A gym for the mind

July 2024

I've been watching too many people immerse themselves for hours using Gen-3, and there's this pattern that keeps popping up. It's like this:

You start with some vague idea in your head. But as you play around, you end up in totally different places. It's weird - the twists and turns become more interesting than what you first thought of. It's not like you have a clear destination. You're just... going. And as you bump into new stuff - things the model mashes together in ways you didn't expect - you change course. You explore. It's like the model is saying, "Hey, what about this?" and you're like, "Huh, never thought of that."

There's a buzz to it. A thrill in not knowing what's coming next. You're not trying to make some big, fancy project. You're just poking at your brain, seeing what comes out. It's like stretching a muscle you didn't know you had.

It's a new form of creative dialogue. The rapid-fire generation speed allows for a true back-and-forth, a conversation in visual language. You prompt, the model responds, sparking new ideas in your mind, leading to new prompts, and on it goes in a virtuous cycle. It's a form of "generative daydreaming." The boundaries between your initial concept and the model's output blur into one stream of continual discovery. You're not crafting a singular, static piece of media, but rather exploring possibilities. And it's joyful and fun.

This process taps into a part of our brains that craves novelty and surprise. It's not about the pressure to produce a film or a masterpiece. It's about flexing our creative muscles simply for the joy of the exercise. Like going to a gym for the mind, each session with the model leaves you invigorated, your imagination stretched in ways you didn't expect. When the tools are swift enough, you enter a flow state, a creative dialogue.

A form of play and discovery that's as rewarding as any final form. It's not about reaching a predetermined endpoint, it's more about reveling in the serendipitous exploration.

voy & vuelvo

© 2024 Cristobal Valenzuela.