The Turing Test and Art
The Turing Test, originally called the “imitation game” by Alan Turing in 1950, is a test of a machine's ability to exhibit intelligent behavior equivalent to, or indistinguishable from, that of a human. If we cut to the chase and replace “test,” with “proof,” the result is a concept which has implications for art. Granted, if a computer—or any machine for that matter—can do what a human does, it (the computer) is effectively human. The reverse also applies, that if a human can do what a machine does, it (the human) is, effectively, a machine.
What a ludicrous inference! The true inverse analogy is when a human cannot do what a machine can do the human is only human. I viewed, today, a one-person art exhibit of beautiful Celadon ceramics -all of which had been formed on a potter's wheel. Although the pieces were of the highest technical competence the entire exhibit had one noticeable defect. Each and every piece looked wobbly, wiggly, unbalanced-in-profile, a "noisy" distribution if one were looking at a literal bell curve.
Clay, as anyone who has played with the stuff knows, is substantial matter. It's soft and squishy (but not too soft and squishy) and, when rotating on the potter's wheel, is rather lively. The Potter with strong hands will have greater command over forming a pot than a potter whose hands are less strong. The exhibit notes inform the viewer that the potter who made the pieces is a woman, college graduate, secondary school teacher, and amateur ceramist.
Never having met, or been given a personal profile of the ceramist, it is reasonable to suppose she is physically petite -not so much as a stereotype, but to rate her strength. It, further, implies her unique characteristics are indelibly impressed upon her "throwing" technique. The ceramist in question may have been too ambitious. Sales and awards notwithstanding, it is a subjective judgment, one of sensibility. The proof is in the pudding.
I insist on calling the ceramist a ceramist, not a potter, because her strength is her tasteful glaze. In this the ceramist excels. This would be the focus of an appraisal, not the wobble, but for the point here being mechanistic production values. Fully-automated factory ceramics are as near to perfection as possible. A potter at his wheel cannot hope to compete with ceramics factory standards. The art gallery becomes a refuge—a Salon des Refusés—for ceramic "products" that cannot compete with retail merchandise.
Except for that glaze! However, nobody puts a pot on a pedestal unless it bids for perfection. The amateur's creative product is neither a match for retail manufacturing's quality (such as it is), nor price. Retail ceramic ware is nothing if not standard-ized. The human artist cannot hope to compete with the factory assembly line. Particular variations are imperceptible in the production of commercial ceramics. Manufacturing errors are junked before leaving the factory.
In the matter of self-evaluation, what the machine can do is better than that of which a human is capable. How many artists cannot “take” criticism, and are totally incapable of, self-criticism! Manufacturing automation is programmed to remove the defects, i.e., the "outliers," without favor or prejudice. Automation, in principle, is intended to relieve human beings of the tedious labor of manufacturing, so they can be human.
Art, it should become obvious, is not manufacturing. It would be effort better spent for humans to do only that which can be done by humans (not done better by machines). That which humans can do—and which machines cannot—is, alone, worthy of the name of art. If art is created by a machine it is, frankly, not art; and, what is more, human beings would do well to stop wasting time imitating machines.
Tendentious distinctions aside, clay offers almost unlimited possibilities for creativity -without the use of the archaic potter's wheel. The potter's wheel is one of the first machines invented by man. It was intended to augment human ability, improve the result, commod-ify labor, etc., etc. Replace the human potter with another machine, and little remains of human involvement except buying and selling. Otherwise, if you're looking to satisfy a notion for something unique, ask an artist.