AI in art & craft
I have just published two articles on our website, one written solely by AI and the other written solely by me (researching articles online and from my experience).
Both attempt to address the same question - Can AI replace craftsmanship in art?
Both come to the same conclusion.
Happy St David’s Day: Celebrate Welsh culture, identity & heritage; remember his life as a monk known for wisdom, kindness & miracles
His final words: “Brothers be ye constant. The yoke which with single mind ye have taken, bear ye to the end; whatsoever ye have seen with me & heard, keep & fulfil”
Our latest newsletter is now out with details of our upcoming exhibitions, and with Tracey Emin’s Tate retrospective, A Second Life, opening tomorrow we provide details of her available editions on our website.
mailchi.mp/5f611c01fd4c...
“With or without anger, with or without sadness or depression, I have always been an artist. That’s the constant”, the artist Tracey Emin tells Fi Churchman in a wide-ranging discussion of art, illness, sex and love artreview.com/the-intervie...
This is terrible, but what about all the other innocent detainees? Or is Sky News only concerned with certain ones?
‘Emin has so fully re-established herself as a painter that it’s now a shock to recall the diversity of media in which she has worked over the course of her career.’ Hettie Judah on the artist’s recovery from her crisis of faith about painting.
I think he might be shocked then to learn that Monaco is populated mostly by immigrants (75%) with 25% from the Middle East.
www.familysearch.org/en/wiki/Mona...).
Burns's Ode for General Washington's Birthday celebrates republican liberty and condemns tyranny.
Speaking as a patriotic singer for "Columbia," the poem exults at a broken chain and dares despots to face a liberated people.
Show me that arm which, nerv'd with thundering fate,
Crush'd Usurpation's boldest daring!
Dark-quench'd as yonder sinking star,
No more that glance lightens afar;
That palsied arm no more whirls on the waste of war.
Ye babbling winds in silence sweep;
Disturb not ye the hero's sleep,
Nor give the coward secret breath.
Is this the ancient Caledonian form,
Firm as the rock, resistless as her storm?
Show me that eye which shot immortal hate,
Blasting the Despot's proudest bearing:
Thee, Caledonia! thy wild heaths among,
Famed for the martial deed, the heaven-taught song,
To thee, I turn with swimming eyes.
Where is that soul of Freedom fled?
Immingled with the mighty Dead!
Beneath that hallowed turf where Wallace lies!
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death!
That hour accurst how did the fiends rejoice
And hell thro' all her confines raise th' exulting voice,
That hour which saw the generous English name
Linkt with such damned deeds of everlasting shame!
To make detested tyrants bleed?
Thy England execrates the glorious deed!
Beneath her hostile banners waving,
Every pang of honour braving,
England in thunder calls, 'The Tyrant's cause is mine!'
Alfred! on thy starry throne,
Surrounded by the tuneful choir,
The Bards that erst have struck the patriot lyre,
And rous'd the freeborn Briton's soul of fire,
No more thy England own.
Dare injured nations form the great design,
Columbia's offspring, brave as free,
In danger's hour still flaming in the van:
Ye know, and dare maintain, the Royalty of Man.
Yet, crouching under the iron rod,
Canst laud the hand that struck th' insulting blow!
Art thou of man's imperial line?
Dost boast that countenance divine?
Each sculking feature answers, No!
But come, ye sons of Liberty,
Where is Man's god-like form?
Where is that brow erect and bold,
That eye that can, unmoved, behold
The wildest rage, the loudest storm,
That e'er created fury dared to raise!
Avaunt! thou caitiff, servile, base,
That tremblest at a Despot's nod,
And tell him he no more is feared,
No more the Despot of Columbia's race.
A tyrant's proudest insults brav'd,
They shout - a People freed! They hail an Empire saved.
No Spartan tube, no Attic shell,
No lyre Eolian I awake;
'Tis Liberty's bold note I swell,
Thy harp, Columbia, let me take.
See gathering thousands, while I sing,
A broken chain, exulting, bring,
And dash it in a tyrant's face!
And dare him to his very beard,
Robert Burns was a fan of William Wallace and supported both the French and American Revolutions. In 1794 he wrote Ode for George Washington’s Birthday, saying that people in Scotland wanted the same freedoms that Americans had………….
It might be the other way around now.
Here’s the poem:
This afternoon I’m going to the London Art Fair, let me know if you are too!
No Time for Love is a three Colour lithographic print on Somerset Velvet Warm White 400gsm. 86 x 69 cm, edition of 75. Signed, numbered and dated by the artist.
This print is in mint condition and framed.
A major retrospective of Tracey Emin’s career to date will open at Tate Modern in February 2026.
This traces 40 years of Emin’s groundbreaking practice, showcasing career-defining sensations (My Bed) alongside works never exhibited before.
www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tat...
Tracey Emin has curated Crossing into Darkness which opens at Carl Freedman, Margate today.
The exhibition brings together a group of artists whose work confronts the darkness inherent in human experience.
carlfreedman.com/exhibition/c...
’No Time for Love’ (2020) by Tracey Emin, one a few editions by this artist available on our website now.
The text in red reads:
“You went away and you knew the truth. There is no time left here - no time for love or surrender”
www.zimmerstewart.co.uk/product-page...
Crossing into Darkness review – Tracey Emin takes her heroes on a descent to the gates of hell
