Art vs. the Algorithm

I recently downloaded Substack not really knowing what it was. I just saw a video that my favorite art history channel was joining the platform, and I wanted in on the action.

Once I got a feel of the app, I started posting: rapidly. Poems I’d kept close to my chest. Art I’d been too scared to share. I’ve never been good with delayed gratification, so when nothing gained traction at first, I got discouraged.

Then, while I was boarding a plane, I got some devastating news. My mentor—the man who taught me how to play guitar, who showed me what creative passion looks like—has six months to live. Even now, writing this, I’m still in shock. And just as I was processing that, another call came: my aunt was going to be taken off life support the next day. 

I’m actually posting this a week after I wrote it, because I wasn’t emotionally ready to actually see those words out in the world. My aunt passed away on Wednesday. 

Boarding that plane, I felt like I’d been doused in cold water. Two of the best people I know were going to die. 

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I tried to read, but couldn’t focus. I tried to sleep, but my thoughts wouldn’t let me rest. So I opened my sketchbook. If you look at my profile, you’ll see the two drawings I completed on that flight.

Amazingly, those pieces were met with overwhelming kindness here on Substack. My art was seen, praised, shared. I can’t count the number of times I’ve teared up out of sheer gratitude for this community. But as the numbers started climbing, I found myself thinking:

It would be so easy to fall into the rabbit hole of content-driven creation. To make art just to be seen. And I’ll admit, that’s something I can see myself struggling with. I’m not going to monetize my Substack for this exact reason: I’m afraid I’ll start chasing cash instead of chasing truth. That I’ll post for clicks instead of healing. That I’ll begin creating not to soothe my soul, but to grow my following.

The truth is, I’m still figuring out my artistic voice. It would feel dishonest to claim I want to live truthfully, while making things purely for validation. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with wanting your art to be loved—but that can’t be the first priority. You will find your audience. The real work is making sure you don’t lose your soul along the way.

I’m deeply inspired by classical and Renaissance art. And sometimes I forget that many of the artists I admire most were barely recognized in their lifetimes. They didn’t work for fame. They worked to push through the apathy and silence to find something truly meaningful within themselves.

I want to be more like them. I want to create because my soul needs to. I want to curate a digital space where I can bare my heart and rediscover the joy of being creative.

We live in a digital world that often equates visibility with value, and the challenge for any artist is to stay rooted in what truly matters. Metrics can be encouraging—but they can just as easily blur your intention. Real creative work, whether it reaches ten people or ten thousand, requires inner stillness. A willingness to make something that matters, even if it isn’t widely seen.

While I think it will be incredibly difficult, I really want to try and choose meaning over momentum. I'm choosing to create from a place of honesty, because that, I think, is where real resonance begins. And y’all deserve so much more than soulless art.