The Grind of the Grid
When Sharing Gets Messy (and the Grid Demands Perfection)
Being an artist in Toowoomba, Queensland, or truly, anywhere in the world these days, means social media is just... there. It's this incredible platform for showing off your work, connecting with people, and even making a living. But, let's be honest, it's also a relentless beast that often feels totally at odds with the whole point of creating art in the first place.
One of the biggest headaches I, and pretty much every artist I chat with, face is this constant tug-of-war:
How much do you share of the process, and how much do you protect your creative freedom?
On one hand, letting people peek behind the curtain – showing the messy, imperfect journey a piece takes from start to finish – is amazing. It pulls back the veil on art, helps folks truly appreciate the grind, and builds a real connection with your audience. Think about it: those initial scribbles, the wild experiments with paint, the moments of hitting a wall and then breaking through – that's where the real magic (and the occasional meltdown) happens.
But here's the kicker.
How do you actually share an honest process when that process is, by its very nature, a bit... unpresentable?
It's often ugly, half-baked, and definitely not "Insta-worthy." When I'm knee-deep in a new idea, chasing a gut feeling or just throwing paint at the canvas to see what sticks, the last thing on my mind is perfectly framing it for a Story or getting a smooth transition for a reel. My art space turns into this beautiful chaos of paint splatters, pencil shavings, abandoned sketches, and usually, a few forgotten coffee cups. This raw, exploratory phase is where the truly exciting stuff happens, where unexpected beauty suddenly appears. But it's also the exact opposite of what you'd typically post.
And then there's the ever-present pressure of "the grid." Ugh, the grid! That perfectly curated, aesthetically pleasing, colour-coordinated, immaculately lit mosaic that social media platforms insist upon. There's this massive internal push to make every single post look like a finished masterpiece, flawless and stunning, even when it's just a tiny glimpse of something still in progress. This pressure, whether you realise it or not, can subtly, or not so subtly, stop you from really experimenting. Why try something completely wild if you know you can't snap a pretty pic of it for a quick share? Why embrace the glorious mess if it doesn't fit your polished "brand"?
This constant demand for perfection can feel like it's putting a leash on your creative spirit. It nudges artists towards only making what's "sharable," what's "likeable," what fits whatever the algorithm is favouring this week, instead of what truly speaks to their artistic soul. It shifts your focus away from the pure joy of creating and towards chasing external validation from likes and comments.
So, how do we, as artists, navigate this tricky landscape?
It's a question I'm constantly wrestling with. Maybe it means:
being selective about what bits of the process you share – a quick photo of a fresh colour palette, a sped-up video of a less vulnerable stage, or
even just talking directly to the camera about the struggles without showing every detail.
Ultimately, for me, the canvas, the paper, the paint brush – the sheer act of making art itself – always comes first. It's about remembering that our worth as artists isn't measured by follower counts or perfectly polished feeds, but by the raw truth and passion we pour into our actual work, no matter how it looks on a screen.
Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
Social media is a tool, not the boss.
Finding that sweet spot, allowing for the beautiful, chaotic mess of the creative journey, and resisting the grid's insistent whisper for flawless perfection, might just be the biggest art project of all.
Xo Sammy
