How I draw my coloring books in Procreate

Do you remember when everyone suddenly wanted their photos to look like a scene from Studio Ghibli?

Around March 25–28, 2025—right after OpenAI released its GPT-4o update—the internet exploded with dreamy, Ghibli-style images. The trend really took off when software engineer Grant Slatton shared a Ghibli-inspired photo of his family on X. And just like that… magic everywhere.

When I saw it happening, I’ll be honest—I felt discouraged. A little heartbroken, even.

I’ve been drawing my own coloring books since 2020. Real sketches. Real hours. Real effort. And suddenly it felt like the ground under my feet was shifting.

An AI can generate a basic coloring page in 3 to 60 seconds. A detailed page I create in Procreate takes me about 4 to 5 hours of focused work. That contrast hits hard. And that’s where the bigger conversation begins.

The Big AI & Art Debate

There’s a huge emotional and moral debate around AI and artists. It’s not just about technology—it’s about creativity, fairness, and what art really means.

Here’s the heart of it, in simple terms:

1. Consent & “Is This Fair?”

Why some artists are upset:
Many AI systems were trained using billions of images pulled from the internet—without asking the original artists. Some creators describe it as “vampire-like,” because their life’s work was used to train tools that now compete with them.

They often compare AI to an art student studying paintings in a museum. In their view, the system isn’t copying and pasting—it’s simply recognizing patterns and learning the way a human would.

My honest perspective:
After 15 years of being an artist, that comparison doesn’t sit right with me.

Learning as a human takes time, mistakes, doubt, growth, late nights, and thousands of imperfect sketches. It’s a journey shaped by experience, emotion, and intention. Watching a machine generate work in seconds—sometimes even “better” by certain standards—can feel discouraging.

It’s hard not to feel like you’re competing, not with another artist’s story or skill, but with speed.

To me, it’s a bit like comparing a chef who trained for years, refining flavors and techniques, to a fast-food stand on the corner. Both serve food. Both fill a need. But one carries craft, history, and personal touch—while the other prioritizes speed and efficiency and profit.

Technology isn’t the enemy. But it does change the playing field. And for those of us who’ve poured years into mastering our craft, it’s okay to admit that shift can feel heavy.

Still, real artistry—the kind built on lived experience and inspiration—has a depth no shortcut can truly replace.

Same situation. Very different interpretations.

2. Value of Skill & Making a Living

The economic reality:
Businesses can now generate logos, illustrations, and concept art almost instantly—and often for free. That means fewer commissions for human artists.

The deeper fear:
If a machine can imitate in seconds what took someone 20 years to master… will people still feel motivated to spend those 20 years learning?

That question is bigger than art. It touches culture, dedication, and what we value as a society.

And honestly? I still believe it is completely worth it.

Because those 20 years are not just about the final result. They’re about who you become in the process. The discipline. The resilience. The way your eye sharpens. The way your taste evolves. The way your hands learn to translate emotion into something real.

A machine can replicate a style.
It cannot replicate growth.

Mastering a craft shapes your character. It builds patience. It teaches problem-solving. It connects you to history and tradition. It gives you a voice that isn’t borrowed—it’s earned.

Fast results might win attention.
But deep skill builds legacy.

So yes, even in a world of instant output, choosing the long road is still powerful. Maybe even more powerful now.

3. Soul vs. Speed

Some legendary creators, like Hayao Miyazaki, have called AI art a betrayal of what makes art meaningful. To them, art isn’t just the final image. It’s the struggle. The intention. The emotion behind it.

On the other side, businesses often focus on results. If the final image works and it’s faster and cheaper… does the process matter?

Efficiency versus meaning. Head versus heart.

4. The Legal Mess

The legal world is still figuring things out. In the U.S., fully AI-generated images generally can’t be copyrighted. That creates a big gray area for companies and creators.

Meanwhile, artists aren’t just watching quietly. Some are using tools like Glaze to protect their work from being used to train AI. Others are joining lawsuits against major tech companies.

This story isn’t over. Not even close.

So Where Does That Leave Us?

Here’s the part that matters most:

AI can generate an image in seconds.
But it cannot live your life.
It cannot feel your memories.
It cannot experience your struggles.

Your art carries your fingerprint—your story, your perspective, your weird little details that no algorithm can truly replicate.

The market may change. Tools will evolve. Trends will explode and fade.

But human creativity? That doesn’t disappear.

It adapts.

And honestly? Artists have survived photography, digital art, tablets, and every “this will replace you” moment in history.

This is just another chapter.

So if you’re feeling discouraged, take a breath. Your work still matters. Your hours still matter. Your voice still matters.

And no 3-second render can replace that.

An invitation from my heart:

Support real artists.
Choose art made by human hands, not just quick, generic, mass-produced images.

When you buy from an artist, you’re not just buying a product. You’re supporting years of practice, late nights, doubt, courage, and love poured into a craft.

It’s easy to choose what’s fast and cheap.
It’s powerful to choose what’s meaningful.

Support your fellow artists. Share their work. Talk about them. Commission them. Celebrate them. Your choice makes a real difference in someone’s life and keeps creativity alive in its most human form.

I still believe in people.
I still believe in talent.
I still believe in the beauty of something made with intention.

And I believe that when we support real creators, we protect something much bigger than art — we protect humanity itself.