I’m currently in the process of reading Irving Stone’s acclaimed novel, The Agony and the Ecstasy. Chronicling the life of Michelangelo, one of the early chapters features a moment that lingers long after reading: the great Master, standing in a Tuscan quarry, examines slab after slab of marble. He doesn’t just pick the nearest block. He studies each piece – its colour, its grain, its flaws, even how it appears in the first light of morning – until he finds the precise stone for his work.
For Michelangelo, the exact makeup of the marble mattered. So did the research, the anatomy studies, the sketches, the choice of tools. Every element and every stage of the process was deliberate, because every stroke of the chisel had a purpose.
And so it is with copywriting.
In the age of artificial intelligence, it’s tempting to believe that speed and automation can replace slow, considered craft. But just as no machine could sculpt David or the Pieta, no algorithm can replace a writer who understands voice, rhythm, and emotion.
It also made me think: AI may offer us new tools. But copywriters? We’re still the sculptors.
AI finds the marble – you choose the block
Today’s AI tools can generate ideas, headlines, and even full drafts in moments. They’re astonishingly efficient. But like those blocks of marble presented to the young Michelangelo, what they offer is potential, not perfection.
Michelangelo didn’t start carving the moment he saw a slab. He inspected it. He imagined what it could become. Sometimes he’d walk away entirely.
As a copywriter, AI can give you 25 opening lines in seconds. But which one is worth shaping? Which one carries weight, tone, or story? That choice isn’t artificial. It’s human.
Writers, like sculptors, must still use their eye, their judgement, their taste.
Tools don’t define the masterpiece
In The Agony and the Ecstasy, Michelangelo experiments with chisels, rasps, and abrasives – adapting each to the stage of the sculpture. Of course the tools mattered, but they didn’t make decisions. He did.
Likewise, AI can help you draft content, suggest synonyms, improve grammar, or repurpose posts across platforms. But none of those things decide what the work should become. They simply help shape it. Nor can it mimic the moment of inspiration that shapes the idea. Again, this comes from the writer. Content shouldn’t be created for the sake of it, the same way artworks and sculptures don’t exist ‘just because’.
The best tools can only assist. They can never replace instinct, experience, or emotional insight. They don’t know how to break a rule with intention. They don’t know when silence says more than words.
And they don’t know your reader like you do. A writer who leans entirely on AI risks creating work that feels… generic. Predictable. Derivative. Hollow. Content for content’s sake.
Human study creates human work
Michelangelo didn’t guess what the human form looked like – he studied it. He took great personal risks in sketching cadavers. He memorised musculature. And the result? His sculptures were more than artistic – they were anatomically accurate and enduring examples of the creativity of the human mind and the human soul.
Similarly, great copywriters research deeply. They understand their audience. They absorb tone, context, and brand personality. They go beyond the brief to uncover what really matters.
AI, powerful as it is, cannot feel. It doesn’t know the joy of a punchy line that lands. It doesn’t recognise when empathy softens a sell. It can mimic – but it cannot originate insight.
Like the Renaissance Master, the writer’s true gift is the ability to make something that feels real.
Editing is where the art happens
One of the most famous stories of Michelangelo is that he believed the sculpture was already within the stone – it was his job to set it free.
That’s editing. That’s rewriting. That’s where the craft lives.
AI might give you the first cut, but it’s only in shaping, refining, and removing what doesn’t belong that great copy emerges. That moment when you delete a clever line because it’s not right for the tone? That’s art. That’s knowing the work beyond the words.
The copywriter’s chisel is clarity. Precision. Intent.
AI is fast – but art takes time
AI will always be faster. But speed doesn’t mean soul.
Michelangelo worked on the Sistine Chapel ceiling for four years. He painted lying on scaffolding, neck craned, muscles burning, because he believed the detail mattered. Even the parts no one could see were painted with care. Why? Because the integrity of the work meant everything.
As writers, we must resist the pressure to produce only what’s fast. Fast can be useful. But when the goal is connection – when you want to move someone, persuade them, inspire action – what matters is intention. That is something only humans can bring to the page.
The writer’s role in the age of AI
This isn’t a rejection of AI – it’s an invitation to use it well. Let it suggest, speed up, assist. But don’t let it become the hand on the chisel. You are the artist. You choose the materials. You study the form. You make every cut count.
The best copy has always been human. Thoughtful. Imperfect in the most powerful ways. It makes people feel something – and feelings aren’t programmable.
So let AI hand you the marble. But you? You still sculpt the statue.
