Why I Hate Social Media as an Artist

Do you hate social media as an artist? Because I really do.

Let me explain.

I’m writing this after spending a few hours outside, wearing my favorite shirt, while getting eaten alive by about 200 mosquitoes. Why? Because I thought, hey, maybe this background will look nicer for my next video. That alone says a lot about what it means to be an artist in 2025: you’re not just making art—you’re also constantly thinking about how to show it.

And honestly, that’s what I hate the most about social media.

It’s not the posting itself. It’s not even showing my finished paintings. I’d actually love that. The hard part is that nobody cares about just a picture anymore. You can’t just put your work online and say, “Here it is, I made this.” Algorithms want to see how you made it.

Which sounds fun in theory, but in reality, it means I need to become not only a painter but also a cameraman, editor, director, and algorithm hacker.

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The Filming Nightmare

Here’s the thing: when I’m painting, I’m in my own world. I sketch, transfer my drawings onto scraps of plywood, paint with acrylics, outline, and then go crazy with fine details I call “tattooing.” That’s my process. That’s what I enjoy.

But now, on top of painting, I have to constantly ask myself:

• Did I film the sketching part?
• Did I film the painting part?
• Did I film the outlining?

And then I have to check if the camera was even in focus, if the angles are interesting enough, and if I remembered to capture every step for every painting.

Spoiler: I didn’t.

The last time I worked on a batch of paintings, I thought I was doing great. I sketched, painted, outlined, and filmed along the way. But when I looked back at my footage, I realized I had accidentally only filmed one painting all the way through. Every other piece had a missing step—no footage of the coloring here, no sketching there, no outline on another one. So if I try to edit these, it just looks like I’m drawing on already finished paintings.

That’s the frustration: my creative flow says, “keep painting!” but the social media monster in the back of my mind whispers, “don’t forget to hit record.”

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Why It Drains Me

This is where I start to hate social media. Because finishing a painting should feel amazing. I should look at it, feel proud, maybe share it with someone, and move on to the next. But instead, I find myself asking:

• Did I film enough content?
• Will this work for Instagram Reels or TikTok?
• Did I make a 15-second clip for Etsy so they’ll boost my listing?

Yes, Etsy actually says that artwork with video sells better. Which is basically code for: if you don’t film your process, we’ll bury your work in search results.

So now, even selling art requires video-making.

And the worst part? Social media isn’t even about the art anymore. It’s about tricks to keep you watching. Every artist is fighting for your attention, making their process more extreme and elaborate, trying to one-up each other. I saw a guy spray-painting a car, then sprinting half a mile just to sit down and start painting his canvas. That’s not about art—that’s a circus act.

And I hate it.

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Why I Choose YouTube Instead

That’s why I lean more toward YouTube. Thirty seconds is not enough for me. I actually have stories to tell, things to share, and I need space to breathe. YouTube lets me sit down, explain my process, show the details, and talk to you directly. It’s not about tricking the algorithm with some quick flashy edit. It’s about building something real.

That’s why I’m here in the woods feeding mosquitoes—because I wanted this video to have a different background than the next one. That’s also why I keep making content, even when it’s hard: because deep down, like every artist, I dream of doing this full-time. Just painting. Just making. Just creating.

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My Process (The Way I Actually Enjoy It)

Every painting starts with a sketch in my little Moleskine notebook. From there, I transfer it onto plywood scraps—nothing fancy, just regular plywood. Then comes the fun part: painting with acrylics, adding textures so I can draw on top of them later, outlining, and finally adding fine details. I call it “tattooing” because it feels like I’m tattooing the face of my character with little lines and numbers.

For example, in one painting, I added “1982”—my birth year—as a nod to street gang tattoos. It’s little things like this that make the work personal and fun for me.

I even turned my paintings into stickers, which I leave as street art all over Europe. I love this format because the plywood look gives it a 3D vibe, and under each sticker I sneak in my YouTube and Etsy links. It’s my way of getting more eyes on my art without just relying on algorithms.

Why I Still Do It

So yeah, I complain. I vent. I roll my eyes at social media. But the truth is, I’m still here. I’m still filming, editing, painting, posting. Because as artists, we hope that somewhere in all this noise, our work connects with someone. Maybe someone buys a piece. Maybe someone watches a video and feels inspired.

That’s what keeps me going. Even when the mosquitoes are biting. Even when I realize I messed up my footage. Even when I want to throw my camera into the river.

Because at the end of the day, all I want is to make art—and to share it.

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Closing thought: If you’re an artist struggling with social media too, know you’re not alone. We all want to just paint, draw, sculpt, build. But in today’s world, documenting it is part of the job. It’s frustrating, exhausting, and sometimes soul-sucking—but it’s also part of how we get seen.

And if you’ve read this far—thank you. Really. Your attention is worth more than all the algorithms combined.