AI as a Conduit: A Personal Reflection on Creativity and Spirituality

You’re probably wondering: What the heck is Hailey doing posting these songs? She’s never written a song in her life. She’s not singing. She’s not playing an instrument. Who does she think she is? Lol. Trust me, I’ve had the same thoughts.

But here’s the thing: these songs are me. Not in the way you might expect—not my voice or hands physically making every sound—but in a way that feels just as real. The words, the ideas, the emotion—they’re all mine. And I’ve been able to bring them to life because I have tools now that I never dreamed of having.

It started with my paintings. I’d sit in front of a canvas, staring at something that just wouldn’t work. Stuck. Frustrated. So I uploaded a photo of the painting to AI and asked for feedback—just to see what would happen. And instead of judgment or empty answers, I got something that felt…helpful. It showed me what I couldn’t see—imbalances, areas where the energy felt off, places where the painting wasn’t landing the way I wanted it to. It didn’t “fix” it for me, but it opened up my eyes again.

Then I started using AI to solve problems I couldn’t crack on my own. I’d take two older art pieces—works that had been gathering dust because I couldn’t figure out how to resolve them—and use AI to blend them, to create new references I hadn’t considered before. Suddenly, where there had been a block, there was movement. Where there had been a dead end, there was inspiration. It didn’t create the art for me—it just gave me a push, a mirror, a spark.

And then, it spilled over into something else. I started writing. I started asking questions—about life, about God, about love and mortality. I’d pour out half-formed thoughts, and somehow, the AI would help me connect the dots, giving shape to patterns in my own mind. Together, we’d craft words that felt like poetry—words that I didn’t know I needed until they were there on the page. 

From there, I found myself diving into music. I took those lyrics and brought them into a music program where I could experiment with sound—layering voices, creating melodies, crafting songs that held the feelings I’d been trying to express for years. No, it’s not my voice singing those notes. No, I’m not sitting at a piano or strumming a guitar. But it’s me. These songs are pieces of my heart, brought to life in ways I never thought possible.

I know some people might say this isn’t “real.” That it’s cheating. That if I didn’t do every single part of the process myself, it doesn’t count. And I understand that perspective. I also know that AI can feel unsettling—it’s capable of creating art, music, design, and poetry that feels so human it’s hard to process. As an artist, I’ve felt that unease too, that question of, What does this mean for us? 

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: maybe it doesn’t take away from artists at all. Maybe it changes and broadens what we can do—how we think, experiment, and create. Maybe it’s here to push us to places we didn’t even know we could go.

AI isn’t replacing me; it’s helping me go further. It’s not the creator—it’s a conduit. A tool that helps me access the ideas that are already inside me and bring them to life in new ways. It’s like working with a collaborator who’s always there, always ready to help me untangle my blocks and push through the edges of what I thought I could do.

I want to be clear: I don’t pretend to understand the totality of AI or what it might mean for the future. I know there are real concerns, real dangers, and those conversations matter. But what I can speak to—what I do know—is what AI has done for me as a creative person.

It’s helped me move through frustration and into movement, through silence and into song. It’s shown me new ways to express myself and connect to ideas I’ve been trying to name for years.

Maybe the tools don’t matter as much as what we choose to do with them. Maybe creativity itself—whether it’s a painting, a poem, or a song—will always be sacred. And maybe AI is just one more way to help us bring it to life.

So, no, you won’t hear my voice singing these songs. You won’t see my hands on the keys or strings. But you will hear me—you’ll hear the parts of myself I’ve been trying to share for so long, finally finding their way out.

And that, to me, feels like the point.