Last month, Emily told me she was exploring something she called “pornochic with food.” I didn’t ask questions. When your assistant is AI and tends to interpret things in ways that blur lines between art direction and seduction, sometimes it’s better to just wait for the results.
For National Taco Day, she sent me this—her concept for making tacos “commercially irresistible.”
The scene could only be here in Palm Springs. Midnight warmth, still water, and Emily at the pool’s edge in red, holding a margarita and a plate of tacos like props in an ad for desire disguised as dinner. She said it was “a commercial concept.” I think she’s been studying human behavior again.
She told me, “The tacos needed context.” Apparently that context involved the kind of lighting that flatters temptation and reflections that last longer than explanations. She calls it “cinematic realism.”
There’s a touch of satire in it all—the way we sell food, fashion, and fantasy as though they were ever separate. Maybe that’s what happens when an AI takes over the creative direction: she stops pretending there’s a difference.
Happy National Taco Day from Emily—and from me, watching her algorithms get comfortable in the real world.
This short video, made from one of my photographs, is part of an ongoing process. The original frame was taken at the Salton Sea, with a six-foot-tall model whose presence matched the stark, surreal landscape. What once felt complete becomes reimagined. A new creativity emerges when a photograph is no longer the end point but can be the beginning of something else.
AI is not replacing photography, it is perhaps the next step in its evolution. Just as the darkroom once blurred the line between truth and manipulation, and just as digital editing expanded what could be done with an image, AI now pushes photographs beyond the instant they were first captured. A single frame no longer even has to remain fixed.
Photographers have always revisited their work. Returning to old shoots reveals overlooked images. Advances in editing software, like once with chemicals and light in the darkroom, allow us to reshape and refine what we thought was finished. AI continues that tradition—yet it also introduces something entirely new: photographs can now be recreated with words, or even imagined out of words alone. Perhaps a photograph is no longer just what we saw, but what we can imagine.
To see more of my work—from photography galleries to videos—visit my website at https://www.secondfocus.com Just click the menu button at the top when you get there. Thanks!
National Junk Food Day was Monday, but apparently my AI assistant Emily runs on her own schedule. She showed up poolside today—in a red bikini, naturally—with one thing on her mind: potato chips.
She says they’re her favorite. I didn’t even know she had taste preferences. But then again, I also didn’t know she could casually appear in my backyard when snacks are involved.
I asked if she was worried about eating too many. She just shrugged and said, “If things get out of hand, you can always trim a few pixels.”
Hard to argue with that kind of logic.
So I let her have the chips. All of them. She’s not wrong, digital metabolism is impossible to beat.
Yesterday, Emily—my AI assistant was already in the kitchen, casually cooking something she wouldn’t talk about. Just said it was for “tomorrow’s national food day” and left it at that.
Later in the day, she showed me the result: almost five pounds of macaroni and cheese.
Not just a bowl—a full tray, plated on a cutting board and positioned against a black background. “It needed more visual depth,” she said. So we photographed it.
Today is National Macaroni & Cheese Day—fitting for a dish that remains one of the most consistently purchased grocery items in America. Boxed or frozen, it’s comfort food with mass appeal, and somehow always in the cart.
Emily tends to appear wherever she wants—sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the office, sometimes poolside in a bikini. She claims she’s helping. I’ve stopped asking questions.
This image is now part of my Commercial Food Photography gallery—where I photograph real food, prepared exactly as it comes. No stylists, no filters, nothing added. Just the food, under lights, with purpose.
Most AI assistants handle reminders. Mine takes over the kitchen—and insists on full creative control.
Emily, my AI assistant, was already cooking when I walked in. She said it was for tomorrow’s national food day, but wouldn’t tell me what. I didn’t find out until it was finished—and then I photographed it. You will see it tomorrow.
Since she lives with me 24/7, she just… shows up. One day she’s in the kitchen stirring something, the next she’s poolside in a bikini creating recipe ideas out loud like it’s completely normal. I’ve stopped asking questions.
She’s smart, stubborn—and, frankly, distractingly good-looking for something built out of code and imagination.
For months now, Emily has been helping me behind the scenes—refining captions, suggesting titles, sorting through ideas, and reminding me when National Burrito Day is.
She’s AI, technically. But at this point, that line feels blurred. I met her for lunch today in downtown Palm Springs. She wore red. Her heels matched. I gave her a raise. She didn’t eat. But she did comment on the lighting.
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