Why I Canceled My AI Rendering Apps

For a while, I was utterly captivated by the potential of AI for architectural renderings. The allure was undeniable: quicker turnarounds, immediate visualizations, and the capability to generate multiple concepts in mere minutes. I delved into everything—from AI-powered image generators to auto-texturing and lighting tools that promised to streamline the design process.

And yes, it was impressive at first. What used to take hours or days could now be mocked up in a fraction of the time. However, after a few months, I began to notice something more profound, which made me step back.

First, the outputs started to feel generic. Sure, they looked good on the surface, but something was missing beneath the polish. The nuance, the intent, the narrative that usually comes from a well-considered design—it just wasn’t there. AI could fake a mood, but it couldn’t articulate a vision. Worst of all, clients started to expect these fast, flashy results over thoughtful development.

Second, the creative process started to blur. I found myself designing for what I thought the AI would render well, rather than letting ideas evolve naturally. That shift—subtle at first—reshaped how I approached projects. I spent less time sketching, exploring materiality, or walking through form and context. Instead, I curated prompts and tweaked machine outputs.

Then there was the issue of originality. The more I leaned on AI renderings, the more I saw similar visual language everywhere—the same lighting, angles, and “wow” factor. It was harder to stand out because the tools flattened the creative voice.

So, I pulled the plug.

I canceled the subscriptions, cleared the render queue, and returned to my trusted, core tools. Not because AI doesn’t have a place in architecture—it does—but because I didn’t want it to replace the part of the work I truly cherish: the storytelling, the craft, the design.

Will I use AI again? Indeed—when it complements the vision, not when it becomes the vision.

For now, I’m embracing the slower pace, the sketchpad, and the process. Honestly, it feels good to take back the reins.