I Thought I Was a Robot

When I was a kid, I thought I was a robot.

Like, no—legit. I really believed that I was made of parts and wires and chips and circuit boards. I truly thought I was a robot.

And this didn’t just come out of nowhere. It didn’t come from television. It didn’t come from movies. It didn’t come from something a friend told me. It was based entirely on reality—my reality. The conclusion made perfect sense to me.

My father created robots for a living in the 1980s. He created robots for companies like Atari, back before they were even making video games. He also worked on robotics and robotic toys for companies like Worlds of Wonder, Tyco, and many others.

Growing up, I would walk into our basement and see pieces of toys everywhere—robot arms, robot legs, eyes, gears, components being assembled. When your father spends his days building robots, you start to think, “Well, this is probably how he made me, too.”

Inside many of those robots and toys was something I heard constantly growing up: artificial intelligence.

AI.

Artificial intelligence.

I was probably seven years old before those words became part of my everyday vocabulary, sometime around 1985. I heard them all the time. Little did I know how much those two words would impact my life years later as an adult artist.

What I can tell you is that seeing what my father could do with an Apple IIe computer left a lasting impression on me. He could create systems that felt conversational. He even built a robot that could babysit and help look after me and my sisters.

When you grow up around that kind of technology, the things you see in movies don’t seem so impossible anymore. Technology wasn’t something to fear. It was something to be inspired by. The idea that someone could create AI that helps people learn—that felt beautiful to me.

Fast forward to today, and I still feel that same excitement when I think about AI. I don’t immediately think about destruction. I think about possibility. I think about education. I think about what can happen when powerful tools are placed in the right hands. I think about what they can become.

At the same time, I recognize that we’re living in a moment where AI is receiving an enormous amount of hostility. Some of the criticism is valid. There are real concerns that deserve discussion.

But sometimes I find the conversation strange.

People will criticize AI for energy consumption and environmental impact while making those same arguments from devices that contribute to many of the same problems. That doesn’t mean the concerns aren’t real. Quite the opposite. I think they’re important. I just think they’re problems worth solving.

And honestly, one of the tools that might help solve them is AI itself. Why not ask the technology how we can improve efficiency? How we can reduce energy consumption? How we can build something better?

When generative AI first appeared, I was deeply uncomfortable with it. As an artist with nearly thirty years of experience, the idea that someone could type a prompt and instantly generate artwork felt upsetting. It felt threatening. It felt like this machine was learning from the backs of artists who had spent years developing their craft.

I was disgusted by it. I was scared of it.

But over time, I’ve started to let go of some of that fear and look at it differently.

I’ve been experimenting with AI lately, just to see what I could do with it.

Now, at my core, I love to create with nothing more than me, a pen, a pencil, a Wacom tablet—whatever is available. I’m a kid at heart. No matter how long I’ve been in this industry, I still love to draw. I love designing. I love building things from scratch. That will never change.

But if there’s something that can help me along the way, I’m going to try it.