I’m honestly just thinking out loud here. I guess I suffer from FOMO…or something. I’m not sure what it is, but I feel pretty left out of the Instagram loop. It actually gives me anxiety.

I post an image every day or thereabouts. I try to anyway. I feel like it’s my job as an artist to promote myself on social media. I also like to see what else is going on with my friends and look at new art. I love looking at art. 

But I think that looking at new art can be a double-edged sword. While I love seeing new things, I wonder, a lot in fact, how all these artists have so many followers. I mean, I don’t think it’s jealously exactly, it’s just genuine curiosity. I feel like their art must be uber-supreme. But is that true? 

I think some of it is. Though, some of it, IMO, is not so much better than anyone else’s. It must be much, much better than mine. I only get about 20-40 likes a day. Most of the artists I follow get a minimum of 150-500 per day, if not thousands. How? I really wonder how. 

It seems like if your art is exceedingly fantastic and stunning, you have wild fans hitting the “like” button like crazy. That’s what it looks like, and that’s how it feels. It can make one (ME!) feel so incredibly inadequate. 

Let’s say it’s downright depressing. Being a kind of lone artist out in the desert without any real connection to the art world (whatever that means) makes it all hard to swallow. I gave up Facebook years ago. Do I give up on Instagram too? I mean, I have sold work on Instagram, even though I don’t have very many followers. But is it worth it if I feel this way more than half the time? 

Yet, this is my only daily “community.” It’s how I keep in touch with people, people I know and don’t know yet. That’s good, right? But can one really make meaningful relationships on Instagram? And what kinds of connections am I looking to make anyway? I don’t even know.

Man, I need to talk to my therapist about this stuff. Luckily I speak to her today. I just feel like I’m the only one who thinks about Instagram like this. Sometimes I want to cry. I haven’t. I just want to.  

Maybe it is jealousy. I am not too proud to admit to it if it is. I know I’m insecure. I’m not so insecure or unsure that I won’t make the art I want. I just never know where my place is. Do I even need a place? And what do I mean by that? 

Something more to think about.