It's the Artist, Not the Pen

I hear it more than I’d like.

“Anyone can do that now. You just type what you want and the AI does it.”

It’s usually said with a shrug. Sometimes with dismissal. Occasionally with the implication that whatever I’ve built, whatever I’ve shipped, whatever system I’ve architected—it doesn’t really count. Because the tools did the heavy lifting.

Here’s my question back: If I handed you my camera right now—same body, same lens, same settings, same light—would you get the same shot?

The Camera Test

I’ve been shooting for years. Not professionally, but consistently. Publicly. Iteratively.

And I can tell you with certainty: the camera doesn’t see. I see. The camera records what I’ve already noticed.

When I walk into a room or onto a volleyball court, I’m not thinking about aperture. I’m reading the light, anticipating movement, feeling the moment before it crystallizes. The settings are muscle memory. The composition is instinct trained by thousands of frames—most of them failures.

Hand someone my exact rig, put them in the same spot, and they’ll get a photo. Maybe even a decent one. But they won’t get my photo. Not at the same speed. Not with the same consistency. Not with the same eye for what’s actually worth capturing.

The gap isn’t the gear. The gap is the ten thousand hours of pattern recognition that lives behind my eyes.

The Same Thing Is Happening With AI

When people say “anyone can do that with ChatGPT,” they’re making the same mistake as assuming the camera takes the picture.

Yes, anyone can open a prompt window. Anyone can type a question. Anyone can hit enter and get a response.

But here’s what they’re not seeing:

• They’re not seeing the years of systems thinking that shaped how I frame problems.
• They’re not seeing the consulting background that trained me to decompose ambiguity into actionable structure.
• They’re not seeing the pattern recognition that lets me spot when the AI is hallucinating versus when it’s onto something.
• They’re not seeing the architectural intuition that tells me when to trust the output and when to push back.
• They’re not seeing the editorial instinct that knows which 20% of the response is actually useful.

The AI is the camera. I’m still the one deciding what to point it at, when to shoot, and what makes the final cut.

Velocity Is a Skill

Here’s the part people really miss: it’s not just about whether you can produce the output. It’s about how fast and how reliably.

I can go from idea to working prototype in hours. Not because the AI is fast—though it is. Because I know how to think in prompts, iterate in real-time, catch errors before they compound, and keep momentum when most people would stop to Google something.

That velocity didn’t come from the tool. It came from using the tool—relentlessly, daily, for over a year. Failing. Adjusting. Building intuition for what works and what doesn’t.

Could you get to the same place? Probably. With the same investment I made. But that’s not “anyone can do this.” That’s “anyone can do this if they put in the work I put in.”

Which is true of literally every craft.

This Isn’t About Ego

I want to be clear: this isn’t a flex. It’s not “look how special I am.” It’s a reality check.

When someone dismisses AI-assisted work as “not real skill,” they’re revealing that they don’t understand what the skill actually is. The skill isn’t typing. The skill is thinking. The skill is taste. The skill is judgment under ambiguity. The skill is knowing when to override the machine and when to let it run.

Those things aren’t democratized just because the interface is.

A Steinway doesn’t make you a pianist. A $10,000 camera doesn’t make you a photographer. And access to GPT doesn’t make you an AI-native builder.

The Work Still Counts

I’ve built apps, systems, workflows, and content with AI assistance. Every single one of them required decisions the AI couldn’t make. Direction it couldn’t provide. Judgment it couldn’t exercise.

The work still counts. The craft still matters. The human in the loop isn’t a ceremonial role—it’s the whole point.

So the next time someone shrugs and says “anyone can do that now,” I’ll think about handing them my camera.

Same settings. Same light. Same scene.

Let’s see what they get.

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The signal: Tools are access. Craft is leverage. Don’t confuse having the instrument with knowing how to play it.