Why Oil Painting Matters More Than Ever in the Age of AI

In an era where artificial intelligence (AI) can generate images in seconds, the value and significance of traditional oil painting are being reexamined. While AI offers unprecedented tools for creation, it also challenges the role of human artists, especially those dedicated to time-honored techniques like oil painting.

(A personal reflection on the future of human creativity)

There was a time when learning how to draw or paint felt like a commitment to a lifelong journey—years spent practicing observation, light, anatomy, and texture, all in the pursuit of capturing a human emotion, a memory, or even just a shadow cast at the right angle. As a painter who still works with oils and whose hands are often stained with the same pigments once used by masters centuries ago, I sometimes wonder: What happens to this journey in a world where art can be generated in seconds?

Artificial Intelligence is not a threat—it’s a marvel. I was one of the first to be completely astonished by what AI image generators can do. You type a few words, and what you receive is often beautiful, layered, and perfectly balanced. It can echo the past, remix the present, or imagine futures we hadn’t even dreamed of. But with every hyperreal image created at lightning speed, a new question begins to settle in my mind: what will be left for the next generation of artists?

We live in a world where children once looked up to painters, illustrators, architects—people who spent decades refining a single skill. Today, it seems that same visual power can be achieved with a few clever prompts and a good internet connection. If you’re a young student considering studying art in 2025, what do you tell yourself? That after five years of hard work, you might still be competing with someone typing prompts into a machine? What happens to artistic identity when mastery no longer takes time?

This question haunts me not as someone afraid of technology but as someone who deeply believes in the value of human-made things. There is something sacred in the process of oil painting—the way the brush drags across the canvas, the waiting for layers to dry, the failures that teach you more than any tutorial. It’s not only about the result but about how it was made. No matter how real an AI-generated image may look, it will never hold the same imperfections, the same soul, the same silent doubts of the person who made it.

What concerns me the most is not today’s competition but tomorrow’s absence. If children stop dreaming of becoming artists because they feel they can never compete—or because they no longer see it as a viable path—what kind of world will we build without them? Creativity has always shaped our history. The Renaissance, the Bauhaus, Abstract Expressionism—none of these would have happened without people willing to dedicate their lives to art, often against all odds.

And yet, we’re already seeing signs of change. Universities are offering courses in prompt engineering. Students are being trained to use AI tools instead of paintbrushes. Sculptures can be printed. Textures can be faked. Even marble can be carved by robotic arms. Are we heading to a future where the artistic act itself becomes obsolete?

Still, I have hope.

I believe that what is made by human hands, with human time, and human feeling, will gain even more value in the years to come. Just like vinyl records made a comeback in the age of streaming, perhaps oil painting will become more precious in the age of artificial creation. Maybe we will look at brushstrokes the way we now look at handwritten letters—rare, honest, and filled with presence.

Social media has a big role in this. We scroll past perfection every day. Impossibly detailed AI images. Futuristic architecture. Ghibli-inspired dreamscapes. But strangely, the more flawless it becomes, the more I find myself drawn to process—videos of artists painting, close-ups of messy palettes, the slow unfolding of an artwork. The world is full of visuals, but we still crave stories, labor, and truth.

And so the question is: What can we do?

Maybe it starts with supporting those who still create with their hands. Maybe it’s about educating others on the difference between prompt and process. Maybe it’s reminding the next generation that being an artist is not just about producing images—but about telling stories no machine can replicate.

I’m not here to fight against AI. I use it. I admire it. But I also believe in the enduring power of paint.

And perhaps one day, a child will see a real painting hanging in a museum—not because it’s more perfect than what they’ve seen online, but because they’ll know someone gave their time, heart, and humanity to make it.

And that, I believe, will always matter.

While AI continues to transform the art world, the essence of human-made art remains unparalleled. Oil painting, with its rich history and expressive potential, stands as a testament to the depth and resilience of human creativity. By embracing both tradition and innovation, artists can navigate this new landscape, ensuring that the soul of art endures.