I’d like to believe I don’t need to be noticed; that I could make stuff just for me and be content with it existing in the world. But, when it boils down to it, I feel compelled to share.
I’ve finally exited Instagram. It feels empowering to have done so despite the platforms contribution to my picture book career (especially in the early days). But, now I find myself making stuff and still looking for places to make it public without relying on an enormous data-harvesting tech company as facilitator.
When I was younger, my website was the place to share stuff. It was clear no one read it or ever interacted (although when someone did get in touch it felt like winning a lottery). But, back then, it was enough just to share. I never saw likes, comments, or shares, and I didn’t need them. It was just… me and my stuff?
So, I’ve come full circle. It’s enough to post them to my website (that no one visits), but I can see it. I know it’s public – a message in a bottle floating in a global ocean of noise and distraction.
Will my drawings change or save a life? No. But maybe they’ll inform or entertain a digital beachcomber one day when the bottle washes up on their distant shore. Perhaps it will inspire that person to pick up a pencil and try it themselves. The chances of that happening are slim, but they’re better than if I keep my drawings in a storage locker until I’m dead.
I know I’m looking for ‘immortality’ in my art; a way to be remembered. It’s not about awards or pats on the back. I’m just looking to be helpful, perhaps, or occasionally find connection. To reinforce to myself (and others) that we are not alone. My work is proof to myself and to others that, indeed, I (and we) exist.