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A new year. And we start off with some fun and games. This archive gathers the Photo Journal galleries from January 2026 in one place, preserving the month as it appeared through RockyMtnBabe®.
December was a time to celebrate with friends and family. It was also my second trip around the sun with Instagram as I celebrated 2 years as a creator on December 23rd. This archive gathers the Photo Journal galleries from December 2025 in one place, preserving the month as it appeared through RockyMtnBabe®.
There is a phrase circulating right now in creative spaces: “AI slop.”
It’s meant to shame. To dismiss. To draw a line between “real” creativity and something lesser.
But history tells a very different story.
Not only is this reaction familiar — it is predictable. In fact, nearly every major shift in visual art and creative technology has been met with the same contempt, the same ridicule, and the same fear-based language.
And every time, history has been very clear about who was wrong.
When photography emerged in the mid-1800s, it was not welcomed as art. Painters and critics called it mechanical, soulless, and lazy. They argued that if a machine captured the image, then the artist’s hand — and therefore artistry itself — was absent.
Photography was dismissed as a shortcut for people who couldn’t paint.
What was actually happening was simpler and more uncomfortable:
a tool had arrived that lowered the barrier to entry, expanded who could create images, and disrupted an existing hierarchy.
Photography didn’t destroy painting.
It didn’t erase skill.
It didn’t eliminate human vision.
It became its own art form — and reshaped every visual medium that followed.
The word Impressionism began as an insult.
Critics sneered at loose brushstrokes, unfinished forms, and paintings that looked more like fleeting moments than polished masterpieces. These works were called sloppy, juvenile, and technically inferior.
Sound familiar?
The accusation was not really about technique.
It was about breaking expectations.
Today, those same paintings are some of the most celebrated works in history — precisely because they dared to value perception, emotion, and interpretation over rigid rules.
When artists began cutting up newspapers, photographs, and advertisements to create collage and photomontage, critics recoiled. This wasn’t creation — it was destruction, randomness, junk.
Anyone could do it, they said.
But that argument has always missed the point.
Collage wasn’t about inventing new materials.
It was about selection, context, and meaning.
And those qualities — choice, intention, narrative — are deeply human.
When artists moved to computers in the late 20th century, the backlash returned. Pushing buttons wasn’t art. Using software was cheating. Real artists used pencils, paint, and canvas.
Digital art was sidelined, dismissed, and excluded from serious spaces.
Now it dominates concept art, film, fashion, advertising, and design.
No one asks if Photoshop invalidates creativity anymore.
The tool became invisible.
The artist remained.
Every one of these moments followed the same arc:
The insult is never really about quality.
It’s about abundance.
When creation becomes accessible, the myth that scarcity equals value collapses. And when that myth collapses, fear rushes in to replace it.
“AI slop” is not a critique of AI.
It’s a critique of unfiltered output — of work without taste, intention, or authorship. But those flaws are not unique to AI. They exist in every medium, at every moment in history.
Bad photography didn’t invalidate photography.
Bad paintings didn’t invalidate painting.
Bad digital art didn’t invalidate digital art.
The worst work always disappears.
What remains is what always mattered:
AI does not remove the human from creativity.
It exposes whether the human was ever there to begin with.
Tools do not define art.
Artists do.
AI is not the end of creativity — it is a mirror. It reflects intention, taste, and care with startling clarity. When used carelessly, it produces noise. When used thoughtfully, it produces work that feels unmistakably human.
The same was once said of cameras, brushes, scissors, and software.
And history has already told us how this story ends.
Beautiful views and a birthsy; that’s right yours truly celebrated her birthday this month. This archive gathers the Photo Journal galleries from November 2025 in one place, preserving the month as it appeared through RockyMtnBabe®.
October is an opportunity to be silly and create some photos that can be a little over the top silly. This archive gathers the Photo Journal galleries from October 2025 in one place, preserving the month as it appeared through RockyMtnBabe®.
There’s a kind of silence that hurts more than words ever could.
It’s the silence from someone who used to always show up — the person who cheered for your wins, reacted to your posts, and asked how you were really doing. Over time, their messages turned into short replies… then emojis… then nothing at all.
At first, I tried to tell myself they were just busy. Life gets like that. But the truth is, silence has a way of saying everything. And eventually, you start to feel that absence in the small things — when you share your excitement about a trip and the warm “be safe” is replaced with a single thumb up emoji. When something beautiful happens in your world, and you realize they don’t even look your way anymore.
Online creative spaces can be magical — full of friendship, encouragement, and connection. But they can also be fragile. They’re full of invisible currents of comparison and belonging. Sometimes, someone you care about begins to see you not as a friend, but as part of a crowd they feel shut out from. And you can’t fix that. You can’t convince someone to see your heart when they’ve already decided you’re on the other side of a divide.
When I finally stepped back, it wasn’t from anger. It was from exhaustion — from waiting for signs of care that used to come so easily. I realized I couldn’t keep trying to resuscitate a connection that had quietly stopped breathing.
And when the last thread was cut — the shared space where we kept our creative memories suddenly gone — it became clear: the friendship had already ended long before I accepted it.
I’m not angry anymore. Just sad. Sad that something so meaningful could fade without a fight. But I’m also grateful — grateful for what it taught me about love, friendship, boundaries, and the quiet courage it takes to walk away from what no longer feels mutual.
Sometimes letting go isn’t about giving up. It’s about choosing peace over confusion.
And maybe, in the end, that’s what healing really looks like.
September brought a red-hot miniskirt Monday that was super fun and flirty. This archive gathers the Photo Journal galleries from September 2025 in one place, preserving the month as it appeared through RockyMtnBabe®.
This video was pure fun to make — dancing in my favorite bubblegum-pink panties, a crop top, and headphones blasting “Sweet but a Psycho” was just what I needed to shake off the week.
There’s something powerful in turning up the volume and letting go — even if it’s just in your bedroom with the sunlight pouring in.
I’ve been leaning into my playful side lately — the one that smiles sweetly and might just flip the script if you underestimate her. This little look (and the mood behind it) is all about duality: soft and spicy, sugar and fire.
Check out the video, peek the carousel for more pics from the shoot, and tell me…
Have you ever felt like a sweet psycho in the best way possible?
Every time we scroll, apply, search, or buy, there’s something quietly watching us in the background: an algorithm. It’s not inherently evil. In fact, in many ways, algorithms help us find what we love, stay connected, and streamline our lives. But when they’re allowed to operate in secrecy—especially when they have the power to deny opportunity, set prices, or restrict access—we have a problem.
A big, invisible problem.
We already know that social media platforms like Instagram and TikTok use algorithms to determine what gets visibility. Creators are rewarded or suppressed based on unclear and often shifting rules. But it’s not just about who gets likes anymore.
These same types of systems are used by:
The real-world implications are staggering. You might be denied coverage, charged more, or excluded from a job interview—and never know that an invisible line of code made the decision for you or towards you. Take Robert Williams, wrongfully arrested by facial recognition. Or the thousands in Michigan whose tax refunds were held because of false fraud flags. Or the other algorithmic mistakes shown in this table that are just the tip of the iceberg.
| Scenario | What Happened | Why It Matters |
|---|---|---|
| Wrongful Arrests from Facial Recognition | Robert Julian‑Borchak Williams was wrongfully arrested when a facial recognition algorithm mistakenly matched him to a shoplifter. (The University of Iowa – College of Law) | People can literally lose their freedom or suffer serious stigma because algorithms mess up. |
| Health Care Discrimination | A widely used algorithm in U.S. hospitals (for allocating health care) was found to systematically discriminate against Black people, allocating fewer resources or delaying care. (Nature) | When your race or background influences treatment outcomes—not intentionally, but through biased data—your life can be at risk. |
| Algorithmic Bias in Criminal Justice (COMPAS) | COMPAS is used to predict recidivism risk. It was shown that Black defendants were more likely than white to be labeled “high risk” without actually re‑offending, while whites were more often assigned “low risk” incorrectly. (Wikipedia) | When algorithms influence jail time, bail, or parole, mistakes can perpetuate injustice and racial inequality. |
| Automated Systems & Unemployment / Benefits Errors | In Michigan, the MiDAS system falsely flagged around 40,000 people for unemployment fraud. Their tax refunds were withheld; many suffered financially. (TIME) | Algorithms used by government systems or for welfare can cause huge real-life hardship if errors aren’t corrected. |
| False Facial Recognition → Fear & Arrest | Porcha Woodruff — pregnant, arrested because a facial recognition algorithm “matched” her to a suspect when she had nothing to do with the crime. Eventually dismissed. (Innocence Project) | Even after it’s clear someone was innocent, the damage (time, trauma, reputation) is real. |
And yet, when these harms are uncovered, there’s rarely public outcry, rarely accountability. If a medication causes harm, there are lawsuits. If a car part fails, there’s a recall. But when an algorithm quietly ruins someone’s life—denies them housing, mislabels them a criminal, or delays life-saving care—the companies behind it often shrug and say, “It’s proprietary.” We’ve created a system where code can discriminate, fail, or traumatize… and no one is responsible. That has to change.
The danger isn’t abstract. In the world of social media, platforms like Meta have wielded algorithmic decisions like a guillotine — swift, silent, and unaccountable. A growing wave of creators and small business owners have reported waking up to find their accounts suspended or deleted with no warning, no context, and no recourse. In many cases, their only “violation” was being caught in the dragnet of an automated content moderation system that misread a post, flagged a caption, or reacted to a sudden spike in engagement.
One egregious case made headlines when a small business owner who ran a handmade jewelry shop lost her entire Facebook and Instagram presence overnight — thousands of followers gone, ad accounts shut down, and revenue instantly halted. Her appeals were met with silence. Meta’s help channels offered nothing. She was left to start over from scratch with no explanation. Her story is not unique — and that’s the problem.
For those of us who rely on social media not just for expression, but for income, visibility, and connection, the threat of algorithmic error is a daily fear. We don’t just worry about engagement — we worry about disappearance. With no human in the loop, no transparency, and no accountability, these systems decide who stays and who vanishes. And they do so with the cold indifference of a machine.
These aren’t just bugs or quirks — they’re existential threats to real people’s livelihoods.
Companies often claim their algorithms are proprietary — protected intellectual property. That means the rules that directly impact your life can be hidden from you, with zero obligation to explain, justify, or correct mistakes.
These aren’t just abstract formulas. These are digital levers that influence access to credit, job opportunities, health coverage, and — in the case of creators and small businesses — your entire livelihood.
Imagine if food producers could say, “We can’t tell you what’s in our food — it’s a trade secret.”
Imagine if power companies could say, “We don’t have to meet safety standards — our grid design is confidential.”
Unthinkable, right?
So why do we accept it from algorithms that can deny mortgages, block visibility, or reinforce discrimination?
This isn’t just theoretical. For creators, it’s an everyday risk — a form of algorithmic fragility.
Feeling constantly fearful, knowing you are powerless.
In the creator economy, your reach, your revenue, your entire platform depends on algorithms. But unlike other industries where regulation, inspection, or accountability exist, creators operate in silence — constantly guessing what invisible rules they might be breaking.
One false flag, a mistaken report, or a misunderstood post can bury your content… or delete your account. You’re left to appeal to a black box with no face, no phone number, no recourse.
When it happens, there’s no public hearing, no customer support line, no apology. Just vanishing access — and the terrifying silence that follows.
For those of us who build something real on social platforms, that’s the scariest part:
Not the algorithm itself — but the fact that we have no rights against it.
We already regulate so much that affects the public:
So why not algorithms? If a bank uses an AI model to approve loans, it should be tested for bias, audited for fairness, and required to publish impact reports. If Instagram limits your reach based on content it deems “risky,” you deserve to know how that decision was made.
And that’s the core of the issue:
If a drug causes harm, there are investigations, recalls, class actions.
If an algorithm causes harm, there’s silence.
No warning labels. No disclosures. No accountability.
Just quiet damage — to someone’s business, someone’s job application, someone’s dream.
In almost every other industry, we demand oversight. We require transparency.
But in the world of algorithms? The harm often goes unnoticed. And when it is noticed… responsibility is rarely assigned.
It’s time we stop pretending these systems are neutral.
They are powerful, fallible, and deeply impactful — and that means they must be subject to scrutiny, just like anything else that affects human lives.
This isn’t about punishing innovation. It’s about protecting people.
As long as algorithms stay in the shadows, companies can deny responsibility for what those systems do. “It’s the algorithm,” they shrug—an answer that means nothing and helps no one.
We need a new standard:
Because when systems make decisions about people, those people deserve to know the why behind the what.
I live in a world shaped by algorithms. As a creator, as a consumer, and as a human being—I see how often digital systems are making judgments about me without any transparency.
That’s not just frustrating. It’s dangerous.
The technology we build should serve us—not the other way around. And it starts by pulling back the curtain.
Let’s demand better.
I’ve walked a lot of roads in my life, but none feel quite as natural as the ones lined with dust, fence posts, and the quiet strength of the Rockies rising in the distance.
I was born in Fort Collins, but my heart will always belong to Berthoud—that tiny, sun-kissed town where I was raised, where everyone waves from their porch, and where the mountains feel like part of the family.
So much of who I am was shaped on my Memaw and Papa’s farm, just west of town. I learned to ride horses before I could reach the stirrups, collect eggs with dirt under my nails, and climb hay bales like they were mountains. I still remember the scent of warm alfalfa and the sound of Papa’s deep laugh echoing through the barn.
That’s the soul of this photo series.
It’s not just about posing at a rodeo.
It’s about belonging there.
Not just the boots—but what they’ve carried me through.
Not just denim—but legacy, land, and lifestyle.
Growing up where grit and grace hold hands taught me the strength of softness, the fire behind femininity, and the power of stillness in wide open space.
So here’s to the girls who can saddle a horse and still slay in lashes.
Who grew up on wide open land but now command wide open platforms.
I see you. I am you.
🩷
Thank you for letting me bring a little of my homegrown soul into your scroll today. Whether you’re riding horses or chasing dreams, may you never forget where your strength first took root.
Love, Rissa 🥰
