What happens when an artist’s photographs are transformed into AI-generated images without their permission? Aerialist Montana Miller’s experience raises important questions about artistic ownership, consent, and the growing use of artificial intelligence in the performing arts.
Imagine arriving at a venue where you’re about to perform and seeing enormous images of yourself displayed on the lobby screens. Except something is terribly wrong. Your face looks unfamiliar, your arms and legs are twisted into impossible positions, and some of your limbs seem to have multiplied. Next to these disturbing images are quotations you never said and details about your life that simply aren’t true. Even more unsettling, the person responsible for creating these images is the very person who hired you to perform.
This is the experience aerialist, author, and educator Montana Miller described in a recent Facebook post. According to Miller, the organizer of a performance used artificial intelligence to transform photographs she had provided for promotional purposes into bizarre images that no longer represented her body or her work. Despite her objections and assurances that the materials would be corrected, she says the images were still prominently displayed when she arrived at the venue. Her story stayed with me long after I read it on her Facebook page. I kept thinking not only about what had happened to her, but also about how easily an artist can lose control over the very materials meant to represent their work.
That concern inspired me to look more closely at the broader issues surrounding AI, copyright, and artists’ rights. As artificial intelligence becomes an increasingly common tool in marketing and content creation, artists are facing new challenges in protecting their work, their professional identities, and their right to decide how they are represented. Montana’s experience offers a powerful starting point for a conversation that the performing arts industry needs to have.
When promotional material becomes misrepresentation
Like many performing artists, Miller was asked to provide high-quality photographs of herself performing on aerial rings, along with written information about her circus and writing careers. These materials are essential to a performer’s professional life. Venues, festivals, producers, and booking agents routinely request photographs and biographies to advertise performances, introduce artists to audiences, and promote ticket sales. Performers generally provide these materials with the understanding that they will be used to represent their work accurately.
According to Miller’s account, however, the organizer took a very different approach. Rather than using the photographs and text she had supplied, he used AI to generate a collection of promotional posters. The results were far removed from the original materials. Her body appeared in impossible positions, extra limbs emerged from her torso, and her face had been altered so dramatically that she was barely recognizable. The written material was equally inaccurate, containing invented quotations attributed to her and false information about her life. Even the title of her book,Circus Dreams, had somehow becomeCircus Stream.
When Miller received the posters, she immediately objected. She describes feeling shocked and disgusted by the images and made it clear that she had not authorized their use. The organizer initially insisted that the AI-generated images did look like her, but after further disagreement, he reportedly agreed to correct the promotional materials and remove the altered photographs.
Miller believed the matter had been resolved. Yet when she arrived at the venue a week later, the original AI-generated images were still displayed on large LED screens in the lobby. When the organizer finally arrived, Miller says his first words were, “You owe me an apology.” He was upset by the language she had used in her text messages when she first saw the AI-generated posters. Her initial reaction had been “Holy crap!” followed by “WTF?!” when he insisted that the distorted images actually looked like her. Now, standing in the lobby with those same images still prominently displayed, Miller confronted him about why they were still being used. According to her account, he simply replied, “Oh, that’s just a mistake,” dismissing her concerns without further discussion.
At that moment, Miller faced a difficult choice. She could refuse to perform, potentially losing her agreed fee and disappointing the audience that had come to see her, or she could go ahead with the performance despite what had happened. No surprise, she did what most artists would do in her position: she chose to perform. This situation highlights just how vulnerable freelance artists can be when dealing with employers and presenters. With their income, professional relationships, and reputation at stake, they often have little choice but to accept situations they would otherwise never tolerate.
In herFacebook post, Miller described the experience as deeply upsetting and compared the manipulation of her body to a form of “body horror.” Her reaction was not simply about whether the posters looked attractive or professional. She had provided authentic images of herself performing skills she had spent years developing, only to see those images transformed into something she found disturbing and unrecognizable.
Her experience brings us to an important distinction: giving someone permission to promote your work is not necessarily the same as giving them permission to alter it.
Who owns an artist’s image?
Miller’s experience raises important legal questions about who has the right to use, alter, and distribute an artist’s image. Several different rights may apply when an image depicts a performer. I decided to look into these legal distinctions a bit because I believe understanding them is important for anyone working in the performing arts.
The first is copyright, which protects original creative work such as photographs, books, music, and other forms of artistic expression. In simple terms, copyright gives the creator certain rights to control how their work is copied, shared, and adapted. For example, if a photographer takes a picture of an aerialist, the photographer will usually own the copyright to that photograph, unless a contract or another legal arrangement establishes something different. Even though the aerialist is the subject of the photograph, that does not automatically make them its copyright owner.
But owning the copyright to a photograph is not necessarily the same as having unlimited permission to use the person pictured in it. This brings us to another legal concept called the right of publicity. In everyday language, this refers to a person’s ability to control certain commercial uses of their name, face, voice, or identity. Imagine that a company takes a photograph of you and uses it in an advertisement for a product you’ve never tried. People seeing that advertisement might reasonably assume you support or endorse the product. Depending on the circumstances, you may have legal grounds to object, even if the company has permission from the photographer to use the image.
There is also the question of consent, which simply means giving someone permission to do something. The important detail is that permission usually has a purpose and may have limits. If an artist gives a venue permission to use a photograph to promote an upcoming performance, does that permission also allow the venue to digitally change the artist’s face, invent new physical positions, or create statements the artist never made? Not necessarily. The answer depends on the agreement between the parties, the permission actually given, and the laws that apply. Unfortunately, for smaller gigs and freelance engagements, these permissions are often never clearly discussed or formalized in a contract. Artists typically provide their promotional materials in good faith, trusting that presenters will use them appropriately, without ever defining exactly what the presenter is allowed to do with them.
Miller’s case illustrates why these distinctions matter. The photographs, the written biography, and her personal likeness may involve different rights. An original biography can be protected by copyright as a piece of writing, while the use of an artist’s face or identity may raise separate legal questions. Fabricating quotations and presenting them as statements from a real person can create yet another set of concerns, particularly when the statements misrepresent that person’s professional history.
Using AI to modify someone else’s photograph can raise serious copyright concerns. Under U.S. copyright law, the copyright owner (in Montana’s case the photographer) generally has the exclusive right to create or authorize modified versions of their work, known legally asderivative works. Simply changing an image with AI does not automatically give someone the right to use it. However, whether a particular alteration amounts to copyright infringement depends on what permissions the copyright owner granted, how the image was changed and used, and whether any legal exceptions apply.
The U.S. Copyright Office has been studying how existing copyright laws apply to artificial intelligence. In a 2024 report, it concluded that current legal protections are not sufficient to address the growing problem of unauthorized AI-generated images and voices, and recommended that Congress introduce new federal legislation. While existing copyright and state laws offer some protection, there is still no comprehensive federal law specifically addressing the unauthorized creation and distribution of digital replicas of real people. This leaves artists navigating a complicated legal landscape at a time when technology makes it easier than ever to reproduce or alter someone’s appearance, voice, and creative work without their permission.
For performers, the practical lesson is that copyright ownership, control over one’s identity, and consent are connected but separate issues. One simple way artists can protect themselves is to provide a written permission statement whenever they hand over photographs, videos, or other promotional materials. This could be a standard, prewritten document explaining what the presenter is allowed to do with the materials and what is not permitted. For example, an artist might authorize the use of their photographs to promote a specific performance while prohibiting AI-generated alterations or the creation of new images without prior written approval. Artists can also request approval of final promotional materials before publication and keep records of the original images, communications, and agreed terms. Having these conditions in writing, even for a small gig without a formal contract, can help prevent misunderstandings and give artists a stronger position if their materials are misused.
For circus artists, the body is the work
For an aerialist, the placement of a hand, the extension of a leg, the balance of the body, and the relationship between the performer and the apparatus all have meaning. These details reveal technical ability, individual style, and a carefully developed, proprietary physical vocabulary. The same is true for a dancer’s movement, a contortionist’s flexibility, or an acrobat’s balance. Their bodies are not merely subjects within an image; they are the instruments through which their artistic work is created.
When AI alters these images, it can change the very thing the artist is trying to communicate. Imagine a poster advertising Van Gogh’sThe Starry Night, but someone has added a flock of bats flying across the sky and presented it as the original painting. The image might still be recognizable, but it no longer represents what Van Gogh created. The same happens when AI transforms a photograph of an aerialist performing a particular skill into an image showing a physically impossible position. What began as an authentic record of an artist’s work becomes someone else’s interpretation, presented to the public as if it were real.
This is particularly concerning in a profession where photographs and videos are often used to secure work. Casting directors, producers, and booking agents regularly evaluate artists through the promotional materials they submit. An inaccurate image can create false expectations about a performer’s abilities or misrepresent their professional identity. If the result looks strange, amateurish, or inappropriate, it is the artist whose name and reputation remain attached to the image.
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Miller expressed this frustration directly in her post: “The hours and years we spend training our bodies to be extraordinary are butchered by AI and its aficionados.”
Her words point to something that can easily be overlooked when discussing AI-generated images. For a physical performer, an authentic photograph represents much more than an attractive marketing asset. It is a record of training, artistic decisions, and real accomplishment. Although copyright law does not automatically protect every individual pose or physical skill, the accuracy of those images matters enormously to the artists whose careers depend on them.
This brings the discussion beyond legal ownership into questions of artistic integrity. Even when an alteration is technically possible, or may be legally permitted, that does not necessarily make it an appropriate way to represent another person’s work.
AI, consent, and the unequal relationship between artists and employers
It might be tempting to conclude that performers should simply refuse to work with anyone who misuses their images. But the realities of freelance work make this easier said than done. Independent artists often depend on individual bookings, short-term contracts, and relationships with presenters or producers. They may have limited negotiating power, particularly when a problem arises shortly before a scheduled performance.
Miller’s experience illustrates that imbalance. She had already objected to the images and believed the organizer had agreed to replace them. When she arrived and discovered that they were still being displayed, she was no longer negotiating from a comfortable distance. She was at the venue, an audience was expected, and payment for her work was at stake. The person responsible for the promotional material was also involved in the professional engagement on which she depended.
This is why conversations about consent need to consider more than whether an artist technically has the ability to object. Meaningful consent also depends on whether someone can raise concerns or refuse a particular use without facing unreasonable pressure or professional consequences.
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The entertainment industry is already addressing some of these questions. For example, actors’ union SAG-AFTRA has negotiated protections concerning digital replicas, which are computer-generated versions of a real performer’s appearance or voice. The idea is relatively easy to understand: imagine an actor’s face or voice being digitally recreated so they appear in a scene they never actually performed. Under SAG-AFTRA’s 2023 TV/Theatrical contracts, producers generally must obtain the actor’s informed consent and provide compensation for covered uses of that digital recreation.
However, even when consent is required, another question arises: how much choice does the artist really have? In the voice-over industry, for example, some contracts include clauses allowing producers to create or use AI-generated versions of an actor’s voice. Performers may be presented with these conditions as part of accepting a job, leaving them with a difficult decision: agree to the AI terms or risk losing the work. Even SAG-AFTRA acknowledges that producers may choose not to hire an actor who refuses to consent to the creation of a digital replica. This raises a troubling question about the meaning of consent. If an artist must choose between protecting their voice or identity and earning a living, can we really call that a free choice?
These SAG-AFTRA practices and protections do not automatically apply to independent circus artists, or non-union artists, but the principles behind them are relevant across the performing arts. An artist should understand when their identity is being digitally recreated, what the resulting material will be used for, and whether they are agreeing to that use.
As AI tools become more widely available, these questions will increasingly arise outside major film and television productions. A small venue, festival organizer, or independent promoter can now generate sophisticated images and marketing materials with little technical knowledge or financial investment. While this creates new possibilities for promotion, it also increases the chance that artists will encounter unexpected uses of their work and identity.
A broader conversation for the performing arts industry
Artificial intelligence is rapidly becoming part of how the entertainment industry creates and distributes content. Used thoughtfully, it can help artists experiment with new ideas, create visual concepts, reach audiences, develop projects and market their work that might otherwise be difficult or expensive to do. There is no reason to assume that every use of AI is harmful or that technological innovation must come at the expense of artistic integrity. In fact, I used AI myself while researching and writing this article. It helped me find relevant resources, understand legal concepts, and edit my writing, making the process considerably faster and more efficient than the traditional research method and editorial process. Of course, the responsibility to verify the information and make editorial decisions remains mine. To me, this illustrates an important distinction: AI can be a valuable tool that supports human creativity and productivity without replacing the judgment, ownership, or identity of the people behind the work.
The challenge lies in how these tools are used and who gets to make the decisions. There is a meaningful difference between an artist choosing to experiment with an AI-generated version of their own work and someone else making that decision on their behalf. The first can be an act of creative exploration; the second may raise serious questions about permission, professional representation, and trust.
Montana Miller’s experience, as she describes it, demonstrates how quickly that trust can be damaged. Trust is at the heart of the performing arts industry. Artists trust their colleagues with their physical safety, producers with their professional opportunities, and presenters with their reputation and the way their work is represented to the public. Much of this industry, especially in the freelance world, operates through personal relationships, recommendations, and mutual trust rather than lengthy contracts. Miller provided photographs and biographical information for a straightforward promotional purpose, trusting that they would be used to represent her and her work accurately. Instead, the resulting materials presented a version of her body and personal history that she did not recognize or approve. Her objections were not simply a disagreement over artistic taste. They concerned a breach of the professional trust that makes creative collaboration possible.
We are at a particularly important moment for the performing arts industry. As AI becomes part of our professional lives, we have an opportunity, and perhaps a responsibility NOW, to establish the values and ethical standards that will guide its use. While legislation struggles to keep up with the pace of technological developments, the industry does not have to wait for new laws to define what is acceptable. Through open conversations, shared expectations, and everyday professional practices, we can begin establishing unwritten rules that protect artists’ identities, dignity, and rights, respect the importance of consent, and address the power imbalance between artists and those who hire them. Over time, these shared principles can become widely accepted industry standards, shaping how we work together and setting expectations that future legislation may eventually reinforce.
For circus artists, dancers, actors, musicians, and other performers, years of training and creative work are often inseparable from their personal and artistic identity. Sharing photographs, recordings, and biographies with producers should be an act of professional collaboration, not permission to reinvent who they are. As AI continues to expand what is technically possible, the performing arts industry must be equally clear about what is professionally acceptable, guided by one fundamental principle: every artist has the right to decide how their image, identity, and creative work may be altered or recreated using AI, and that right must be respected.
Meet Montana Miller Miller is an aerialist, author, and educator. Explore her work and professional background on StageLync. View Montana's Profile Images: All photographs in this article are courtesy of Montana Miller and show her original, unaltered images. The AI-generated versions described in the article have intentionally not been included, respecting Miller's wish to prevent their further circulation.
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This post was last modified on November 7, 2026 5:09 pm