Review
AI
Art
Culture
5 min read

Art, AI and apocalypse: Michael Takeo Magruder addresses our fears and questions

The digital artist talks about the possibilities and challenges of artificial intelligence.

Jonathan is Team Rector for Wickford and Runwell. He is co-author of The Secret Chord, and writes on the arts.

A darkened art gallery displays images and screens on three walls.
Takeo.org.

In the current fractured debate about the future development of Artificial Intelligence (AI) systems, artists are among those informing our understanding of the issues through their creative use of technologies. British-American visual artist Michael Takeo Magruder is one such, with his current exhibition Un/familiar Terrain{s} infusing leading-edge AI systems with traditional artistic practices to reimagine the world anew. In so doing, this exhibition pushes visitors to question the organic nature of their own memories and the unsettling notions of automatic processing, misattribution, and reconstruction. 

The exhibition uses personal footage of specific places of renowned natural beauty that has been captured on first generation AI-enabled smartphones. Every single frame of the source material has then been revised, reworked, and rebuilt into digital prints and algorithmic videos which recast these captured moments as uncanny encounters. In this exhibition at Washington DC’s Henry Luce III Center for the Arts & Religion, the invisible work of the AI allows people to experience more than there ever was, expanding both time and space. 

Magruder has been using Information Age technologies and systems to examine our networked, media-rich world for over 25 years. A residency in the Department of Theology and Religious Studies at King’s College London resulted in De/coding the Apocalypse, an exhibition exploring contemporary creative visions inspired by and based on the Book of Revelation. Imaginary Cities explored the British Library’s digital collection of historic urban maps to create provocative fictional cityscapes for the Information Age. 

JE: You are a visual artist who works with emerging media including real-time data, digital archives, VR environments, mobile devices, and AI processes. What is it about the possibilities and challenges of emerging media that captures your artistic imagination? 

MTM: As a first-generation digital native, computer technologies – and the evolving range of potentials they offer – have deeply informed my life and art. Computational media not only opens different avenues for artistic expression but provides a novel means to recontextualise traditional artforms and histories of practice; its ephemeral nature is a particular draw. However, this also creates new challenges, especially in areas concerning preservation and access. I sometimes wonder if my art will still exist for future generations to experience in full, or if it will simply fade alongside the technologies that I’ve used in its production. 

JE: To what extent does Un/familiar Terrain{s} build on past exhibitions like Imaginary Landscapes and Imaginary Cities, and to what extent does it break new ground for you? 

MTM: Un/familiar Terrain{s} certainly arises from and expands on the artistic concepts of those past projects. The main difference is that each artwork in Un/familiar Terrain{s} is generated from a small sample of personal data (a scenic moment that I’ve captured intentionally), not digital materials gleaned from large public archives and online collections.      

JE: Do you find that working with images of the natural world (as is the case with this exhibition) as opposed to images of human-made environments (as you did with 'Imaginary Cities') leads to different approaches or inspiration on your part? 

MTM: My projects that explore constructed environments often reference principles of Modernist architecture and design whereas my pieces in Un/familiar Terrain{s} explicitly seek to dialogue with the long history of Western landscape art. The AI systems that I have used in their creation are leading edge but conversely, their conceptual references extend back to long before the onset of what we consider ‘modern’ art.  

JE: I've heard many artists criticise digital art in terms of degrading the principal tools and techniques of artists throughout history and those arguments would be made even more vigorously in relation to AI. In this exhibition you're enabling a conversation about the painterly effects you can create as a digital artist and those that can be achieved through AI, yet without leading us to one side or other of that argument. Is your vision essentially one of wanting to see the possibilities in whatever tools, techniques or technologies we have to hand? 

MTM: Absolutely. For me that’s one of the fundamental purposes of art. AI is unquestionably the most disruptive (and potentially problematic) technology affecting creative communities at present, but it’s just the most recent historical example. I imagine similar criticisms arose during the proliferation of devices like the printing press and the first photographic cameras. Such inventions clearly did not ‘degrade’ art, but they indisputably shifted its trajectory. 

JE: While your work is not expressly religious, you have engaged with theological themes and institutions as with Un/familiar Terrain{s}, which is on show at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington DC. What do you think it is about your work and the ways you use and explore emerging media that enables such a dialogue to take place?  

MTM: I feel that many of the social and ethical questions raised by the emergence of transformative digital technologies are quite similar (and sometimes identical) to ones that have been traditionally posed by theologians. With that in mind, although the fields are quite different in many ways, at present there are some strange and compelling intersections. 

JE: From your experience, what can theological or religious institutions learn from a more engaged involvement with emerging media, particularly AI? 

MTM: Like artists, perhaps theologians can use emerging (and disruptive) media to not only expand possibilities for their work, but more importantly, to refocus their efforts towards areas that these technologies cannot presently (and will likely never) address. 

JE: Apocalyptic scenarios are often invoked in response to developments such as AI, the refugee crisis, populist political movements or the climate emergency. In De/coding the Apocalypse, you worked with emerging media to explore contemporary creative visions inspired by and based on the Book of Revelation. From that experience, what advice would you give to emerging artists wanting to engage with or invoke apocalyptic imagery? How might emerging artists live in the shadow of apocalypse or what have you noticed about our contemporary fear of modern apocalypses? 

MTM: Throughout history, visions of apocalypse have been consistently rooted in humanity’s prevailing fears. In the Digital Age these sit alongside our growing concerns about technologies that afford increasingly greater potential to create or destroy. Of course, artists should continue to reveal the deeply problematic (and potentially apocalyptic) aspects of new technologies, but they should also highlight their positive aspects to encourage the creation of “a new heaven and a new earth” that can be a better place for all. 

 

Un/familiar Terrain{s}, 30 May – 18 September 2024, The Dadian Gallery, Henry Luce III Center for the Arts & Religion.

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Culture
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Music
1 min read

Why we loved Lewis Capaldi’s Glastonbury comeback

We might impress people with our strength, but we connect through our weaknesses

Jessica is a Formation Tutor at St Mellitus College, and completing a PhD in Pauline anthropology, 

Lewis Capaldi sings with eyes closes, holding a mic and its stand
Capaldi hits the high notes.
BBC.

Friday at Glastonbury 2025 saw something more than a musical performance: it saw a homecoming. Lewis Capaldi returned to the stage after a two-year hiatus, and the response was nothing short of extraordinary. His performance in 2023 was emotional as people saw a man struggling with his mental and physical health, which ultimately led him to step back for two whole years. As he returned to the stage, people cheered, and people cried. He cried. I cried. It was not just the return of a singer, but the return of a story we all long for: a redemption arc. A story of coming undone and coming back. 

Capaldi had stepped away from the spotlight for those two years to care for his mental health. When he appeared, he was welcomed with warmth, kindness and compassion. The fields of Glastonbury turned into a sanctuary for a few sacred minutes, as thousands honoured someone not because he had pushed through, but because he had paused. 

I found myself deeply moved. I couldn’t look away. Why was this moment, this man, this vulnerability, so captivating? 

It is because, as humans, we are wired for stories of authenticity. We love a comeback story. The narrative of someone who ventures into the wilderness and then returns speaks to something in all of us. Who is willing to admit their own weakness. To return to the stage in this moment reminded us that the comeback was greater than the setback. This was a moment worth celebrating.  

As part of his return set, he debuted his new song Survive, in which he sings,  

“But when hope is lost and I come undone, I swear to God, I’ll survive.”  

There’s power in that lyric, not in thoughtless defiance, but in the quiet, resolute declaration that survival to keep going is an act of courage. 

St Paul, in his second letter to Christians in the city of Corinth, reminds us of a paradox at the heart of the Christian faith:  

“I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”  

Strength and weakness are not opposing forces; instead, they are intertwined. The bridge connecting them is vulnerability. Strength in weakness provides us with a portrait of actual vulnerability, as sharing our weakness requires great strength. It has been said by many that although we might impress people with our strength, we connect with people through our weaknesses. This vulnerability provides the connection that we are built for as humans. 

In a culture that celebrates performance, progression, and perfection, vulnerability often feels like a risk. But what if it’s our greatest strength? What if this, the trembling voice, the open heart, the tear-streaked face, is what connection is made of? 

Capaldi’s return showed us a part of what it means to be human: to break, to heal, to return. And to be welcomed back. It was a gentle resistance to cancel culture, which tends to hold people captive in their weakest moment, freezing them in failure. But the crowd at Glastonbury chose a different way. They chose empathy and kindness when confronted with another's humanity. This made space for a new story to be told.  

The Christian story has always been one of ashes to beauty. Of life out of death. Of hope in despair. Whether it’s the prodigal son running home, or Peter by the firelight, forgiven and restored, there is room in the story of grace for those who step away, and celebration when they return. 

And so, Capaldi’s return was more than a performance: it was a parable. A living story of what happens when we choose to make space for one another’s pain and honour the quiet courage it takes to come back. It reminded us that sharing our weaknesses is not a weakness at all, but an act of strength, even defiance, in a culture that so often pulls us toward isolation and self-protection. Why was it so captivating? Because vulnerability is powerful. It draws us in, disarms us, and reminds us of our shared humanity. We long to be known, and we ache to belong. In a field of thousands, vulnerability is what ultimately unites and connects us. 

 

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