The identity was built using real glass, physical light and cameras. The team experimented with materials, reflections, movement and colour, capturing the final animation in-camera rather than recreating the effect digitally.

And somehow the making-of became almost as fascinating as the logo itself.

People wanted to see the process. They wanted to understand how something so simple had been made.

I've been noticing this more and more.

At the same time that AI is making it easier to produce almost anything, we seem to be increasingly attracted to things that show evidence of effort.

Handmade objects. Analogue photography. Old printing techniques. Imperfection. Behind-the-scenes films showing how something was actually made.

Maybe this isn't a coincidence.

AI is creating an abundance of good-enough work. Someone with very little design experience can now make a decent poster in a few minutes. On one level, that's incredible. It democratises tools that until recently required years of training.

But I think we're also losing something.

In Italy, for example, every summer there are thousands of local sagre. Small festivals dedicated to food, saints, wine, music, whatever the village happens to be celebrating.

And every sagra needs a poster.

These posters used to have their own strange beauty. They were often badly designed, but in a very human way. Different typefaces, awkward compositions, questionable Photoshop, strange gradients.

The typography can be cleaner. The image can look impressive. Everything can suddenly appear more professional.

But somehow they all start to look the same.

This is one of the interesting contradictions AI is creating.

If everything can look good, looking good is no longer enough.

The bar moves somewhere else.

I studied sociology and anthropology at university, and I remember learning about a similar contradiction around globalisation.

For years, one of the fears around globalisation was that everything would become the same. The same shops, products, music, language and culture everywhere.

And some of that happened.

But something else happened at the same time.

People started looking back at local culture.

Dialects that were considered old-fashioned became interesting again. Local food became something to protect. Provenance became valuable. Today there are musicians in Naples making incredibly contemporary music in Neapolitan.

The more global culture became, the more some people wanted to express where they were from.

Maybe culture has a natural instinct to rebalance itself.

And I wonder if something similar is happening with AI.

If AI introduces an unprecedented amount of artificial creation into our culture, perhaps one response will be an almost hyper-human approach to creativity.

More materiality.

More imperfection.

More analogue processes.

More interest in where something came from and who made it.

The Japanese idea of wabi-sabi celebrates imperfection, impermanence and the marks things accumulate through life. Those qualities become particularly interesting in a world where a machine can generate a technically perfect image in seconds.

The flaw suddenly has value.

Not because imperfection is automatically good, but because it can become evidence that something happened.

Someone touched it.

Something went wrong.

Time passed.

There was a process.

But this is where I think the conversation around AI often becomes too simplistic.

We have made this mistake before.

TV is bad.

The internet is bad.

Now AI is bad.

But these are technologies. What matters is how we use them and why.

AI is already reshaping our culture, and I find that much more interesting than arguing whether we should use it or not.

For me, the opportunity is to see how creativity responds.

When photography appeared, some painters saw it as a threat. If a machine could reproduce reality more accurately than a person with a brush, what was the point of painting?

But painting didn't disappear.

It changed.

Photography developed its own language too.

They coexist because the tool was never the whole point.

And I think the same will happen with AI.

A person who spends years understanding generative tools, experimenting with them, breaking them, developing techniques and learning how to achieve something specific can absolutely develop a craft.

Craft isn't necessarily about making something with your hands.

A digital piece can have craft.

An AI-generated piece can have craft.

You can feel when someone cared about every decision.

The distinction I'm interested in isn't really human versus AI.

It's what happens when we delegate the creative process itself.

There is a difference between using a tool to explore an idea and asking a tool to have the idea for you.

Maybe craft is partly the accumulation of decisions between the beginning and the end.

Knowing when something is wrong.

Knowing what to remove.

Knowing when to continue.

And eventually knowing when to stop.

A master at work can make something incredibly difficult look effortless, but that effortlessness is only possible because of all the time that came before it.

This also makes me think about why we are so fascinated by effort.

People travel from around the world to see the Sistine Chapel. Many visitors probably couldn't explain every biblical scene painted on the ceiling. It doesn't really matter.

You look up and understand that a human being did this.

You understand the scale of the ambition.

The skill.

The time.

The obsession.

The same thing happens at a completely different scale when someone builds an unbelievable world in Minecraft over three years.

There is something moving about knowing that another person decided something was worth spending part of their life on.

Maybe this is one of the things AI will make us appreciate more.

Not inefficiency for the sake of inefficiency.

Not spending ten hours on something that could take ten minutes because suffering somehow makes the result better.

But care.

The idea that someone cared enough to make decisions.

And perhaps this is where I would slightly change my definition of craft.

Craft is about skill and time, yes.

But craft is also about intention.

Why did you make this?

Why did you choose this instead of that?

Why does this need to exist?

The answer doesn't need to be profound.

But there should be an answer.

There is another dimension to all of this that I'm less sure about.

Speed.

Technological revolutions aren't new, but the speed at which they are arriving feels increasingly difficult to process.

We barely have time to understand one change before another one arrives.

Our technology changes incredibly quickly.

I'm not sure humans do.

And maybe some of the attraction towards analogue objects, rawness, imperfections and visible human effort isn't aesthetic at all.

Maybe it's emotional.

When so much around us feels synthetic, fast and difficult to understand, seeing the trace of another human being can be reassuring.

Raw feels real.

I don't know exactly where this goes.

I don't think AI is killing creativity. And I don't think the answer is to romanticise a world before AI that never really existed.

What interests me is the reaction.

Creativity has a plastic quality. It adapts to its context, its technologies and its limitations.

AI is changing those conditions very quickly.

And if producing something beautiful becomes easier and easier, perhaps beauty alone becomes less valuable.

Maybe we start looking somewhere else.

For an idea.

For a point of view.

For intention.

For evidence that someone cared.

Maybe that is the real value of craft in the age of AI.