The Hollow Canyon
The case for humanity in the land of 1s and 0s.
Generative AI.
What more can be said? Few threads remain for the sewer.
It’s impossible for the creative industry to overlook the technological strides rippling out to public accessibility, not in waves, but in a never-ending avalanche. Have we unlocked limitless creativity? Or is thinking itself … dead?
This creative paradox is two-sided:
To your left, infinite possibility.
To your right, a creeping emptiness.
Our collective squint at the horizon is working in overdrive to decide if we’re witnessing a renaissance or a creative extinction. This indecision is a result of looking at material that mimics the act of creation without embodying the creator. It’s no longer “Oh, that’s AI” it’s “Wait, what made this?”
In 1970, Masahiro Mori coined the term “Uncanny Valley” and for the last 55 years, we’ve wondered if it could be crossed. Now, it’s a matter of when, not if, which begs the question: what is the next obstacle along the path of technological progress? After all, when American settlers journeyed West, they didn't climb out of a singular valley and land on the beaches of California.
Viewing AI-generated text, imagery, and video elicits an almost indescribable feeling. Real, but ghostly. Concrete, but wafer-thin. Aesthetically perfect, but emotionally vacant. This is the essence of what we call the Hollow Canyon: a space where imagery is pristine, words are polished, but none of it means much of anything at all.
The Uncanny Valley is about how things look.
There’s a gut-level reaction to something *almost* human. Think humanoid robots, waxy CGI faces, or AI avatars that blink a millisecond too late. It’s the discomfort that comes from a visual near-miss: something that appears lifelike but lacks the spark of life.
The Hollow Canyon is about how things feel.
It’s the moment you realize the image, idea, or piece of writing you’re engaging with has no pulse behind it. The Hollow Canyon is dotted with perfection: beautifully lit, technically precise, and utterly meaningless. It doesn’t miss the mark visually, it misses it spiritually.
The unease we feel when confronted with AI art isn’t purely aesthetic. It’s psychological. According to a study published in Scientific Reports, people consistently rate AI-labeled artwork as less valuable than the same work labeled as human creation. The discomfort stems not just from what we see, but from what we know to be true: this wasn’t made by someone. It was made by something that copied a million someones. We are biologically wired to connect with the intent behind the image. Strip away the artist, and the soul goes with it.
If you’re getting the synthet-ick, you’re not alone.
Take the viral ChatGPT action figures or AI-generated Studio Ghibli-style landscapes. Technically impressive, yes. Emotionally resonant? No. They’re DOA. They lack the fingerprints (literal and metaphorical) that tell us someone cared enough to try.
Consider Saratoga Water’s attempt to ride the wave of their viral moment earlier this year involving influencer Ashton Hall. Instead of joining the cultural conversation with wit, insight, or even a tinge of absurdity, they posted AI-generated stills that mashed together water bottles, bananas, and marble countertops. The result? AI thought it understood the joke. But … are we laughing?
They had an opening for something memorable, and what they delivered was simply… algorithmically accurate.
If you’re getting the synthet-ick, you’re not alone.
We have been closely watching the debates—and debacles— within creative industries around where AI’s lane should start and stop. Our observation is this: there is a clear misunderstanding of where real creativity comes from, what the limitations of AI art are when it comes to audience perception, brand expression, and creative ideation, and what the real threat is in advancing AI technology in creative work.
Most importantly, the fear that AI will replace creatives in the industry is understandable, but misguided. No matter how advanced and unique AI creative tools become, human creativity will always be superior to AI creativity.
Our messiness is actually our superpower.
There is an enduring humor found in a poorly executed Photoshop image. A confounding “who even thinks to do that??” when we stumble across Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” sung across 331 different movies. And an “oh, brilliant” when we see the cast of Severance toiling away in their Lumon office space in Grand Central Station.
The human ability to take two (or 331) disconnected things, turn them into one cohesive whole is unmatched. Not only does AI create things that are “perfect,” but the very process it uses to create is too clean. When AI is at its best, it gives you exactly what you want. But is that what you want?
Say that a business executive has an idea for a static social post and they employ AI to execute. They would go to the AI, communicate the idea in writing, and AI responds with an output. After review, if the executive wants to make some changes to the AI image, they respond back with the requested changes and try again.
This is what AI is meant to do: respond quickly and implement feedback as efficiently as possible. AI is the ultimate Yes Man, always “agreeing” with the feedback it is given, even if it isn’t excellent or moving the work in the right direction.
One of the most underrated skills of a creative team is the ability to discern what is needed by someone who needs help bringing their vision to life. However, AI struggles with the inherently vague and subjective feedback often given in creative fields. Phrases like "Make it more impactful" or "I don't know why, but it feels off" are deeply human expressions, and a common example of feedback from client to creative. AI, lacking intuitive understanding or the ability to read between the lines, cannot effectively interpret and apply such abstract direction to existing mediums.
When giving vague, “make it better” feedback to an AI generator, you will have difficulty getting closer to your desired product because AI needs specificity to work. Unlike humans, AI can’t discern what is unsaid or know the right questions to ask to get you there.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. But many AI campaigns have already been interesting and successful!”
Classic “Yes, And!” … when we look at these campaigns, the genius isn’t in the AI, but the human idea that is being executed.
One of our favorite AI campaigns is Nike’s Never Done Evolving video and social campaign starring Serena Williams. Nike took audiences back in time, creating an AI-generated match-up between Serena at the 1999 US Open (her first Grand Slam win) against her more recent appearance at the 2017 Australian Open. This contrast depicted how emerging technologies can enhance sports data analysis, and highlight Serena's remarkable decade-after-decade determination to continually evolve, even as a top athlete.
In addition to various rewards, the final gameplay was broadcast to the public as a YouTube livestream, reaching over 1.69 million of Nike’s subscribers. Social media posts promoting the broadcast were also included across Nike’s Instagram and Twitter channels.
An incredibly successful example of AI creative work, but the real magic? The undeniably human idea of the pursuit of evolution, embodied by Serena Williams playing her past self.
The discomfort we feel from AI-generated art comes from the unsettling awareness that something depicting our reality cannot participate in it.
In an era where AI can democratize the execution of creative tasks, the market is quickly becoming saturated with technically competent but conceptually uninspired AI-generated content. The true competitive edge will then soon revert to the source of original thought. If everyone can leverage the same AI tools to produce technically polished output, the ability to generate a truly original, resonant, or unexpected idea will become the paramount differentiator.
The "Hollow Canyon" is more than just an eerie aesthetic or vibe; it’s the unnatural place AI art transports us. While flawlessly mimicking form and executing instructions with unparalleled efficiency, it remains devoid of the human experience. The messy, subjective, and emotionally resonant elements that give true creativity its soul. The discomfort we feel from AI-generated art comes from the unsettling awareness that something depicting our reality cannot participate in it.
AI excels at replication and optimization, but it cannot conceive the deeply nuanced, culturally relevant, or emotionally resonant ideas that captivate and move people. Therefore, the fear shouldn't be about AI replacing creatives. The real threat lies with shortsighted executives and decision-makers prioritizing cost savings and rapid “creative” output over genuine impact.
The unfortunate truth is that people are better at judging objective savings over subjective quality and the creative industry will likely feel the consequences for a moment in time. But it won’t last. If we allow AI to become the default creative engine, we risk inundating our world with content that is technically flawless but emotionally vacant. We believe the path forward for creativity isn't found in the soulless "Hollow Canyon" of AI-generated efficiency, but in leveraging AI as a powerful instrument to amplify the irreplaceable, messy, and deeply human aspects of creative expression.
In short, the people will always want … the people.
Co-authored by: Ted Harrison and Hailey Allen.
Edited by: the broader neuemotion team.