Not too long ago, we published our 10 Years story to celebrate a decade of our design studio’s existence. It expressed not only my deep connection to Italy, but also what this country and its people have done for my creative vision. It was about a perspective that has come surprisingly into focus again in recent days, with the growing discrepancy between Europe and the United States — or let’s say, between the Old and the New World.
“What truly has occupied my mind is the rise of Artificial Intelligence.”
But since I am less of a political person, this is not what has occupied my mind most recently. What truly has, of course, is the rise of Artificial Intelligence.
Over the past year, my way of working seems to have changed completely, especially in its technical aspects — in the capacity to realize ideas. And to anticipate: I admit I have enjoyed it immensely. For a simple reason. I can suddenly do things that a year ago I could not even have imagined. It has opened new horizons — not only by expanding my technical capabilities, but also by giving me the audacity to think in new ways. All of a sudden, we are able to compete with the big agencies. We can focus more on what we want to achieve instead of merely on how to achieve it.
“But at the same time, I began wondering — as I think many of us have — whether this will ultimately do more harm than good.”
But at the same time, I began wondering — as I think many of us have — whether this will ultimately do more harm than good. There are, of course, many people reflecting on these questions more deeply. And again, I admit that my joy in working with AI as a powerful tool outweighs my concerns about whether we should or should not use it.
However, over time I have also come to understand its limits. And here, in a way, the circle closes back to my thoughts about the New and the Old World. The limits become clearer with each passing day. It is capability versus subtlety. While the former focuses on precision and rational logic, the latter is about feeling — about sensing which of two choices is the right one. Often, at the beginning, these choices are incredibly small: how many pixels to enlarge an element to keep it in balance with another; how many decimal places to adjust the opacity of a color (even though color itself enters the realm of relativity — but that would require another story).
“This feeling — let’s call it the search for beauty, for balance — is deeply subtle.”
This feeling — let’s call it the search for beauty, for balance — is deeply subtle. And when I try to involve my precious collaborator, AI, its limits become increasingly clear. It cannot truly do this. Or rather, not without hours or even days of verbal explanation to describe something that the human eye perceives instantly.
Again, I do not wish to begin a debate about whether this is only a matter of time — or, perhaps more fundamentally, whether we will still need that human sensitivity in the future. I am simply not interested in that discussion here. I only wish to express this thought. And perhaps, last but not least, to break a lance for my beloved Italy — for my beloved Old World, Europe.
Portrait by Antonella Iovino
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antonella iovino
Every major technological advance, from electricity to computers, from nuclear power to machine learning, has been met with a mixture of enthusiasm and fear. The fact that science fiction, from Jules Verne to Kubrick, has been overtaken by reality underscores how, paradoxically, the human capacity for imagination has served as a prelude to science. Imagination paved the way, but reality then had to grapple with the ethical, social and practical implications of what it had created.
To say that AI should be viewed not as ‘magic’ but as a tool for collaboration is an extremely sound perspective.
Blind trust is just as dangerous as absolute mistrust. Instead, it is useful to recognise that artificial intelligence can expand human capabilities, provided that control remains in the hands of a conscious, critical and responsible humanity.
If reality has now surpassed the imagination of the past, what forms of imagination should we draw inspiration from now to avoid being overwhelmed by it once again, whilst maintaining a balance between wonder and caution?
Stefan Seifert
Thank you, Antonella, for these thoughtful words!
And thank you once again for your beautiful work and for your invaluable collaboration on the “10 Years” project. Your visual sensitivity and deep understanding have helped bring our ideas to life across so many projects over the years—from Trifolio to 10 Years.
It’s always a pleasure to create together.
Robert Daniel
Danke Stefan – wie immer wunderbar geschrieben. 🙏
Was mich am meisten beschäftigt: KI arbeitet im Grunde rückwärts von der Sprache – man muss beschreiben, was das Auge bereits weiß.
Und genau da liegt die Grenze, denn das Gespür für Balance und Schönheit passiert oft unterhalb der Schwelle des bewussten Denkens.
Thanks for sharing.
Cheers | またね | à bientôt
Rob
Stefan Seifert
Danke, Robert!
Wahre Inspiration kommt oft wortlos zu uns. Vielleicht aus unseren Erfahrungen und unserer Intuition – vielleicht aber sogar aus Quellen, die sich unserem logischen Verständnis entziehen.
Very welcome, and thanks for sharing your perspective.
Stefan
Stefan Seifert
What strikes me most about your comment is that it touches on one of the fundamental challenges of AI, even from a purely technical standpoint: the need to work backward through language.
As humans, we often recognize visual balance, harmony, or beauty instantly, without consciously articulating why. AI, however, requires us to describe what we want in words—even when what we’re reacting to is largely intuitive.
This becomes especially apparent when a result is already 90% right. In creative work, that’s a very common situation. A client might say, “We love it. Could we just make this element feel a little less heavy?” or “Can we soften that detail slightly?” These are subtle adjustments that are easy to perceive but difficult to describe precisely. While AI is becoming increasingly capable of editing existing work, the process still largely depends on translating those intuitions back into language. And the closer you get to the desired result, the more difficult that translation often becomes.
As type designers, we’re especially familiar with this. You can return to a typeface after months and suddenly feel that a single curve needs to move a few units to the left—or perhaps back to the right again. You make the adjustment, step back, review the overall rhythm, and slowly bring the design closer to what your intuition tells you it should be. It’s an incredibly subtle process. Sometimes frustrating, often time-consuming, but usually rewarding.
This also makes me think about the growing focus on technical optimization. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that—most creatives strive for technical excellence in their work. But if technical perfection becomes the primary lens through which we evaluate creative processes, we risk neglecting the intuitive dimension that has always been central to art and design.
In a way, this reminds me of the history of printing and typography. Technical progress continued throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, yet many would argue that typographic quality and readability often declined during that period. It took figures like William Morris and the Arts and Crafts movement to look backward—to re-engage with Renaissance principles and values that were centuries old. Their solutions were sometimes romantic and idealized, but they helped restore an appreciation for qualities that technology alone could not provide.
Perhaps that’s how the circle closes. Technological progress is essential, but from time to time we need to revisit the intuitive principles that gave meaning to the craft in the first place.