subversion of expectations precisely because it lacks the limitations of human perception and preconceptions. The fine and performing arts have long grappled with the tension between craft and concept, originality and imitation. From Duchamp’s readymades to postmodern pastiche, the boundaries of authorship have always been fluid. AI is simply the latest medium to stretch these limits, compelling us to ask not only what art is, but why we make it — and what it’s worth to us all. Looking ahead, AI is likely to remain both muse and rival in the arts. A 2023 study from the World Economic Forum predicts that AI will augment, not replace, most artistic professions — giving rise to new hybrid roles and creative industries. Programs such as Adobe’s Firefly, which embed AI within traditional creative software, point toward a future of seamless human-AI collaboration. But such a future demands robust ethical frameworks. Artists, educators, and institutions must lead in developing policies around transparency, consent, and credit — the latter of which often determines the sustainability of any artistic livelihood. If AI is to be a part of our creative ecosystems, its use must be intentional, equitable, regulated, and critically engaged. Artists must be at the forefront of shaping how AI is used — not only as users, but as theorists, designers, and ethicists. The arts offer a singular lens through which to examine the social, emotional, and existential dimensions of technology. In this sense, AI’s infiltration into the arts is not merely a technical development — it is a profoundly human challenge. I was reminded of this during a recent visit to the island of Burano, off the coast of Venice, Italy, where I met women preserving the vanishing tradition of handmade lacemaking. They spoke with quiet sorrow about how the intricate craft that once sustained generations of women is likely to disappear, as younger women choose skills more aligned with today’s economic realities. I was shown a stunning lace tablecloth — reportedly made by seven women over the course of two months — on sale for a discounted price of $14,000. It was exquisite. But even as I admired its beauty, I could not justify the cost for either home dining or my budget. That moment illuminated the difficulty of sustaining labor-intensive human artistry in a world increasingly collaborator, competitor, or colonizer will depend on how artists, institutions, and societies choose to engage with it. The arts may not need to “resist” AI so much as reimagine what artistry means in a world where machines can mimic — but not quite become — us; where they can demonstrate knowledge and intelligence but still fall short of common-sense wisdom. Even if AI doesn’t improve one iota, it is here to stay. As we stand on this creative threshold, the real challenge, then, is not whether AI can make art, but whether we can professionally make art with AI in ways that still honor the depth, diversity, uniqueness, and dignity of the human spirit. driven by speed, efficiency, and automation. In the end, whether AI is ultimately seen as a
that “art is made by desire and error,” qualities that AI, by its very nature, cannot genuinely possess. At the same time, concerns about creative labor are intensifying. As AI becomes increasingly adept at replicating artistic styles, many artists have found their work taken without consent or compensation, sparking lawsuits and fueling advocacy for stronger digital copyright protections and enforcement. Professional guilds in the performing arts, such as the Writers Guild of America (WGA), have also taken positions on AI. In 2023, the WGA negotiated contract language stipulating that AI cannot be credited as a writer, nor replace human writers in the development of film and television content. This was a landmark moment in labor’s response to AI and signaled broader anxieties about displacement and devaluation of creative work. Furthermore, AI’s aesthetic tendencies — rooted in algorithmic patterns, averages, and training sets — raise concerns about cultural homogenization. As media scholar Kate Crawford warns in “Atlas of AI” (2021), these systems often reinforce dominant norms embedded in their training data, leading to “aesthetic convergence” and erasure of minority or radical voices. At a deeper level, AI’s integration into the arts forces a reconsideration of the very nature of creativity. Is creativity solely the domain of conscious beings, or can it emerge from systems that merely simulate cognition? Can machines truly have need, desire, intention, understanding, and wisdom — or are we just confusing their smooth responses with real intelligence and creative action? Some argue that AI does not create, but rather calculates; it recombines existing materials without understanding or meaning. Yet others see in AI a new form of creativity — one that can usher in a new creative era in human expression full of surprise, innovation, and even the
LET US COOK ADVANCING HOWARD’S FILMMAKER LINEAGE by LARRY SANDERS
ON THE SET Jay Najeeah on the set of her MFA thesis film “Hag.” Photo courtesy Jay Najeeah.
Three Presentations, One Pedigree
Murphy’s presentation, “Filmmaking from the Heart of the Empire: U.S. Third Cinema’s Impact and Legacy,” mapped how the L.A. Rebellion and the New York cohort of Black independent filmmakers informed contemporary Black film practice, and how that insurgent, community- rooted cinema became a set of methods and ethics that today’s makers continue to refine. Roberts’ piece tackled the craft side: the Black film aesthetic as a Howard-grown set of cinematographic choices that have leapt from classrooms and student sets into the broader mainstream industry. In lieu of his presence at the conference, a video essay on his thesis screened at Prairie View and later to first-year MFA students back on campus. Najeeah’s paper, “Black Queer Cinema, Womanist Filmmaking, and Reframing Our Stories at Howard University,” centered the unmistakable imprint of Black and queer women on the canon, insisting on frameworks that read Black women as subjects, not footnotes. The papers were designed to course seamlessly. “All the papers flow together,” Najeeah said. “We go from Zion’s historical and theoretical context, to Chris’ lens on the aesthetic we cultivate at Howard and how it branches out, then to my focus on Black women and
When the University Film & Video Association (UFVA) convened its 79th annual conference at Prairie View A&M University in July, a three-person Howard University contingent took the dais with a charge that felt more spiritual than academic. Professor and alumna Montre Aza Missouri arrived with two rising voices, third-year MFA candidate Zion Binet Murphy and graduate Jala Bennett (MFA ‘24) (who works under the creative name Jay Najeeah), to present on “54 Years of Filmmaking at Howard University,” a sweeping look at how generations of Howard filmmakers have shaped, critiqued, and expanded the language of Black cinema. Missouri had tapped the pair earlier this summer alongside second-year MFA student Christopher Roberts with a simple invitation that carried historic weight — bring Howard’s inimitable story to a national convening of film professors, practitioners, and students. “It’s a conference for film academics and professors and also filmmakers in academia to come in and talk about the work,” Najeeah explained. In particular, conference participants discussed “where we’re going in academia and where we’re going in Hollywood,” she added.
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Howard Magazine
Fall 2025
Fall 2025
Howard Magazine
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