Notes from the Lab is a semi-regular dispatch of ideas, a journal of progress or failure, and a peek behind the curtain into the creative process of being a photographer, filmmaker, parent, and husband.
It is supposed to be an honest and subjective view of the creative industry and an attempt to share everything I experience and learn on the way as relentlessly as possible - because gatekeeping sucks.
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My name is Ramon Haindl. To learn more about me and my work, visit my Website or Instagram.
Before writing this piece, I promised myself not to go on a rant. But here I am, on a rant — and I enjoy it from the bottom of my heart.
So indulge me. Towards the end, I’ve got an optimistic outlook for you. Admittedly, this optimism might be born from my bias as a person growing up between generations that experienced both life before the internet and from humble beginnings in the mid-90s until today.
For most of my adulthood, I have lived an online life. I didn’t start my career necessarily because of the internet, but being present online certainly kickstarted aspects of it. I found a community of like-minded people, some of whom became real-life friends.
I’m not nostalgic; I don’t dream myself back into a world of cassette players and printed maps to navigate the city. I like technology, I don’t despise screens, and I appreciate the level of democratization the internet brought to the creative sphere, granting access to tools unavailable or hard to obtain for previous generations and the possibility of self-expression.
But recently, I started to feel a shift—and I’m not alone. There is an unfamiliar feeling of fatigue. The internet as we know it, especially social media, is in decay.
The attention-grabbing industry of algorithms weakens the internet. The content we are presented with is commodified, streamlined, and optimized to the bones to pass the algorithm and reach some eyeballs. We get fed on junk to sell us stuff we don’t need to impress people we don’t like and live a life that gets increasingly confusing and complex.
It becomes challenging to discern the relevant things that genuinely inspire us and tickle our brains from the stuff we consume to numb our brains to avoid boredom—or, god forbid, an idle brain.
Often, we don’t see and discover the good things because they didn’t pass the algorithm’s gates anyway, and it gets even worse.
With the advent of AI comes a surge of content, increasingly indistinguishable from the human-made counterpart but with less cost and effort. Everything imaginable can and will be done very soon, and nothing can be trusted.
But what does that mean for creatives, the ones wholeheartedly trying to avoid the content-creation bandwagon of hell?
The creative industry WILL change. Don't ask which jobs can or cannot be replaced by AI. Assume they all eventually will. Instead, ask what jobs humans will want other humans to do even when AI could do them as well or better, faster, and cheaper.
Indeed, companies will utilize AI to cut costs and drive people who are considered professionals today out of business. And it doesn’t stop with post-production; it includes ideating, execution, and distribution.
And I’m not even arguing that you can’t make great art with AI; the tools will improve, and people will get better and more creative at using them.
I can find beauty and originality in Bobby Doherty’s weird AI-generated still-life pictures; I like the digital worlds of Jon Emmony, and I appreciate what Marius Jopen (on Substack, too:
) is doing, to name a few.And although it might not necessarily be my cup of tea aesthetically, I still look at it and feel inspired.
But here’s the catch: These works contain authorship, artistic integrity, a great deal of experience, and a willingness to experiment.
And that’s the difference.
It’s not the tools; it’s the person behind the art, their personalities and experience. It’s storytelling from a human perspective. The tools don’t matter much in advancing the arts and broadening perspectives on the world around us.
What I’m arguing against is the flood of meaningless shit that inevitably will get washed over upon us. There will be a giant AI-infested internet, it will be even more geared toward driving you towards a transaction, and it will suck more than it already does.
I see a big chance there. I don‘t want to bend to the cynicism of the average tech bro (the same who sold NFTs as the next big thing), rendering everything made by humans with love, heart, and brain obsolete in a technocratic world obsessed with erasing everything that is deemed unproductive and hence unnecessary.
I think that this enshittification will push more people in the other direction: A niched-down market, a counter-movement where the tools serve the human drive for creativity and expression and not getting sucked up and spat out by a machine.
A movement is well aware of the question: Who is the original work's author?
You can already see glimpses of this counter-movement today if you look closely:
The tangible, all-practical sets and effects movement of directors like Christopher Nolan or Denis Villeneuve, who actively rebelled against Hollywood’s reliance on bombastic CGI worlds and countering with great storytelling and directing, led to great success—the return of the analog process in photography and the spike in new and established photobook publishers. Vinyl outselling CDs for the second year running. A healthy book market and, heck, even the return of the dad cam for the TikTok generation.
These incomplete examples are not just an expression of nostalgia or a passing trend; they are attempts to validate human authorship, and it gets increasingly important to understand and experience the thought process of the people behind the work.
But how can you, as an artist and creative, act moving forward if you want to stay authentic, curious, and relevant? This is where things get tricky.
Make no mistake: You’ll have to find your genuine voice as an artist or at least embark on the journey to discover it. We need to create with more daring, boldness, and even fearlessness.
Most importantly, we need to re-learn to create without thinking about the transaction first: Don’t create for the views that the piece might generate, engagement, possible followers, or “what works best on the explore page.” Stay educated and play with the tools, but don’t act out of fear.
Instead, turn your attentive experience into the world and create something inherently yours. Take risks and stay consistent.
In all of this, I’m not talking about “style.” Your so-called style won’t protect you; everything that has been done and will be done will be open to reproduction and can be fed into an AI-training model. I’m talking about the story you want to tell.
But be aware, this alone isn’t a formula for success in an increasingly competitive environment, let alone safe from being appropriated, remixed, and washed down. However, the process is much more fulfilling and meaningful on a personal level than succumbing to the pressure of the attention economy. Developing and maintaining a solid and standalone creative voice is vital.
Admittedly, these rules don’t necessarily apply to the commercial part of the creative industry, where an open eye for cultural trends and shifts in societal structures is necessary to stay relevant and get booked for gigs. However, personal work close to your heart and reflects your willingness to commit to a particular topic always shines outward and informs how you get noticed and sought after in a commercial context if you can make it past the gatekeepers.
But there is still the paradox of distribution: how to build an audience that ideally supports your livelihood as an artist without subduing to social media companies and their merciless algorithms. Who cares about the output of your endless introspection if nobody sees it? Having thousands of followers but only a few views doesn’t do the trick.
I’m afraid the most promising concept for making yourself seen is also the most challenging: consistent, hard work and a commitment to engaging in conversation and exchange with people relevant to your art. Form your own clubs, your own imprints, create something people will want to hold, meet and talk to people and have fun, exhibit, curate, write document and share, but constantly strive to work on improving your art.
Experiment and learn.
It doesn’t matter if it’s made with a pen, a camera, or Midjourney; the tools don’t matter fundamentally. They are…well…tools.
It’s either moaning from the sidelines or creating something that makes you happy and, second, finding an audience for itself, in the best case.
Life in real life, make real friends and support people. Be a resource and guide. Relax, be fierce and fearless.
Hugs and kisses,
— Ramon
Love it, such a good read, and I completely agree.
Interesting to read your perspective on this. I think you have to think a step further. AGI and ASI are just around the corner, and will fundamentally change earth, and life on it for humans. It won’t only be about the creative space and the jobs within, but all white collar jobs and some blue collar too.
There will have to be a completely new understanding of what humans are supposed to do here on earth, pretty soon. Peoples identities will have to be decoupled from the concept of a „professional career“, because there simply won’t be many such careers for humans left. This could be a complete disaster or an amazing, liberating development. Whatever happens, at this point it’s out of our control already, because the companies pushing for ASI won’t stop, and can’t really stop, as someone else would just pick up.
Until this unfolds I too will enjoy the „backlash“ of photobooks, and vinyl, and Denis Villeneuves movies. To me it’s just a last hooray though, until ASI fundamentally changes everything.