On Social Media, Sharing, and a Spicy Opinion

I started writing about my April still life for my newsletter. It isn’t finished. It’s been a busy month, and I haven’t been painting as much as I would have liked.

The writing kept getting longer and longer, and at some point I realised I wasn’t really writing about the painting at all. This was the thing I actually wanted to talk about.

For the past ten months, I’ve been part of a business course specifically for creative people. A large portion of it has focused on social media - monthly sessions, online mentors, the whole thing.

My main takeaway has been this: like it or not, Instagram is part of how the world works now. You have to find a way to make it work for you. Railing against it doesn’t help.

It does feel a bit like a deal with the devil. But here we are.

A couple of years ago, I reconnected with some friends from university. Entirely because of social media, so a definite tick in its favour. I hadn’t spoken to them in over thirty years, and it was a joy to catch up. All three of us are still with our university boyfriends, which feels quietly remarkable.

As we’ve messaged and commented on each other’s work, we’ve also talked about everything we didn’t learn at university. Mostly because it simply didn’t exist.

No internet. No instant access to images. No social media.

We graduated in 1989, which makes me sound ancient, but I vividly remember seeing a fax machine for the first time on a field trip. The idea of sending a drawing through thin air felt miraculous.

We applied for exhibitions by post. Handwritten letters. Slides were carefully packaged and sent off, hoping they’d be returned. Slides were expensive - there was the cost of photographing the work, developing the film, and then hoping everything was actually in focus.

And you carried a physical portfolio everywhere.

Social media has, in many ways, made being seen as an artist far easier than it was in the 1980s.

No more schlepping a giant portfolio on the bus.

Through this course, I’ve also been introduced to the darker arts of marketing. Hooks, CTAs, carousels, reels, analytics, Facebook ads. I remain, at heart, a slightly cynical Gen X-er about all of it.

But needs must.

Social media can be a grim place. It can also be genuinely uplifting. I don’t entirely understand it, but I’m willing to give it a go.

Recently, I’ve seen a number of posts claiming that the algorithm is penalising artists who don’t share their process. That their methods are a secret.

That struck me as slightly paranoid. And, if I’m honest, a little arrogant.

I have no idea if any of that is true. And of course, any artist has the right to keep their process private.

But for me, the sharing process makes art feel more human.

I make mistakes. I go through the ugly stage every single time. I’ve learned not to look too closely when that’s happening, but it’s always there.

Everything I know has come from other artists and teachers, one way or another.

We learn by doing, and we learn by watching and by copying. That’s how we learn to speak, to read, to write, to play music.

Nothing in art is entirely original. It can’t be.

We all see something - a technique, an image, a way of working - and we want to try it. We head off on a detour, a small cul-de-sac, see what happens, and then we return to our own path.

What matters is that, over time, the work becomes your own.

No one else has your experiences, your way of seeing, your particular set of decisions. That’s where the authenticity sits.

I’m very happy to share what I know. It feels like a form of generosity. Gatekeeping, on the other hand, has always baffled me.

If someone tries to copy my work - and it has happened - they won’t be able to sustain it. And ultimately, they’re not me. That last, slightly intangible quality that makes the work what it is won’t be there.

So I share.

Does the algorithm reward me for it? I honestly have no idea.

A month ago, I took a small risk on social media. One of my mentors suggested occasionally posting something a bit more opinionated. Something with a bit of edge.

So I did.

I wrote a post about following other artists. I had seen advice saying not to do it - that other artists aren’t your customers.

My response was essentially: no. I’ll decide that for myself.

I follow other artists because I love what they do. I’m interested in ideas, in problem solving, in technique, in process. I also like to show support. A thoughtful comment from another artist can genuinely make your day.

That post took off.

As of the end of April, it had reached around 75,000 views, which is completely bonkers. My previous “best” was maybe 1,000.

Apparently, the analytics are excellent.

Initially, I felt quite exposed. But I’ve replied to comments, had conversations with people all over the world, and actually enjoyed it.

What I’ve taken from that is this:

I have no interest in “going viral”.

But I do think there is value in saying something honest.

That post was written quickly, sitting in bed one evening when I realised I hadn’t posted that day. It wasn’t strategic. It wasn’t polished.

It was just true.

And for whatever reason, it struck a nerve.

Which probably means it needed to be said.