The Social Media Dilemma

Artists face a real dilemma. We were told this path would lead to freedom and wealth, giving us the magic touch for anything we pursued.  Social media became our hope beyond the isolation of our studios. It pushed us into the spotlight, so we didn’t have to wait for someone to notice us. Suddenly, we could reach our audience more easily than ever. For artists, that felt like striking gold.

The deal seemed straightforward. We could work alone, far from the big art markets, and still have access to buyers. We didn’t need to be there in person anymore because we had reach. We just had to spend a little time each week building our identity as artists. That’s how the idea of the artist as a brand started. Being an artist wasn’t enough; we had to become recognisable brands. We were promised growth, admiration, connection, and inspiration. Try it, they said. Just once, and tell us what you think. If you like it, there’s more. It doesn’t have to stop at one try. Go ahead, take a chance.

We were told social media was essential for our careers. It has helped in many ways: artists have gained visibility beyond their local communities, found new collectors, connected with other creatives for collaborations, and even discovered opportunities for residencies and exhibitions that they might never have known about otherwise. At its best, it has given voice to those outside traditional circles and created supportive communities. But it has also caused a lot of harm. Constant comparison and pressure to produce content have led to burnout, and the focus on likes or followers can chip away at genuine creativity. Some artists have become targets for online abuse or seen their work stolen and shared without credit. The highs can be rewarding, but the lows are often isolating and draining.

Over time, we shifted from posting now and then to share updates or ideas to dealing with artificial intelligence that follows the rules set by its creators. The mighty algorithm. Those words make many people nervous. Some claim to understand it, but most are uneasy because they don’t really know how it works.

But we do know one thing: it’s always hungry and wants more. Its endless appetite has turned artists into followers of its rhythm (thank you, Grace Jones). We have to keep up with its ever-changing rules, hoping that if we tweak things a bit more, something better will happen. Add a few more seconds, pick the right music, fonts, colours, filters, and so on.

The artist who once painted alone, lost in their thoughts and feelings, now stops between brushstrokes to pose for the camera. They set up shots of their studio and dress for the right look, whether it’s the starving artist or not. We pose, glam up, and play along to sell the idea that being an artist is always glamorous. Sometimes it is, but not as much as we make it seem. Filmmakers make films. Fashion designers make clothes. Artists paint.

Now we try to do everything, spreading ourselves thin to prove we can. Our attention is scattered. Many of us struggle to focus for more than 45 seconds. The stress of not making a sale is made worse by the fear of not being seen, heard, liked, or recognised. The wish to paint something beautiful for ourselves has turned into painting to satisfy a hungry machine. Our desires have been taken over by clever bots, quietly steering our actions and using us for the data we give them.

Sometimes we get recognition. Now and then, we hear stories about artists who are doing well because they decided to play along. For example, an illustrator began posting short process videos on Instagram. She tailored her work to trending audio, followed the popular challenges, and shared behind-the-scenes glimpses of her workspace. Her follower count grew quickly, and brands reached out for partnerships. She spoke about how adapting to the algorithm made her more visible and brought new opportunities, but also how much energy it took to maintain that constant online persona. Stories like hers underline what it really means to play along.

I object.

The truth is that Jack Nicholson, here he comes, said it best: “We can't handle the truth.”

We’re being used and manipulated, but we don’t want to face the problem or walk away from it. We’ve been lulled into forgetting, and we’re scared. We’ve been told we have to follow their rules or be left behind. That’s the line many salespeople use. If we step away, we might miss our brief moment of fame. Now, it’s just a few seconds. Those 15 minutes are over. And that’s a real problem.

Let’s return to our art by focusing on what truly matters to us. Let’s stop feeding this machine and look inward, where our creativity lies. We need to express ourselves as sovereign creators, able to think objectively and critically and make decisions on our own. Even one small change is a start. Try setting aside an hour this week to create something just for yourself, without thinking about how it will look online. Set your phone aside while you work. Choose to share only what feels meaningful, or try not sharing anything at all for a day. Reach out to another artist in your community, start a conversation, or collaborate in person. We’ve done it before and achieved great things. We can do it again.