Back to Basics

on self-promotion, the state of social media, an artists integrity, aging, and the ever-shifting idea of the self.

If you want to make meaningful art, is it necessary to stay relevant on social media? I recently watched a video by Damon Dominique on YouTube, titled “Why I don’t post anymore.” I coincidentally was also feeling intense burnout about social media. I was feeling apathetic. The energy on social media sometimes feels like a race, a topple to the top of the mountain. I hate that feeling. So I've pulled back and started to reconsider things, like why I am living my life within the confines of apps like Instagram, TikTok, or even Substack. I don’t know when exactly I started structuring my days and goals and projects around the squares of apps on our phones, I guess probably when it started to take up the majority of our free time. Everything I was creating lived inside these perfect little squares, or rather 4:5 rectangles. The problem is I wasn't creating art freely and then shoving it into the little rectangles, I was making art for the rectangle, for the prospect of people in the rectangle space to view it, which is honestly not so different from anything else if you think about it. The little rectangles could be art galleries, museums, books, schools, or even humans, and maybe a million other things if you want to keep dissecting them. (Which is sometimes the problem with dissection. You keep dissecting things until they become whole again and the process repeats.) I keep saying I am craving community, and I hear other people talk about community but I am wondering, what do we mean when we say community? Do we mean audience or like-minded peers in the same industry? There is a disconnect somewhere here. Damon talks about how we have lost a sort of general respect for both the creator and the audience. He says we have forgotten the audience and are just looking for the next viral hit or the next trending video that will make your account grow. 

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I have a certain reservation about turning myself into a brand. I wonder how Taylor Swift feels that she has made herself such a pawn in other people's lives. Yes, she benefits from it and is one of the most powerful wealthy influential artists, BUT she is still a commodity. Everyone is entitled to their opinion and their own goals and wants. I guess what I am noticing is that this need or desire to become a brand is becoming the only thing to talk about and aspire to on both social media and in real life. I understand why social media and giant companies push for this— for money, because it’s easier to translate to the consumer if you are a product they can sell. But it isn't the only way to operate. You can still be an artist. You can still create big meaningful works of art that don't fit in the space on a digital rectangle, that there aren't a hundred prints of, that aren't reasonably priced, that is only an experience or a feeling or a moment. Or maybe the art is still free and accessible, but there’s no merch for it, no way for you to show your love and support of it other than sharing and supporting the actual work itself. I think of Jonathan Larson, the playwright who worked for eight years on his play, Superbia, but never got picked up for Broadway like he dreamed. He worked tirelessly, waited tables, and lost friendships and relationships in his quest for his art. He saw nothing but his art. He circled back to an old project after not finding success in the plays he thought he would. He finished Rent and the day before the first preview performance he died. He died from an aortic dissection. He was thirty-five. Rent went on to run on Broadway for twelve years. It changed the history of what Broadway could be. He never gave up, he never stopped writing. He never sold out or turned himself into a brand. He just had this deep need to create, to express his vision. 

Something has been shifting in me recently. I have grown scared to post, to self-promote, and I have started second-guessing myself again. I have become even more aware of what I look like in the mirror, and what I look like to others. The faults of my humanness seem to be bolded and emphasized, and all I can see is the sunspot on my nose, the folds of my checks turning into my dad's, and how tired my eyes always look. I am thirty-one and I’m beginning to see the way life leaves its mark on our faces. The delusion of the perfection of youth has disappeared. The scars of heartbreak and disappointments have materialized on my body. People online say fear of being perceived is shame-based. I know there is shame somewhere, but I am too tired to find it.

There was a recent article about artists and self-promotion that got a lot of buzz. There is a lot of back and forth on self-promotion, to do it or not to do it, and how things were, are, and should be. There's talk of it being cheap, and classless, of it being pompous, etc. Merriam-Webster defines it as, “the act of furthering one’s own growth, advancement, or prosperity.” 

It feels like all social media is now is self-promotion, which circles back to the audience and community I was talking about.  Where do we find any of that in this incessant need to self-promote? To sell ourselves as a brand, stay relevant, and climb to the top of the mountain? How can we create amongst all of the rat racing we are forced to do? All of this has been building up the last year for me. I think we have a hard time seeing ourselves, which can make it confusing to promote ourselves. Self-promotion can feel jarring. But at the end of that rope, I have found self-acceptance. I did not understand that I did not need to do what everyone else was doing, even if I thought it was cool, fun, and brilliant. I only now understand that I do not need to change myself to be liked, loved, or understood. I have kept trying to find ways to streamline my inspiration, my craft, and how I show up in these spaces, but maybe I don't need to streamline myself at all. For a long time, I wanted my voice to sound like something else. I cringed at my tendency to over-share and be too honest and personal. I didn't realize I was trying to change the core of myself.

Sometime in the new year the phrase “back to basics” kept looming in my head. My subconscious was trying to tell me to return to myself, to the center of who I am, but this time really see myself–instead of looking outward at all the beautiful things you want to emulate, look inside instead, and see the beautiful things you already are. 

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I don't know what to say about this life. I have all these strong opinions about it and I always seem to get it wrong, or life shows me another way, another view. Maybe I am just not seeing clearly, not seeing things for what they are. I keep trying to bend and twist myself to fit a mold that is not mine. I'm wondering when trees stopped being trees. In every corner of my photos, there are deep valleys of nuances of time and space and heart and laughter and lessons we keep having to learn. I watch as these photos develop and it is like clay taking shape in a ceramic artist's hand and maybe all of life is being shaped in God's hands, in our hands. 

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I trace the shadows in my notebook. They sway with the wind, the shadows. My hair is in the shadows acting as dead winter branches. How did I get here? Not literally in this cafe but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. And at the risk of sounding hyperbole, when did I become strong enough to be myself? I have carried the weight of my life for the past thirty-one years. I want to say the weight lessens with time but I would be lying. It has gotten heavier in some ways. The weight of my choices has become more apparent. 

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The notion of self-promotion is nothing new for artists, the medium has just changed. Perhaps the medium and the speed of it have changed, but so have a lot of things. Take Truman Capote for example. He was constantly talking about his writing and his work. You almost have to be a little self-centered if you want to have a sort of success. How else could you expect someone to read your work, if they don't know it exists, if you don't tell them? And what about Jonathan Larson, he too was shouting into the streets of NYC, calling everyone he knew about his workshop for his musical every time. And I don't think they, all of our dead idols, would've abstained from social media self-promotion, I think they would've used it to their advantage. I guess what I am getting at is, that when we talk about these things it's always in blanket terms, illuminating the lack of nuance we need to better understand ourselves, our craft, the audience, and the industry. Musicians, fashion designers, and so many others make tell-all documentaries about their lives and how they got to where they are now, and how much work and effort they put into their craft, a look inside the artist's mind so to speak, a beautiful piece of cinema maybe, a way for you to relate to them more maybe, a look into their highs and lows but also a piece of media to promote themselves and their work ultimately. An ulterior motive doesn't have to be sinister. It's all in the nuance. There's a very human balance in here somewhere. 

I recognize the center of who I am ebbs and flows. The older I get the less concrete everything feels. Life has brought me to my knees so many times, that the surety of who I was at seventeen has waivered. And now confidence lies in the obscure shape of oneself. I won’t be for everyone, but who is? Not even Taylor Swift can accomplish that. I wouldn't want to be for everyone if it meant having to change myself. I used to care if someone didn't like me, I would wonder what was wrong with me, or I would rattle off a list of things wrong with me but that’s just another person–that list of who I’m not. 

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I am only now accepting that I am a highly sensitive person. I didn’t believe it for a long time because I viewed myself as someone with thick skin. It’s like one day it clicked, that this is who I am— sensitive, deep, intuitive, likes to get to the root of things, curious, and maybe soft-spoken, and quiet, and values solitude and personal space and time to reflect and think, and a writer and a photographer and silly when I feel safe, but also blunt and honest and opinionated. I don’t know if I’m late or right on time at thirty-one figuring all of this out but, well, here I am anyway.

“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; (I am large. I contain multitudes.) - Walt Whitman