When Everything Is Lit

Rijksmuseum Library - Photo by Taruna Goel

"Do you think museums should completely fill their walls with paintings?" That's the question that Rijksmuseum Instagram handle posted this AM.

The funny thing is, I have been thinking a lot about art galleries and museums. In fact, I was at Rijksmuseum this summer, and it's a beautiful museum.

But I wonder. Can something that is designed to be clear and beautiful actually end up being tiring to look at?

Have you been to art galleries or museums where almost every painting is spotlighted and has its own special corner that takes your attention? I have. Rooms of white walls where I can see everything clearly. But after 30 minutes of walking around and paying attention to every brightly lit part of the room, my eyes get exhausted. I am seeing things, but I can't appreciate the art anymore.

It's what my daughter, a Contemporary Arts grad, likes to call "feeling arted out".

When that happens, she recommends that I sit for some time, away from the art and the bright lights. Perhaps even in a dark(er) area where there are more shadows and where the walls aren't quite as white.

I call it my visual quiet zone. The visual relief where I can simply look without paying any attention.

I am looking for a written quiet zone these days because I am "feeling arted out" after reading post after post of AI-generated content.

I can't deny the clarity of writing. Ideas are packaged as neat, single, short sentences, and the layout of the article is one sentence at a time (but who thinks like that?). It's like a stream of complete, purposeful, independently meaningful series of words (aka punchlines). Yet, as a whole, there is nothing for me to take away. It's a template that feels all too familiar, and is frankly becoming mentally exhausting to process what I am reading. And not because the words or ideas are complicated, but because they are overly consistent and too uniform. 

I am trying to reason why. Why is it crystal clear yet so muddy? I have a take. I think it's because AI-generated content is missing the rhythm and texture of human writing. The light and the dark corners where our eyes can rest, and our brains can shut off.

We are messy in the ways we think and write. When I write, some ideas are powerful, and hopefully, those sentences stick with you, but most other sentences are like fillers. They don't give any new ideas or say anything too dramatic, but simply build on the main ideas. There is an interplay of good writing combined with not-so-good writing (even if unintentional). It adds to the contrast and the variation that I expect when reading or listening to another human. Part of the human charm, I think. I should mention that I am not a fan of mistakes in human writing. So, I don't advocate adding imperfections to writing just to sound human. But I do appreciate the evidence of human thinking behind what's written or being read.

But with AI-generated content, where everything reads so perfectly, and every sentence is a main idea, it reminds me of the struggle of reading a page of text, all formatted in bold. 

Or walking around museums that completely fill their walls with paintings.

I need a written quiet zone.

When Producing the Thing Is No Longer Proof of Competence

Harvard psychologist and education professor Howard Gardner recently shared his view on how AI could change education. He believes cognitive tasks will become optional for humans, freeing people to pursue their interests. The actual interview between Rick Hess and Howard Gardner is certainly more nuanced than just the statement and makes for an interesting read. 

https://www.edweek.org/technology/opinion-howard-gardner-how-ai-will-force-us-to-rethink-education/2026/08

While I can't say I agree with his bold statement of cognitive tasks becoming optional for humans, what is true is that when all our lives, humans have defined their intelligence based on cognitive tasks, and then, AI takes over some of those cognitive tasks, we are suddenly left thinking more deeply about what we thought was exclusive to us... our intelligence!

But I think the real leap in this discussion is to stop making these lists of "things human can do that AI can't" (because, realistically, that list is shrinking by the hour). The more important task is to start questioning systems that were designed with the assumption that producing something is the way to demonstrate intelligence. I mean systems of education, training, assessment in school and at work that rely on writing an essay, submitting a portfolio, completing a presentation slide deck, making a report, etc. 

In L&D, we have always done this. We use course completion, knowledge tests, work samples and portfolios as evidence that learning has occurred or that someone is ready to perform. But we know all too well that completing training isn't the same as being able to perform at work, just like producing the right answer isn't necessarily evidence of understanding. 

The artefact was never the actual competency yet we believed for so long that it was. But when the artefact can be produced by AI, it becomes an even weaker proxy for learning, intelligence, and competence.

Having worked in the areas of competency development and assessment for close to 3 decades, I know too well that competence is messy. It involves recognizing what is happening, deciding what matters, and applying information in various contexts. Then there is exercising judgment, adapting when circumstances change and taking responsibility for the outcome. The artifact may provide useful evidence of those things, but it isn't 'the thing' itself. 

The artefact as the evidence of intelligence is losing ground quickly. Especially given the recent development of AI watermarking, where Anthropic has begun watermarking text generated by Claude so that the content can be machine-identified as AI-generated.

So, where does the value of expertise sit when AI can produce so much of the work we have traditionally been paid to produce? We are all realizing what was always true but hidden in plain sight that expertise is beyond outputs and is generally more upstream. 

In my field of instructional design, this is becoming increasingly obvious. AI can produce storyboards, graphics, video, narration, activities and assessments. It can turn a reasonably well-defined brief into a fairly complete learning product very quickly. 

What is the value of an instructional designer? I don't think the answer is simply "in knowing how to use AI." I think it is increasingly in everything that happens before we ask AI to produce something.

I am glad I work with clients and teams who get this. I am currently working on an organization-wide performance improvement initiative where we are taking an end-to-end approach to needs analysis, looking carefully at the system rather than responding to a request for training. We are examining the work, people, processes, tools, expectations, resources and environment, and working through the findings collaboratively. We are so focused on not hurrying towards the output and it is taking some discipline and intention to do it this way. I mean, when we can produce learning in minutes, it is rather tempting to start producing! But the more capable the tool, the more important is the role of the human to spend time figuring out what actually needs to be produced.

Because AI makes the “doing” easier, the value of human capability is more upstream in knowing what to ask, what to pursue and why it matters.

Perhaps we need to get much better at assessing the things that are harder to produce on demand and are certainly harder to outsource to AI. 

Perhaps we have to redefine what now constitutes human intelligence and what makes us competent. 

Perhaps it is about things like understanding the context, tapping into the lived experience, human judgment, and being responsible and accountable for our choices and actions. 

This binary view of AI vs. Human just won't cut it anymore. This isn't as simple as AI on one side and human expertise on the other. The opportunity staring at us is in knowing how to combine the two. The shift from producing answers to identifying what problems to solve is the real discussion. Not the how but the why. 

But it was always about the why, wasn't it? 

I Had Fun. But Am I Ready to Do It Again?

Author's First Attempt at Lino Cut Printing

Storytime! This past weekend, I took a beginner-level, three-hour lino cut printing workshop.

The instructor was an experienced printmaker who shared some beautiful examples of her work and gave a brief demonstration before we got started. 

Our project? A reduction lino print.

If you know anything about lino printing, you will know that a reduction print is not exactly the simplest place to begin. Of course, when I started the workshop, I did not know this :) 

News flash! I had never seen or used lino blocks, carving tools, or basic printing equipment before. But it was a beginner-level workshop, right? We were asked to draw something simple on paper, transfer it to the lino block, and then carve four different layers that would allow for four different colours to be printed. I was not sure what I was getting into...but I had fun, and I got some multi-colour prints to prove it!

The lino print workshop certainly made for an experience. I discovered how awkward it feels to hold the carving tools, how tough it is to carve tiny details or curvy lines, how easy it is to remove too much material, but how satisfying it is to pull one decent-looking print while attempting to have 10+ options! The workshop created good conditions for exploration, and I became familiar with some things. 

For a beginner's workshop, it had plenty of challenges. Fifteen of us were all trying to create our first print, and one instructor was trying to walk around the room, respond to our questions (if we asked), troubleshoot problems (individually), and keep everyone moving. I loved being challenged. And as a trainer and facilitator, I know and appreciate how struggle is often where learning happens. But as much as I loved the challenge, I was also frustrated in the moments between the struggles. 

When my print did not turn out as expected, I wanted to understand why. Was the pressure wrong? Was there too much or too little ink? Was the roller not coated well or did it have too much ink? Was my carving technique the problem? Was my paper placement incorrect? Did I not use the right tip to carve the lino? I couldn't figure out what all was going wrong! I had too many questions! 

After the workshop, I found myself asking myself, What did I actually learn? And more importantly, could I do it again on my own? What would I intentionally do differently next time?

I can't say that I didn't learn anything! I learned plenty. But it was not the kind of learning that would allow me to independently tackle another lino cut print tomorrow. 

My mistakes taught me that carving lino requires patience, planning, and a very different way of thinking about creating an image. After I saw the prints, I realized I had to think about positive and negative spaces before I even started carving. I also learned the hard way that mistakes are easy to make and impossible to undo once you have carved the lino :)

Soon enough, the instructional designer and trainer in me took over. I left asking myself what if, before I did anything with a lino block, I had received some orientation around some big ideas about lino cutting and printing? Perhaps, even provided with a simpler drawing for beginners? Or instead of starting with a reduction linocut print, what if we started with a basic, single-layer carving print and then moved to multiple layers and multiple colours?

The questions made me think about how sometimes it is easy to confuse an interactive and fun experience with learning, especially for beginners. 

As someone who works in learning and development, I suspect this resonates with a broader issue we have all seen in workplace learning. 

We often celebrate fun and interaction and plan and design for it. At the end of the workshop, we ask whether participants enjoyed it, whether they were involved, and whether they stayed interested. Yes, fun counts. However…

Having an interactive and fun experience is not the same as learning in a way that transfers to future performance. 

At the end of the workshop, I was left thinking about what knowledge, skills, or insights I will carry into my next attempt. What principles have I extracted from the experience that I can apply? I know that my questions were getting at learning transfer, not just participation. 

Because...

Learning isn't simply about what happened during an activity; it's what happens after it, or rather what changes because of it.