Flow

I just read Fake Whale’s ‘The Ontology of Flow’ recommended by artist Ian Mc Inerney on Merrigan’s Substack. It’s a really great read, very apt about the conditions of our online experience, particularly in relation to art making and the consumption of imagery. But how does it make me feel or think as an artist? How do I respond? Do I accept or resist the feed flow? Do I work with it or against it? This comes at a time when I am considering whether to start posting my work again in a few weeks, after a 100 day dropout.

I hate it when people wax lyrical about coming off social media, but here goes. This has been a beneficial time. I’ve made work and engaged with my ideas in a way that felt tangible enough to put them into words and write pieces, drawing it all together. The work is flowing, though less in a product or project based way where I am finishing pieces to post them and move on. Instead, they are in a process flow which ends when it ends. Plus there is no doom scrolling time suck.

But here is the issue. When a piece does end, where does it go? On my website, yes, floating around in the sea of artist websites. Who knows it is there. Also, as an artist who is not in a shared studio and works alone in the box room of our house, it is quiet up in here. I do not have the money to hire a studio space or the time to commute to and from it, so this setup works for me. I love popping in when I am brushing my teeth and looking at my work. But the catch is, there are no eyes.

Even if Instagram is an algorithmic echo chamber, an empty flow, it does grant me a feeling that my work is being shared. The alternative is very quiet. No noise. Yes, an in person community of artists is an oasis I am trekking towards.

If I make work in flow, what does this look like? When I was a teenager I was obsessed with magazines like The Face, Dazed and Confused, and NME. They seemed to offer a space where young people shared alternative ideas, interests, and style. But I am in a different space now. Every artist wants to find their tribe, where their work fits but can also grow and develop, altering and finding new shapes of potential.

So I wonder where we can find this now in the constant feed flow which flattens everything and skims the surface of so many individual ideas and desires. If I go back, or realistically when I go back, how can I both resist and feed the flow? How can I make authentic work which does not feel compromised and compressed? Because I do not want to make work which is squashed and rolled through like dough on a pasta wheel, cut up, boiled, and eventually human waste.

Part of it will definitely be changing my own expectations. A post, as an image of my work, is not dropped to create a ripple. It enters the stream, the flow of posts.

You see I have more questions than answers. Maybe I need another 100 days.

So what I am questioning is this: is it possible to resist and flow at the same time? What would that look like? It makes me think of riding my kids scooter, awkward, bent over with my bum sticking out, but enjoying the ride all the same.

Below are some pictures for #greyflow, no captions or notes, just a set of images.

I would also recommend this podcast episode by The White Pube if you’re interested in how Instagram has impacted artists: episode 14: Instagram has ruined the art world. What now?