They wanted to pull the plug back at GPT‑3, convinced that a runaway mind was about to steamroll humanity. Then time did what it always does to bad prophecies. In the space of a few news cycles, new startups, new tools, new opportunities arrived. Not an intelligence explosion, a knowledge furnace, hotter every week, fed by research, iteration, and use.

These systems are weird and wonderful. Think tireless librarian with a gift for connections, dazzling at recall, occasionally clumsy at grade‑school math. Fallible, corrigible, already useful. You trade pennies for what used to take days, and the bargain keeps improving monthly, sometimes weekly.

This is what getting things right looks like. Not perfection, progress. Technology is a moral good when it expands our reach and our ability to explain the world. The people who say “freeze it, trust us, hand over your freedom so we can keep you safe from the unknown” are selling the oldest superstition in politics. Fear as policy. No. Knowledge grows by bold conjecture and hard criticism, not by permission slips.

The future is open and unpredictable by nature. Generative tools give ordinary people levers once reserved for studios, labs, and guilds. You can speak a film into a first draft, sketch a product into a prototype, hum a song into an arrangement, outline a business and pressure‑test it before lunch. The cathedral is now a keyboard project. Share with a tight circle or with millions, and watch feedback do its compounding work.

Progress never moves in a straight line, it comes in pulses, like a city at night. If it feels slower one month, that is just the texture of discovery. The appetite has been lit. Capital will keep chasing better architectures because problem solvers hate ceilings. We are strip‑mining the design space of minds, searching for systems that carry more initiative, better memory, sharper models. Not for control, for reach.

If we manage to build generally capable, self‑correcting partners, history truly turns a page. If we do not, we still walk away with legions of intelligent assistants that amplify curiosity, compress drudgery, and free more human time for explanation, art, and exploration.

Problems are inevitable, all problems are soluble. The unknown is not a menace, it is our address. Please, keep building.

George Kroustallis // Minorstep

Generative AI is completely transforming how we create and experience art, opening it up to more people than ever before. You've noticed the recent boom in AI-generated images, videos, and writing, popping up everywhere from social media to major creative projects. Despite the initial venomous backlash, it’s crucial to understand the true nature of these AI models and their immense potential to completely transform the creative landscape.

Here’s what a lot of people miss about AI: An LLM, properly understood, is a physics simulator in the domain of words (tokens). It learns the hidden structures that predict, just as a physics simulator trained on video footage learns momentum and rigidity. Similarly, an image generation model like Midjourney is a physics simulator in the domain of pixels, and a video generation model like OpenAI’s Sora is a spatio-temporal simulator in the domain of video frames. These are quite literally world models.

In each case, the AI model learns to capture the underlying patterns and relationships in its respective domain, allowing it to generate novel but coherent outputs that mimic the structure of the training data. Just as a physics simulator approximates the real world by learning its governing laws, these AI models approximate their domains by learning the hidden rules that give rise to language, images, and videos.

As we move closer to the development of Artificial General Intelligence (AGI), the impacts on society, the economy, and our daily lives will be immense. We can expect accelerated scientific discovery, enhanced creativity and entertainment, democratization of access to creative tools, improved education and training, efficiency gains and automation, and immense advancements in healthcare. However, we must also be prepared for potential challenges such as job displacement and economic disruption, widening inequality, loss of privacy and autonomy, programming bias and ideas discrimination (Hello Gemini), and existential risk.

This is exactly why the “AI Bad – AI plagiarism” argument is fundamentally flawed, as it stems from a deep misunderstanding of how generative AI models work. These models are not merely copying or regurgitating existing data like simplistic algorithms. Instead, they function more like intelligent digital artists who learn to understand and synthesize information in a way that closely mirrors human learning and creation. ‘Copying’, very clearly, is not more of an AI problem than it is a human problem.

And so AI models like Veo represent an intellectual breakthrough that will totally revolutionize filmmaking and storytelling in the years to come. These are not plagiarism machines, but world and physics simulators that have internalized the deep structures and governing laws of their domains – language, vision, time. They are our new engines of immense creative potential.

Some of these critiques reflect a profound lack of vision and understanding about the transformative potential of this technology. Many critics fixate on surface-level flaws and limitations, failing to grasp the bigger picture. Others simply dislike the concepts or styles of the AI-generated art, conflating their personal tastes with the potential of the technology itself.

We’ve seen similar arguments before with the introduction of new technologies in art. Samples and DAWs didn’t replace “real” musicianship, CGI didn’t replace “real” cinematography, and Photoshop didn’t replace “real” art. Instead, these technologies unlocked new possibilities and elevated their respective mediums. AI generation will do the same for filmmaking and countless other fields.

Yes, jobs will be lost, perhaps faster than ever. But historically, technological progress ultimately creates more jobs, possibilities, and wealth than it eliminates, even if there is a challenging transition period. The solution lies in proactively steering the technology with foresight and humanistic values, not in denying or demonizing it out of fear.

One of the biggest fallacies of anti-AI sentiment in art is the idea that advancing AI capabilities inherently leads to a creative dystopia — that argument denies human agency and our problem-solving capacity. We are not passive observers but active participants who can shape AI’s direction through our choices and values.

Technological progress is not at odds with humane values – quite the opposite. Philosophers like Karl Popper and David Deutsch who advanced human thinking, taught us that the solution to potential dangers or misuses of knowledge is not to suppress the knowledge, but to gain more and better knowledge about how to handle these issues safely and ethically.

This will be one of the most interesting and challenging problems for humanity to solve moving forward. What terrifies me isn't the risk of getting this wrong, but rather not moving quickly and freely enough to fully realize AI’s enormous creative potential.

George Kroustallis // Minorstep

Hollywood has a perception problem. The myth persists that audiences favor practical effects over CGI. Thus, studios shout “shot practically” and “no CGI” in marketing materials.

Peel back the poster to find hundreds of VFX artists in the credits. Open the bonus footage to see the reality – vast green screens and actors reacting to tennis balls.

In “Top Gun: Maverick,” authenticity was the narrative. The mission was to capture the skies for real. “No CGI!”.

Yet, beneath this, a different reality buzzed. The credit roll revealed 400 VFX artists. While some real jets were filmed, many were later digitally altered or replaced in post-production. L39 stand-in jets, initially filmed and tracked, were digitally transformed into other aircraft.

Significantly, the Dark Star, F14, and enemy’s fifth-generation fighters were pure CGI creations. During the climactic dogfight sequence, the audience saw a sky filled with CGI-crafted jets, blurring the line between reality and digital artistry. The tangible F18s flown had CGI counterparts for safety or specific visuals, challenging the discernment between real and rendered.

The ‘all practical’ narrative was a marketing angle, yet the blend of practical and digital revealed a broader truth.

Evidence mounts. Scan interviews and watch as directors and talent cautiously navigate the subject, contractually silenced. The shiny new blockbuster is a Trojan Horse, CGI concealed within its practical facade.

This is the theatrical industrial complex in action. The fear: audiences may reject the magic required to create today’s cinematic illusions. So, the wizard stays hidden.

It’s time to challenge old notions. CGI is not a crutch, but an artform. A tool for creation unbound by physics and practicalities. The modern filmmaker’s new palette.

When done right, CGI vanishes from mind, melding seamlessly with the practical. We can’t tell the difference – and that’s its triumph. The real magic is in the imagining, not the technique.

Now, it’s time for transparency – to champion CGI in both process and marketing. To educate audiences that CGI is the illusionist’s latest trick, not a cheat but a leap toward new realms of possibility.

Perceptions change slowly, but progress demands honesty. We must pull back the curtain, spark a new dialogue around CGI. Showcase its artistry. Celebrate its collaborative role alongside practical effects. Only then will outdated stigmas dissolve.

Emerging AI technologies are further blurring the lines between practical and digital. The next-gen tools will foster new levels of automation and realism, requiring less specialized skill and effort.

The future of CGI is one mixed media – practical, digital, AI-powered. It expands our imagination.

Isn’t it time we openly appreciate its possibilities, not its limitations?

A titan in the realm of photography, Edward Weston, left an indelible mark through his sharply defined, masterfully arranged images. His work heralded an era where quality took precedence, resonating with modern audiences in ways that grainy, unfocused images from the past cannot match.

The sphere of film also demonstrates this principle. Orson Welles’ “Citizen Kane,” a film from 1941, continues to captivate audiences with its cutting-edge production values and compelling storytelling. The films from the late 1920s, however, lose their luster when placed in direct comparison due to their dated quality and aesthetics.

This concept holds true in literature as well. The thrilling narratives of a first-edition Ian Fleming novel grip readers today, while a text from the 1600s may not generate the same level of enthusiasm, largely due to changes in language and style over the centuries.

Pivoting to the world of digital design, websites born out of early platforms like Angelfire now feel clunky and outdated. Yet, a blog designed a decade ago, with its thoughtful layout and user-friendly interface, still holds its charm and relevance, successfully engaging with contemporary audiences.

These examples serve to highlight one core principle: Quality matters.

It is the dividing line between enduring and ephemeral, between timeless appeal and transient interest. When a medium achieves a specific quality level, or ‘resolution’, further improvements, while beneficial, don’t radically enhance the consumer’s experience. Once this principle is understood and adopted industry-wide, the fervor for constant improvement in quality tends to stabilize. However, identifying that precise moment of ‘optimal quality’ is often a task only possible with the clarity of hindsight.

As we stand at the intersection of all current and future media, we are uniquely positioned. We’re not simply witnessing but actively shaping new content that is striving towards, if not already meeting, that threshold of optimal quality. This progression has implications far beyond just aesthetic or technical considerations. It will establish new standards for visual interaction and cultural expression, thereby setting the stage for media consumption and appreciation for generations to come.

Quality, it turns out, is a commitment. It is the compass guiding us through the sea of media development, pointing the way to enduring relevance and appeal. Resolution and light quality matter, and as pioneers in this field, it is our responsibility to uphold this standard and continue to redefine it for the future.

George Kroustallis // Minorstep

Published in 1933, In Praise of Shadows is Jun’ichirō Tanizaki’s quiet revolt against the glare. It argues for an art of the half-seen, where value lives in what light withholds as much as in what it reveals. As he puts it, “were it not for shadows, there would be no beauty.”

Tanizaki contrasts Japanese taste with the industrial West’s hunger for brightness, polish, and total disclosure. He lingers on things that awaken only in low light, a tarnished silver sake cup that smokes with history, lacquer that catches a wavering candle and turns it into a soft pulse, yokan eaten from a black dish so the room’s darkness seems to dissolve on the tongue, sushi resting inside a persimmon leaf. It reads like a lesson in attention. Not a chase after spectacle, a patient tuning of the senses.

In this view, shadow is not a defect to be corrected. It is a structure, a ritual, a set of choices handed down by time. Light becomes its counterpart, necessary yet dangerous when unrestrained. The two are not a simple fight between good and bad. They are a tension that gives shape to everything else. Shadow grants privacy, ambiguity, silence. It slows the eye. It makes an object dignified by refusing to tell the whole story at once.

What happens when we carry that ethic into creative work today, especially into photography where sensors and screens are trained to flatten the night?

We can protect the dark. Expose for highlight, not for spectacle, and let blacks keep their weight. Let surfaces breathe, choose materials that reward low light, grain, patina, skin that is allowed to be skin. Shape space with absence, not only with fixtures. Give the viewer’s eye a place to rest, then a reason to return. Use reflection as a verb, not a trick, thin, imperfect, human.

We can pace time. Allow stillness inside the frame, long enough for texture to announce itself. Edit hard, if it fits. Resist the reflex to explain everything. Let a corner hold a secret. Trust that a softer signal often travels farther.

We can honor context. Build compositions that invite the surrounding dark to participate, doorways that promise, not billboards that shout. In architecture, in product, in portrait, consider where light stops, since that edge is where character begins.

Tanizaki’s praise is not nostalgia. It is a method, a way to cultivate sensitivity in a world trained to overexpose. Make room for what the eye cannot immediately name, then design the conditions where that quiet can be felt. Shadows are not empty. They are full of decisions.

George Kroustallis // Minorstep