As I wrote last week, I have recently become interested in reviving and developing my analog photography skills. As a result, I have been on the hunt for a secondhand Leica 35mm f/2 lens at a reasonable price (admittedly an oxymoron where Leica is concerned) for my Leica M6 rangefinder. I sold my old 35mm f/2 years ago for some cash to buy a Chromebook Pixel. I had reasons.
I am also increasingly writing, drawing and sketching on paper using pen and pencils. In addition to looking for a 35mm lens for a film camera, I’m also checking my old Winsor & Newton watercolors to see which colors have dried up and need to be replaced so I can start painting again.
All of which is to say I am all in on analog being the new digital; I am committed to the “vinylification” of my creative life.
This is not to say I won’t continue to use my Macs, my Wacom tablet, my Photoshop and Illustrator, etc. This is 2024 and that’s simply not an option even if I wanted to—which I don’t. But I do want to reset my digital/analog balance from the current 95%/5% to be closer to maybe 70/30, give or take. Whether or not it makes my work better, I know it’s going to make me feel better, and I have some great inspiration.
I am a huge admirer of the work of the British artist Dave McKean. Well known for his work on the Arkham Asylum comic series, McKean is also a regular contributor to the Folio Society. I am a sucker for his gorgeous book illustrations: I own Gormenghast, Roadside Picnic, I am Legend, and American Gods. Apart from being the same age and the fact that we grew up in towns a few miles from each other in England, one of the things I find most inspiring about McKean as an artist is the balance he’s found between analog and digital work: He draws and paints, and then scans the work and brings it into the computer to work on it digitally. His studio is literally divided between the two mediums: Drawing and painting downstairs, digital workstation upstairs—along with an astonishing collection of books!
Speaking of books, my drive to rekindle my analog intelligence has led me to spending less time reading on the screen and more reading on physical paper. I have a growing desire to sit and read beautiful books that I can hold in my hands, to enjoy the gorgeous design and illustrations, and to inhale that unique hard-backed book smell. Not only is that kinetic sensation alluring, but I also suspect it'll help me retain the information better—as has been the case so far re-reading Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson, this time in paperback, where I'm finding passages I honestly can't recall from the first time when I ran through it on an iPad.
It turns out it’s not just me. There is growing evidence that it is far easier to retain information reading text printed on paper than it is when reading text on a screen. This difference is particularly significant when it comes to teaching children to read.
Which is why I have decided to read physical books again, especially books that seem particularly apt for this moment such as Frank Herbet’s Dune and Dune Messiah by Frank Herbert. As much as I love Denis Villeneuve's film series—he is to Dune what Peter Jackson is to The Lord of the Rings—there is one omission from the books that has stuck with me because of its relevance to our current era of human versus artificial intelligence: The Butlerian Jihad.
Dune is set in a far future where the human race has banned the use of any kind of artificial intelligence as a result of The Butlerian Jihad, an uprising which destroyed all computer technology and forbidden the creation any kind of thinking machines on pain of death (“Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind”). As a result of the Dune universe is effectively analog: From the flight controls systems and dials of the Ornithopters, to the mental acuity of the Mentats, to the breeding programs of the Bene Gesserit, and The Guild use of spice to navigate interstellar travel, all technology in Dune is essentially human-powered.
It is assumed that Frank Herbert took some of his inspiration for the Butlerian Jihad from the book Erewhon by Samuel Butler. First published in 1872, Butler's story is a satire of Victorian Britain inspired by the explosion of technological innovation made during the Industrial Revolution in conjunction with the theory of evolution put forward by Charles Darwin in his book, The Origin of the Species. Butler’s Erewhon fuses the intersection of technology and evolution to build a world that, like Herbert’s Dune, crafts a science fiction narrative where humans have revolted against technology because of a visceral fear it would evolve and come to dominate them. Sounds familiar.
In the trilogy of Dune, Dune Messiah and Children of Dune (God Emperor of Dune and the later books in the series focus less on technology and more on, well let’s just say things get weird), Herbert mines a rich seam of what it means to be human in a far future where artificial intelligence is seen as an existential threat to humanity's ability to evolve as a species.
Back in our own world of 2024 (or if you prefer, 59 Anno Dune), the fear of a machine takeover so far seems too hyperbolic. As we're seeing time and again lately, the biggest threat to AI dominance is not us smashing the computers, but companies behind them going bankrupt because there's simply not a sustainable business model that offsets the monstrous investment of capital needed to feed the hungry AI beast.
Next week will be three months since we published our first article on MBH4H. The essay was prompted by the realization that my initial reaction to the Apple “Crush” ad was fundamentally wrong. Thinking and writing more since then has made me realize that my general optimism around new technology and AI may be misplaced, or at the very least, should be re-appraised. Though the risk of AI roiling the creative industry is still very real, I also feel many of the worst-case scenarios are increasingly abstract. It seems just as likely right now that AI's biggest consumer will be other AI models in search of new knowledge, creating a feedback loop of strange fiction and bad arithmetic.
Last week I wrote that I am not a Luddite. That is still true. But I am also becoming increasingly aware that I am valuing the process of doing the work more than simply getting the work done. The process is the point and working this way is making me feel more human. I love typing, but I love writing more. That’s not to say I’d rather be writing this by hand, but at least I am typing this using a mechanical keyboard. Soon I’ll be shooting with my Leica again, fear of film be damned. After all, fear is the mind-killer.