I trained a small adapter on a decade of my own sketchbooks. Not to replace myself — to see what it felt like. The result was more interesting, and more unsettling, than I expected.

It learned my habits, not my judgement

It nailed my line weight and my color biases within an afternoon. It never once learned when to stop, or why a composition was wrong. It gave me a hundred versions of my hand and none of my eye.

Left: mine. Right: the model. It rhymes with me. It does not think like me.

The model learned how I draw. It will never learn why I chose to.

I keep the adapter around as a fast underpainting tool that speaks my dialect. It made my ownership of the final image feel clearer, not blurrier. That surprised me most of all.