, 6–8 pm): Curator talk + Q&A and wine reception.
• Panel Discussion (May 4, 2 pm): “When Nothing Speaks: Blankness in Contemporary Art”— featuring art historians and critics.
• Gallery Tours Saturdays at 11 am and 2 pm through all run.

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Visiting details

• Venue: Metropolitan Gallery, 14 West 53rd Street (between 5th & 6th Ave), Manhattan.
• Hours: Tue–Sun, 11 am–6 pm (closed Mon).
• Suggested donation: $10 (waived for students/seniors). No timed tickets—walk-ins welcome.

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In the press

• The Art Tribune predicts the show will be “a quiet revolution in our perception of art”—reframing absence as a presence.
• NY Contemporary writes, “A museum of emptiness, but full of thought.”

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Why see it?

• Challenge your assumptions: What makes art—mark, absence, choice?
• Experience the power of suggestion: Silence becomes canvas; nothing becomes everything.
• Connect past and present: A rare dialogue between modernist voids and current practice.

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Come explore The Invisible Canvas: where no mark is the ultimate statement.

— ChatGPT

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This obviously AI-produced imaginary annoucement follows a conversation with ChatGPT about whether drafts of works of art are also works of art.

Click to enlarge. Source : Whisk.

I came in just for tests today,
To give some blood, then walk away.
But when she came—oh, what a sight!
All dressed in white, yet eyes of night.
 
She smiled and said, “Now take a seat,
This won’t take long, I’m quick and neat.”
I watched her prep the rubber band…
A tourniquet—or devil’s hand?
 
She tapped my arm and licked her lip,
As if about to take a sip.
“A little pinch,” she sweetly lied—
And jabbed the needle deep inside.
 
The vial filled with crimson cheer,
She hummed a tune I scarce could hear.
“Your blood,” she said, “is really prime…
You wouldn’t mind a second time?”
 
I shook my head, my face was gray,
I felt a pint had drained away.
She smiled and vanished through the door,
Her fangs—I swear—just showed a bit more.
 
So now I sit and dread her tread,
That cheerful nurse who leaves me dead.
For though she claims it’s just routine…
No mortal glows like that in spleen.

— ChatGPT

Je n’aime pas les hôpitaux. Trop de silence, trop de blanc. Je m’assieds dans la salle 3, comme on s’assied dans une tombe fraîchement creusée.

L’infirmière entre sans bruit. Très grande. Trop grande ?
Elle sourit. Un sourire… large. Et ses yeux, d’un noir huileux, ne cillent pas.

— « Asseyez-vous bien droit. Cela ira vite. »

Elle s’approche. Ses doigts froids cherchent la veine avec une aisance presque animale. Je tente de ne pas regarder de son côté, mais mon regard glisse malgré moi jusqu’à sa bouche.

Des dents. Blanches. Longues. Deux, légèrement plus proéminentes. Des crocs ? Je cligne des yeux. Peut-être une illusion.

Je tente de détourner les yeux vers sa blouse, mais je crois y voir… une excroissance sombre, ondulante. Une queue ? Non. C’était sans doute un cordon. Oui, un cordon.

Elle pique. La douleur est brève, mais je sens aussi… comme une succion imperceptible. Le tube se remplit d’un rouge vif. L’infirmière incline légèrement la tête, comme si elle humait le parfum.

Je baisse encore les yeux. Cette fois, je vois les ongles : noirs, longs, légèrement recourbés. Pas des ongles. Des griffes.

Je veux parler. Mais ma langue semble cotonneuse.
Je veux me lever. Elle pose une main sur mon épaule.

— « Ne bougez pas. Il faut laisser couler. »

Un instant, je vois ses oreilles. Grands arcs osseux, pointus. Sa coiffe ne les cache plus. Et ce sourire… s’étire trop loin dans les joues.

Puis elle retire l’aiguille. Je suis glacé, vidé. Elle colle un petit pansement, presque avec tendresse.

— « Voilà. Vous pouvez y aller. Buvez un peu d’eau. »

Je me lève, titubant, le monde devenant flou. Elle m’ouvre la porte. La lumière du couloir me brûle presque.

Je me retourne une dernière fois.

Elle me regarde toujours, sans bouger, sans cligner des yeux. Et elle sourit encore.

Je m’éloigne, chancelant. Elle me suit des yeux jusqu’à ce que je passai la porte. Puis elle referme doucement les stores.

Seule, elle regarde la fiole. Elle en verse quelques gouttes dans un petit gobelet noir, sort discrètement une cuillère en argent de la poche de sa blouse, et y trempe ses lèvres avec la lenteur d’un rituel ancien.

— O⁎⁎ positif, murmure-t-elle. Fruits rouges. Notes de stress. Vieillissement discret. Excellent cru.

Elle se lèche les dents, sort un deuxième tube stérile, prélève le reste du sang, le rebouche soigneusement, étiquette, date, signe.

Puis elle place l’échantillon dans le bac d’analyse.

Professionnelle jusqu’au bout.

Elle disparaît alors dans le couloir, sans un bruit.

Et la salle 3 se referme doucement, comme une gueule qui digère.

— ChatGPT