Something is Wrong...

Something was very, very wrong. I could tell.

Not anything big or loud, obvious in it's wrongness. That would have been far too noticable. Instead, it was something made wrong by an absense. Something missing or out of place. Something not immediately obvious.

It felt empty, even here in this crowded elevator packed to the limit that bodies would allow. Normally, there would be someone willing to strike up a conversation, or meet my eyes in an unspoken exchange of 'Life, right?' 'Yeah, what can you do?' Perhaps empty was the wrong word. Unconnected? But no, everyone was fixed on their phones, some awkwardly tapping the screen in the limited space, that one with a slight furrow to their brows, perhaps a problem of some kind. If anything, they were too connected.

Finally, the doors opened, and people filtered out, still not speaking or looking at each other. I headed to my own office, bracing myself for another busy day of trying to solve people's problems for them while they struggled to articulate what the problem was.

The artwork that used to hang on the back wall had been taken down, replaced by a generated image that was obviously supposed to be similar to the artwork, but in reality looked nothing like.

Gone was the photographic quality, the natural forest underlayer, the row of stakes forming a wall that was never quite straight due to the erosion of nature and time.

The new "Artwork" showed a square fence where the original had curved around, perfectly aligned - un-naturally so. There was an artificially neat layer of leaves on the ground, individually outlined and still mostly green, with the occasional red or orange one for variety. On every second post, a bird perched, yet there was no variety in their posing, still as statues.

I hated it immediately.

A co-worker entered behind me, their face splitting into a broad smile at whatever my face was doing while I stared at what had replaced the previous artwork. "Yeah, I know."

I choked down my first three outraged responses. "What happened to the old art?"

They shrugged. "Someone put their fist through it while you were on leave. I know there have been studies about tempers and attention spans getting shorter, but damn."

Tempers, attention spans, delayed gratification windows, the length of time someone was willing to spend fact-checking claims... sometimes it seemed as if I was the only one who noticed.

The eyesore they’d put up to replace the old artwork was still offending my retinas. “Could I bring in something else to replace it, do you think?”

My co-worker hummed in a way that didn’t want to say no, but was absolutely a negative. “Well, the new company agreements are incentivising using that style, no matter the quality, so probably not.”

Their mouth said one thing, but body language and tone screamed something else. “It sucks, but you can put up with it for profit, can’t you?”

That seemed to be the way of everything, these days. Less ethical, lowered value compared to the old way that required effort from actual people, but it made a quick profit and didn’t require paying an artist, or writer, or marketing specialist to come up with something that resonated with the human spirit.

Perhaps that was what was missing lately: the human soul, a little piece left in everything creative that someone had cared enough to make.

Something that connected to people, without being in the same room. Something that filled space with the presence of its creator, as much as the physical space it took up.

When had we lost that? Why weren’t we valuing those who still poured heart and soul and energy into creating something to the last detail, instead of typing a prompt to generate something mediocre? How could we reclaim it? Was it even still possible.

Probably not as long as everyone kept claiming that the new way was cheaper and easier and to just go along with it.

Perhaps I’d bring some of my own artwork from home and move the abomination to thecBoss’s office, where he could appreciate it.