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eshasunrise · 7 months

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AI art is Forgery and Plagiarism

TL;DR, without a curated list of consenting creators for input data, (or watermarks denoting non-distribution), AI art will be harmful to artists.

AI art, or more accurately, Machine-Generated Art, is made using input data, which is then mimicked translated into datapoints with referential values, and then uses those values to generate an output.

The imput data will always be replicated to some degree. This can be mitigated with a large enough sample size, but never eliminated, and any form of tagging system (the datapoints) will allow for near exact replication of an artstyle, if not a replica of the artwork itself.

The difference between a machine generated art and an homage is specifically the purpose of the art. Individual homages, parodies, and art style replication is more often than not used to develop specific ideas and concepts. Machine learning models don't learn about language flow, anatomical exaggeration, or fretting; they learn about what weighted values are associated with specific tags, and translates those values to your UI. This is why a given machine can straight up copy the style of an artist or brand, and that in itself is troublesome for the same reasons as an individual distributing art copied from another artist is.

Without the means of properly learning technique or understanding the concept behind aspects of a piece, a machine cannot make reasonable parody or homage, even with explicit instruction to do so. This leaves only forgery, plagiarism, or theft. If an art piece is meant to be explicitly similar to another artist's body of work, and profit is made through its use, it is forgery. If a piece is similar beyond coincidence (beyond technique, which cannot be machine-replicated) to a specific piece, it is plagiarism. If a piece is nearly exactly the same as an existing piece that is not publicly available, and a profit is made off of it, it is theft.

There are ways to make Generated art work. First, and most practical for current algorithms, is to slap a giant watermark saying "MACHINE GENERATED. NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION" on every single generated piece. This is easy, as the pieces are machine generated. The second is to only use input data collected from consenting creators, from a curated set. The third is to create your own work of art initially, and only train on that, or works specifically in the public domain (not just readily accessible through libraries or internet) which is what most people demonstrating what Machine Learning is do.

Unfortunately, this doesn't address the largest issue with Generated Art, and that is the corporate aspect. Corporations like Disney, Adobe, Penguin Random House, and Shutterstock could take their existing IPs, and abuse their complete ownership of them to copy or steal the styles, creations, and even likenesses of the people working under them, and automatically generate content directly infringing on their work without consequence due to the exact wording of Intellectual Property laws. Only the recent bills to prevent this exact scenario have stood against this.

Ultimately, using AI art for personal use or memes generally isn't a big deal. But if you are using it to purposefully avoid paying someone you can pay, make a profit on other peoples' existing IP, or worse, portray real people in a negative light through the use of deepfakes or forged works, you have moved into unethical and frequently unlawful territory.

#AI art #machine learning #machine generated art #drawing #writing #acting #painting #music #3d rendering #animation #photography #disney #penguin random house #adobe #shutterstock #Forgery #Plagiarism #theft

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qupritsuvwix · 11 months

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If religious-minded people are “inspired” by a rip off, then it doesn’t take much to make them happy.

#first day in heaven #copyright infringement #draw your own shit #plagiarism #fraud and false statements #photography #atheism

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eptoday · 1 year

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#artificial intelligence (ai)#art #photography #plagiarism #music

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the-west-gate · 2 years

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A thorny issue

Recently, there was a bit of a controversy over the winner of an art contest because while the artist claimed his painting was an original work, it turned out to be a near identical copy of a photo that appeared on the cover of a magazine. Someone who recognized the photo, alerted the photographer and it didn’t take long for other photographers to find out that this artist had made copies of…

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#gender bias #photography #plagiarism

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archae-heart · 2 years

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This photo posted by @knotted-oak (aka @lonesomelore, etc.):

is stolen from Addie Leimroth on Flickr

#lensblr #photographers on tumblr #plagiarism #original photography #photographers of tumblr #cottagecore #ndn #sweetgrass-soul #knotted-oak #archae-heart

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abbysthighs · 3 months

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Update: This was amicably resolved!

Someone stole this Photomode of mine for a fan fiction they just posted about… I responded to the post directly asking them to go back and credit me at a minimum… but if they do not respond within 24 hours I will take action… my question is, has this happened to any of you? What step(s) did you take?

#tlou2 #tlou2 photomode #the last of us part 2 #virtual photography #the last of us #abby anderson #plagiarism #Photomode #gaming

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

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AITA for reporting another student for self plagiarism?

(Requisite finding emojis 🫢📸)

Some background: I’m working on a photography degree at my local community college, and like many other students in my department, I’m taking multiple courses for my major at the same time. Theres another student who’s take two of the same courses I am as well- a class on studio lighting and a class on photo technique. These two classes have different professors and different assignment, but each have large, complex final projects that are supposed to show what we’ve been working on over the semester. We submit our work in one through a shared file sharing link and our work for the other via the school’s digital web portal.

Here’s the issue- my classmate submitted THE EXACT SAME PHOTOS for the final in each class (right down to the editing!). She wasn’t caught in the moment because of the different methods of submitting, but I knew what she’d done the moment the professor pulled it up for critique. I was immediately stunned silent, and sent an email to the professor after class informing him of the plagiarism. The professor thanked me and said he “handle it”.

So, Am I the Asshole for reporting her? I know plagiarism- even self plagiarism- is taken VERY seriously, and that she could likely be expelled under our college’s policies. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first time she’s done this either, as her first project for this class and second project for the other were the same too (at the time, I just assumed that they were taken from the same photoshoot, but it’s clear in retrospect that they were the same). The professors have mentioned off hand in the past that while they will accept work that was shot in the same photoshoot as another assignment, they want the photos and the art direction to be unique to each class.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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roo-bastmoon · 7 months

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Homage vs. Copying

So I'm not feeling super great these days, but I still dip into Jikook spaces for a quick hit of lovely serotonin and to check up on my friends. Alas, I see some folks raging in the tags that JK is stealing Jimin's original concepts because he's too stupid or lazy to come up with his own... I'm not having flashbacks to BTS' plagiarism scandal, I'm not. I have thoughts--and lots of photo examples--about this topic, under the cut. Let's get into it--and keep it civil, too.

First off--let's just establish that folks have the right to use the Jikook tag to both celebrate and critique Jikook and the fandom around Jikook. People get to write about what they want on their blogs. They get to rant, so long as no one is using hate speech and slurs. (The minute I see that shit, I quietly report.)

Clearly, folks who are angry at Jungkook (or Jimin) come into the Jikook tag because they want attention from Jikookers, and the best use of my time and energy is to self-police and block them. That way I am not infringing on their right to scream into the wind all they like, but I also don't have to hear the noise.

Second off, unless JK called any of us up and said: "Hey, guess what? After 10 years of evidence to the contrary, suddenly I'm incapable of original thought, so I just take advantage of Jiminie-hyung, whom I keep calling out and hyping up and praising and asking to spend time with and traveling with and whose style I also match in my personal life!" maaaaybe we give the benefit of the doubt, and at least entertain the possibility that Jungkook is expressing visual alignment with Jimin because he can't just openly claim him in other ways?

Like, I'm not saying that IS what's going on, because Jungkook doesn't call me up and tell me his thoughts, either. It's fine; I'm not mad. He doesn't even text Jin back. I am just saying we should maybe sit with the idea for a bit and really marinate on what that might mean for a queer couple.

(Or we could just take in things without pronouncing any opinions yet--ya know, until we get more data around Jungkook's choices and how Jimin feels about it.)

It's fine not to assume the similarities are romantic gestures; but it's also fine not to assume the worst--that JK is siphoning off Jimin like a leech. Jungkook was consulted by the Seven stylist and he got to be creative director for his Vogue shoot; he also had some say in his music videos and performance stages. He is making choices deliberately, and it makes no sense to me that he would choose to openly copy a bandmate out of laziness. He has a professional reputation to consider.

Rather, I think this is one of the few places where he has artistic license to tether a thread between him and Jimin. I think he's paying homage.

(Side note: In film and photography, an homage is an imitation of another work. At first glance, it may seem like an homage is a rip-off or a lesser copy, but it actually pays tribute to and honors the source work. Homage is a great way to use other filmmakers' styles and content to crystallize your unique voice as a filmmaker.)

So that's my currently theory about what's going on.

Yet, honestly? None of us really know WHY there's so much similarity in their looks these days. The similarities are now stacking up so much as to be undeniable, though.

Personally, I'm leaning to this being a celebration of the fact that Jikook have always shared similar tastes; it's one of the many ways they click. Jikook know that. The stylists know that. So yeah, when JK gets a chance to observe and emulate (and expound upon) Jimin's style, he does. Because Jimin is one of the coolest people in the world to him. So he shows this in his own creative work and in his own personal wardrobe.

Here's why I hold that opinion at the moment:

Could this all be the stylists choosing to recycle looks or throw bread crumbs to Jikookers? I guess.

Could this be Jungkook just borrowing from Jimin as a shortcut? I'm not sharing his brainwaves, so I can't tell you there's zero possibility.

But what seems more likely is that of all the artists in the world, Jimin is the one Jungkook has always kept his eyes on. Out of love and respect, not malice and opportunism.

Like with the 1108 and 13 numbers that THEY keep inserting into their own communications, these similarities in style is also an emerging pattern.

If you feel protective of Jimin, I understand why you'd be wary of so much similarity. But consider what we know of both Jimin and Jungkook over the past 10 years...

While neither of these human beings are perfect (and they will continue to make mistakes), they clearly love each other. And you don't steal from the people you love. But you do honor how amazing they are whenever you get the chance.

So maybe let's just hear JK out on this?

Okay, that's all the energy I have for this topic. I got deadlines and health tests to power through over the next few weeks. If you comment with your own ideas, that's cool--but please keep it respectful of Jikook and each other. I don't want to banhammer anyone but I will.

Love, Roo

PS Even if I'm not around much, you can be sure I'll buy and stream 3D, and I encourage you guys to give it a chance too! <3

#jimin #jungkook #jikook

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filmnoirsbian · 9 months

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seeing you reblog that barbie ai "art" was so disappointing, i hope it was a mistake and that you didnt know it was ai :(

A lot of people on here are frankly very annoying about ai art. Synthography as an art form has existed for decades and that artist has been using multiple visual mediums to create art for years including their own photography. Not every artist who utilizes some form of ai is plagiarizing and this conversation is getting far too similar to the accusations that people who use photoshop are not real artists.

#asks

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foxgloveprincess · 3 months

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Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader, Lance Tucker x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: After your night with Ransom, you’re moving on—really.

Word Count: 2,818

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Unreliable Narrator, Yandere Vibes, BDSM (Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Rope Bondage, Suspension, Aftercare), brief Smut (Vaginal Penetration, Unsatisfying), Pet Names (baby, pidge, etc). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Here’s some more Ransom, being patient as he can be. Let me know what you think!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Breathe. In. Out. Your body relaxes into the cradle of ropes. You catch a glimpse of Chase, his smile shining for his audience. You keep your thoughts on him, too scared to let them drift.

Though, another eye catches yours from the crowd. Your lips twitch and your teeth worry over them. Hunger, deep and dark, glinting. Pride radiating in waves. The eyes of a man who looks at you as though you’re a pristinely polished trophy. And you’re happy to be that for Lance Tucker. Just for him. God, what you’d let that man do to you. Never imagining the man who might do it better—never.

You try to blink away thoughts of that rich asshole and let your eyes drift closed. A hand binding your wrists, around your throat. That smug smirk of his as he took you apart piece by piece.

No. There’s no room for Ransom. He didn’t write you a check, but a week later you’d gotten a direct deposit—more than he’d promised. And you hadn’t heard from him since. Good riddance.

You find Lance in the crowd again and let his proud smile satisfy you. You don’t need some pompous, entitled, egotistical brat hanging around being a creep. You’re glad Ransom got you out of his system. Really. You are.

You breathe a moment, centering yourself back in the present. There’s no need to think about Ransom Drysdale. None at all.

“Are you alright?” Chase asks in a quiet tone. His hand reaches out to steady you, grounding you to the conversation with him.

“I’m fine,” you reply before assessing the state of your body. “But a little sore? Maybe? I think I might need to come down soonish.”

“Alright,” Chase says. He turns back to the crowd announcing the end of his presentation, explaining the aftercare and begins to lower the rig.

Your belly finds the mats, hands still wrapped behind your back. You turn your head and rest it on the cushion while you wait. Chase approaches and kneels by your waist.

A laugh huffs from your chest when you look up at him. “I could have stayed up longer.”

Chase quirks a brow. “I’m sure you could have. But I didn’t think you should.”

You make an accepting sound in your throat and let him do his work. A minute passes before your limbs are all free. Chase wraps the rope from his palm to his elbow, winding it to put away.

Slowly, you begin to move. First legs, stretching into the air and bending, then arms. When you finally push up from the mat, Chase stands ready to help guide you back to your room.

“You did good today,” you remark as you both walk down the hallway. “They were eating up every word. Saw a bunch heading toward your photography table.” He smiles at you. “I think they really like the pose, too.”

The door opens to your room and you find your futon. Chase hands you your snack and drink.

“What do you think about going vertical next week?” he asks, brushing his fingers over your forehead while you lay comfortably on your bed.

“As long as I’m not upside down,” you reply with closed eyes and a yawn.

“I’ll let Lance know you’re ready for him.” Chase leaves you drifting off to sleep to get your boyfriend—the newest addition to your aftercare routine.

The door opens and you feel the tender touch of Lance’s hand. He leans down to kiss your lips.

“Hey, baby,” you murmur, half asleep. But when you turn over and open your eyes, no one’s there. You sit up and glance around.

The door sits in its frame, shut and undisturbed, just like the rest of your room. Must have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn…

The door opens and Lance struts in. You catch his eye and his smile beams.

“God, you were fantastic!” he enthuses. Taking his hands from his track pants pockets, he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. They taste of cherry chapstick, how could you have forgotten that—the lips that kissed yours before him didn’t.

“You waiting up for me?”

You nod without a word, unsure as to what to say. Part of you wants to mention that moment before he came in. But why would he want to hear about your dream? Instead, you pull back your blanket, inviting him to warm you up.

“As soon as we get back to your place, I’ll get your epsom salt bath going,” he starts, liking the sound of his own voice as much as you do. It grounds you, especially after a strange encounter with a figment of your imagination. “Gotta make sure you aren’t sore in the morning. Then we can get you in your…”

He keeps talking and it lulls you to sleep. Knowing that when you wake up, he’ll take you back to your place and sleep over. And everything will go like it always does.

Which is why you’re unsurprised when Saturday morning dawns and Lance has slotted himself between your thighs.

His hips curve into yours, his cock stretching you wide. Your fingers dig into his spine, clutching him close. Moans spill from your lips. His heavy breaths brush across your cheeks. Sweat beads on his brow as he readjusts you, stretching one of your legs closer to your chest while keeping the other wrapped around his hips.

Your lips press together. It all feels good—always has. Even when you were finding your groove together, with his athleticism and your need for intimacy.

He makes noises of pleasure. His hips accelerating in a signal of his imminent release. Your eyes close, focusing on your own. Lance’s hips stutter. He paints your insides with his cum and sighs.

A sunny smile spreads his lips. How his hair remains coiffed after all the sweat and exertion, you don’t know, but it’s endearing. A quirk you quite adore.

He flops to the side, running his hand along his abdomen, tickling the tattoo of the gold ribbon he has leading down his pelvis. Another uniquely Lance thing. So proud of his accomplishments, and you don’t blame him. He’s incredible.

But your pulse thrums with the dissipating arousal of your unsatisfied lust. Your arms reach over your head, stretching sore muscles. Without meaning to, you let your mind wander. How Ransom made you sore in the best way. How he fit inside you. How he made you cum until you ached for nothing but pleasure.

Your boyfriend’s hand reaches over, smoothing over your tummy and flicking at one of your nipples.

“Where’re you going?” he asks.

You look over and smile. Eyes trace over his pouty lips and bright blue eyes. You tilt your head and brush your lips to his.

“I’m right here,” you reply.

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” Harlan asks. He leans back in his chair and you lift your head from your research.

“The toxicology of plant-based poisons,” you reply, immersed in your work. Though, you know it won’t satisfy your boss.

He says nothing more for a moment. Letting you turn your full attention back to the research at hand. He probably didn’t need much help in the subject with how long he’s been writing murder mysteries. Still, he always likes to be accurate. As few creative liberties as possible—at least where it counts.

“Alright,” he says with as little enthusiasm as he can bestow on such an acceptance. “You will tell me eventually, mind.”

“Will I?” you mumble distractedly.

“You’re not a very good liar.”

You snort and turn the page, picking up a highlighter and sticky note to jot down a thought on a passage about cyanide.

“It isn’t something Walt did, is it?” he prods, the weight of his observant gaze heavy on your shoulders.

“No, Harlan,” you reply, recapping the pen in your hand.

“What about Ransom? He gave you some trouble a little while ago.”

You swallow and push aside the embarrassment and panic that spikes through you, replying, “No, Harlan.”

“Huh,” he says.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” you ask with a huff of mild frustration.

“I’m quite stuck on what should happen next,” he says with a flick to the corner of the page.

“Right,” you drone with the skeptical quirk of your eyebrow sent in his direction.

He smiles that enigmatic smile of his and reaches up a hand to cup his chin. “You know I’m just concerned.”

With a sigh, you give up on your work. Your boss won’t let you focus on it anyway. Folding your arms over your chest, you lean back and contemplate how best to word your explanation. One tiny slip and the jig is up. How could you possibly tell him his grandson paid to fuck you better than anyone ever has?

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you admit, pursing your lips around the word. “Don’t need to tell you all the gory details, though.”

“That’s the best part of a story,” he refutes with a twinkle in his eye. His full attention remains on you, waiting for the final crack before the flood.

“Let’s just say,” you pause for the right wording. “My boyfriend is amazing, but doesn’t always…” You trail off with a hand gesture to imply the rest.

“You mean in the boudoir?” Harlan twines his fingers and tilts his head in interest.

You snort and nod. “Yeah.” You lean back in your chair until your eyes meet the ceiling. “Got me thinking about the last prick. He was an asshole, but he...” You trail off, uncertain as to how you might finish the thought.

Harlan looks at you a long while. When your head turns to meet his gaze, he says, “May I offer advice in the form of an old adage?”

You sit upright and nod. “Lay it on me.” Complete with a grabbing motion of your hands.

“Comparison is the thief of joy.”

It sits in the air, letting you soak it in. Harlan returns to his manuscript in silence. Yet you’re stuck on the words. He’s right. Ransom is your past—a blip, if anything—and Lance is your future—a real, solid one at that.

You turn back to your research with determination. Refusing to let Ransom occupy a second more of your thoughts. You start back on your note about cyanide.

“I know that’s not all, by the by,” your boss intones right as your pen meets paper. “But it’s enough for now.”

You swallow and glance over your shoulder to him. “Thanks.”

Harlan nods with a hum and places his glasses on his nose.

The sounds of the typewriter fill the empty space of the room and the two of you continue your work. You lose yourself to the facts and let the hours tick by. Thoughts wavering on your future.

“Seriously, this tastes like shit.”

You hear his voice before you see him. Your heart drops to your stomach. All you can think is ‘Oh, God, no.’ Your feet find the final step and you freeze. Unsure of the best course of action.

You might be able to completely skirt by unnoticed through the front door. Or the back patio. As long as Ransom stays in the kitchen.

It was coming back inside that posed the problem. Harlan sending you on an errand to the local public library to pick up a book he placed on hold. If Ransom were still here, how could you avoid him without knowing his position in the mansion?

“It’s a good thing I didn’t make it for you, Hugh,” Fran replies.

You blink out of your momentary panic. As if Ransom ever stayed so long with his grandfather. He’d be long gone by the time you got back. You scurry out the door, closing it with the softest click.

The breeze bites through the air. It stings your face with its crisp coolness. You wrap your scarf tighter around your neck and bundle your hands deeper into your sleeves. On the threshold of winter, you dread the thought of the first snow.

You wait a moment for your car to warm before driving down the road to town. Thoughts mull in your mind, but music tunes them out. The radio already blasting holiday songs on repeat, prompting another train of thought to occupy you. Your first holiday not alone. Gifts for Lance. Holiday plans and the small, hopeful feeling warm in your chest.

You find a parking spot at the library and exit your car. The cold wind bustles you inside and you walk to the front counter. Used to your face, the librarians move quickly to check-out Harlan’s book to you. You smile and thank them, and then you’re on your way back, with little time to get your head on straight when thoughts of Ransom resurface.

Parking the car, you linger a moment in the quickly dissipating heat. The car door slams behind you. A few quick strides take you back up the steps and into the house. You shiver as you undress your outerwear, hanging each piece up on your hook—coat, hat, scarf, mittens.

You pause to listen. Straining to see if you can hear Ransom’s voice anywhere in the house. Knowing how much he likes to hear himself speak. Nothing. A sigh of relief blows past your lips.

The stairs creak on your ascent. Marta greets you on her way down, a furrow between her brow. You almost ask her about it, but she slips away in a quick descent.

You make it to the second landing and stop. He’s standing right there. Staring at a painting on the wall—one you’d admired before, reminiscent of Artemisia Gentileschi. One you pass multiple times a day on your way up to Harlan’s study. One of your favorite pieces in the house, really.

Wishing to turn invisible just for a moment, you clutch the book close to your chest and close your eyes. With determination, you open them and march past Ransom, ignoring his presence. Yet, in your periphery, his head turns.

“Oh,” he says—is there a tinge of affection in his tone? He cocks his head to the side and takes a long perusal of your body. His eyes narrow. “Where have you been?” Any question of tenderness vanishes with the question. Replaced by his usual derision.

You hold up the book in explanation. He squints at the cover and his lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He seems to think better of a comment and looks back to the painting.

“If you’ll excuse me then, Mr. Drysdale.”

His jaw ticks in irritation. Eyes flashing toward you, he grits, “Call me Ransom, pidge.”

You step sideways toward the stairs up to Harlan’s personal study. “Right,” you mutter under your breath. “I just thought—” You shake your head. A buzz in your pocket catches your attention. You pull the screen halfway out to check. The preview of a text from Lance shines up at you. Your lips twitch toward a smile as you tuck it away. “Nevermind.” You make it up two steps before you hear his voice again.

“Is Lance treating you right?”

You might have thought the question just a figment of your imagination—prone as you are to those. But turning around, he watches you curiously. Your lips part, stunned.

“How did you know about him?” you ask with a glance over your shoulder to the upstairs door, drawn but not closed. Praying that Harlan won’t be privy to this unexpected conversation.

“Friend of a friend,” Ransom replies with a shrug. But his eyes do not leave yours. It unsettles you, the steadiness of his focus.

You swallow down your unease. “Why do you care?” you prod. Your face scrunches in an expression of dubiousness.

Ransom blinks and looks away to the painting again. “I don’t.” The words rasp between his teeth.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath. “Well, Ransom.” Your fingers tap on the book cover. “I, uh, hope you have a nice rest of your day.”

You retreat up the rest of the stairs and enter Harlan’s study. With a great huff of air releasing your nerves and pent-up frustration, you glance at your boss. A curious expression adorns his features. Your stomach flips, but you ignore it and hand over his book, ready to get back to work. You’re sure he’ll ask his questions later.

As for you, you’ve got some answered. Like the fantasy of whether Ransom would really be such a horrible option. The answer is yes. No matter how well he fucked you or how he sent you reeling in your throes of passion, he is not the man for you. Of that, you’re now absolutely certain.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfic #dark #dark fic #lance tucker fanfic #lance tucker fanfiction #lance tucker x reader #smut #yandere vibes #tw stalking #stalking #18+#minors dni

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