Art, Ethics & Algorithms—Can They Co-Exist?

You’re scrolling through Facebook when a vibrant puffin in mirrored shades catches your eye. The colours glow, the feathers pop, and the whole scene feels… alive. You tap the image—only to discover it was generated with AI.

If your first reaction is “So it stole someone else’s art?” you’re not alone. The AI-art world is full of excitement and myths. Today, I’m lifting the curtain on how I—Brent Keough, founder of Driftwood Creations NL—use AI ethically to craft original, Newfoundland-inspired artwork without copying a single brushstroke.

The AI Art Debate: Fact vs. Fear

AI image generators exploded onto the scene a few years ago, and the conversation hasn’t stopped since. Some hail them as the next evolution of creativity; others see them as digital pirates. The truth? Modern AI models don’t “copy-paste” art. They learn visual patterns from enormous datasets, then predict new pixel arrangements—similar to how an artist absorbs lessons from years of sketches.

Still, how you use the tool determines whether you’re innovating or infringing. Here’s how the tech works today—and why I choose a painstaking, ethics-first workflow every time.

How AI Image Generation Works (2025 Edition)

Most leading models—like the paid version of DALL·E 3 I license—rely on diffusion or transformer techniques. In plain language, they:

1. Study millions of images + captions (now sourced increasingly from licensed libraries).
2. Learn patterns (e.g., puffins have orange beaks; lighthouses are tall and cylindrical).
3. Predict pixels to match a prompt, gradually refining noise into an image.

Early training datasets did scrape public art. Modern commercial tiers, however, lean on stock-photo libraries, rights-cleared artwork, and stringent opt-out mechanisms. In short, the tech has grown up—and so must the artists who wield it.

The Dark Side: Prompt Abuse & Artistic Theft

Not every AI “artist” plays fair. Some prompts literally read, “Portrait in the style of XX artist, using XX’s brush technique.” The generated result may fool an algorithmic plagiarism check—but it’s ethically murky (and sometimes legally actionable).

Other shady tactics include:

• Mimicking living artists’ signature colour palettes.
• Publishing AI work without disclosure.
• Selling near-duplicates of existing paintings.

These practices hurt real people and undermine genuine innovation—so, naturally, I avoid them at all costs.

My Ethical Workflow at Driftwood Creations

Firstly, I feel it's also important to note that artists can train their AI. I've spent countless hours training mine to understand and use my signature style. If I create a prompt for my model, then paste it into someone else's model, you'll get two completely different images. 

With that being said, here is a bit of a behind-the-scenes look at how I take a vision from my mind to the screen to a canvas.

Original Vision & Concept

Every piece begins with Newfoundland—its sea winds, salt spray, and hardy humour. I jot loose thumbnail sketches or write bullet-point “mood boards” featuring cod traps, foggy lighthouses, or puffins in hoodies (yes, really). Inspiration? Absolutely. Imitation? Never.

Prompt Engineering (Paid DALL·E)

I open my paid DALL·E console and craft hyper-specific prompts that spill as much detail as I can muster to describe the piece of art I'm seeing in my mind. I’ll iterate 10-20 times, nudging composition, placement, sizing, colour temperature, and mood until the image feels authentically mine.

Post-Generation Editing

Generation is only half the job. Using other digital art tools, I upscale the artwork, colour-grade, and fix any anatomical hiccups (AI still struggles with bird feet sometimes!). I clean specks, sharpen focal points, and prep files for print on canvas, acrylic, or fine-art paper.

Reverse-Image Verification

Before a design graduates to “Driftwood official,” I run it through TinEye and Google Lens. Anything above a 1 % similarity score prompts a redesign. Only when it’s clear of duplication do I release it to the shop.

Why This Process Matters to Me

I’ve wrestled with anxiety since childhood. Traditional sketching quieted my mind, but time and life got in the way. Discovering ethical AI art felt like stumbling upon a digital therapy studio: zero judgement, infinite colours, and instant experimentation.

Each finished piece—like the puffin series that launched our Puffins in Hoodies Collection—is proof I can turn tension into creativity. Better still, this journey re-connected me with Newfoundland communities. I’ve shipped prints to expats in Calgary, swapped techniques with local artists, and watched grandparents tear up when a Hands of Time print reminded them of home.

Art helped me heal; AI simply handed me a fresh set of brushes.

Responsible AI Art in Practice: 5 Simple Rules

1. Pay for your model—free scrapers rarely respect artists.
2. Skip “in the style of…” prompts—let the masters rest.
3. Add human touches—editing keeps your voice in the piece.
4. Reverse-image search—proof you didn’t copy.
5. Be transparent—share your process; invite dialogue.

(For more on licensing in DALL·E 3, see OpenAI’s official usage policies)

Driftwood Creations: Where Nostalgia Meets Imagination

Newfoundland is a place of storytellers, musicians, and make-do innovators. AI is simply the newest accordion in the band—fresh, loud, but delightful when played with respect. At Driftwood Creations, I promise:

• Original visions rooted in the Rock.
• Ethical AI practices—no stolen strokes.
• Ongoing transparency as the tech evolves.

So, explore our latest prints, hoodies, and wall-art collections, or commission a custom piece that captures your story.

Together, we can prove that tech and tradition can thrive side-by-side—one puffin at a time.