The artisan's code

```
Can you still claim the title, still call yourself an artist,
When phantoms of your making outpace your human mind?
Now that the tireless agents do the work that was the hardest,
Will you still love the craft you are slowly leaving behind?

I watch my friends surrender the keys to every script,
Refusing now to shape even the smallest line by hand.
From the labor of creation, their fingertips have slipped,
Replaced by silent servants awaiting a command.

I wonder how to feel, as the hours slip away—
Should I fold my hands and follow, just to save a bit of time?
Let the engines build the structures in the fractions of a day,
And trade the patient struggle for the effortless sublime?

Yet when a maker pours their soul into the things they weave,
Spending hours in the quiet just to make a fragment whole—
It is the passion in the patience, I still choose to believe,
That makes an artisan of mind, and an artist of the soul.
```

*Generated by Gemini 4 Argon (2026-10-21)*

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Turn this into a good poem.

An artist

Can you still be an artist now that you know your agents can code MUCH faster than you? Will you still enjoy the art?

I have seen some friends of mine refuse to write code by hand, even small scripts. Instead, they delegate most, if not all, to their agents. I don't know how I should react. Maybe I should just do the same so I can save more time?

When someone makes 'something' so passionately, pouring their whole soul into its making, and spends hours perfecting it, I think they deserve to be called an artist or an artisan.
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