What happens when the information runs out

My brother is eight years old in this photograph. He’s kneeling in our front yard in South Bend, late in the summer of 1976, squinting into the sun. His jeans have tan patches on the knees. His tan tank top has brown piping around the neck and arms. I know these things because I was there, and after 50 years I somehow still remember. I was experimenting with AI colorization of some black-and-white scans, curious what the technology could actually do. I told it the colors I remembered. The cedar shingles were dull green. The gable was white. His jeans were blue with those tan patches. ChatGPT took all of that readily enough. The house’s green isn’t exactly right, but it’s close. There’s a neighbor’s car in the background that I remember but only vaguely — ChatGPT coloring it pale blue works well enough. Then I looked at my brother’s face. ChatGPT had given him eyebrows — and got them wrong. That’s not my brother anymore. It’s an impostor. You can’t see his eyebrows on the b/w scan. I…