No Likes Required
When Art Stopped Asking Us to Look
We live surrounded by images. We see them when we wake up, while we have breakfast, waiting for a train, during a conversation, and before we go to sleep. We scroll, and hundreds of photographs, videos, paintings, faces, and fragments of other people's lives appear before us, disappearing only seconds later.
We have never had access to so many images, and yet perhaps we have never truly looked at so little.
Art has entered this accelerated rhythm, too. A painting that may have taken weeks, months, or even years to create can now appear on a screen for only a few seconds before being replaced by the next image. Another artwork, another artist, another stimulus. The movement never stops, and without realizing it, we have learned to look at art in much the same way we look at everything else: quickly, selectively, and always ready to move on.
When Looking Became Scrolling
Social media has profoundly changed the way we experience art. It has allowed emerging artists to reach audiences in places where they might never have exhibited. It has opened the doors to artists' studios, brought creative processes closer to the public, and made it possible for millions of people to discover work they might otherwise never have encountered.
That is extraordinary.
But it has also introduced a new expectation:
Art has to compete for our attention.
Creating no longer seems to be enough. Artists are expected to post, appear, maintain a community, show their process, tell a story, generate engagement, and remain constantly visible. An artist is no longer simply creating a work; they are also expected to photograph it, film it, present it, promote it, and turn it into an experience that works on a screen.
And gradually, an uncomfortable question emerges:
How much of what we see comes from a genuine artistic impulse, and how much comes from the need to be seen?
When the Algorithm Enters the Studio
The problem is not using social media. The problem begins when we start creating with social media in mind.
When an artist discovers that certain colors generate more engagement, that particular subjects receive more views, or that studio-process videos perform better than images of finished works, it becomes difficult not to pay attention.
The algorithm does not need to tell us what to paint.
It only needs to show us, again and again, what performs well.
And we learn.
One artwork receives more attention than another. One format reaches more people. A particular aesthetic attracts new followers. Slowly, those numbers can begin to influence creative decisions, even when we are not fully aware of it.
Then comes a question worth asking:
Are we creating what we genuinely want to create, or what we already know will work?
It is not always easy to tell the difference.
The Pressure to Always Be Present
For generations, the image of the artist was associated with concentration, solitude, and time devoted to the work. An artist could disappear for months to paint, research, experiment, make mistakes, and begin again.
Today, disappearing can feel like a problem.
There is a constant pressure to remain visible. A new painting, a detail, a sketch, a studio photograph, a video, a story, a thought—there always seems to be something that needs to be shared.
But creativity does not necessarily work that way.
Some ideas need time. Some paintings need silence. There are periods when an artist may not be producing anything that can be photographed or posted because they are simply thinking.
And thinking is part of creating.
Perhaps we should ask ourselves how much time remains for making art when we also feel the need to constantly prove that we are making it.
When the Process Becomes a Performance
We love seeing how a work of art comes to life. Discovering an artist's studio, watching a brushstroke appear, or witnessing a blank canvas gradually transform can be fascinating.
But even that intimate process can become content.
The studio must look appealing. The workspace must tell a story. The artist must have a recognizable aesthetic. The creative process must be interesting from beginning to end.
Even spontaneity can become carefully staged.
And here lies the contradiction:
Art needs time to develop, while social media constantly needs something new.
One asks for depth.
The other asks for frequency.
What Happens to Silence?
Perhaps this is one of the most important questions.
What happens to a painting that nobody sees for months? To a work that was never designed for a screen? To a painting that needs ten minutes of quiet attention before it reveals something?
Nothing.
It is still art.
And yet we live in a culture that increasingly confuses visibility with value.
They are not the same.
A work can receive thousands of likes and say very little. Another may be seen by only a handful of people and remain in someone's memory for an entire lifetime.
Numbers can measure reach.
They cannot measure depth.
We Have Forgotten How to Look Slowly
Perhaps we have also forgotten something fundamental: the possibility of not being constantly stimulated.
We are accustomed to deciding within seconds whether something deserves our attention. If an image does not immediately interest us, we move on.
But art does not always work that way.
Some works need time. At first, they may seem quiet. Then they begin to speak. A detail emerges. An expression takes on another meaning. A particular quality of light begins to transform the scene.
And suddenly, we understand that what appeared to be saying nothing was actually saying a great deal.
For that to happen, we have to stay.
Looking Again
Perhaps that is why we need to reclaim something as simple as looking.
Looking without photographing.
Looking without sharing.
Looking without wondering how something would perform online.
Looking without asking how many people would approve of our choice.
Simply looking.
Art should not have to compete with the next video. It should not need to become a headline to exist. And it should not require an immediate reaction to prove that it deserves our attention.
A painting can be slow.
It can be uncomfortable, strange, or difficult to understand.
It may even be something we do not like.
And it can still deserve our time.
Choosing to Step Away
At The Guide Artists, we have asked ourselves a simple question:
Do we need to be constantly present on social media to talk about art?
Our answer is no.
Not because we believe social media is inherently bad, nor because we ignore the possibilities it offers. We understand the extraordinary ability of digital platforms to connect artists and audiences around the world.
But we also believe that art deserves other spaces.
A space where a work does not have to compete for a few seconds of attention. Where an artist can be discovered without becoming content. Where an image can be contemplated without immediately being replaced by the next one.
A space where silence still has a place.
That is why we have chosen to step away from social media and return to something closer to our original purpose: the magazine, the written word, meaningful conversations, and the time it takes to truly discover artists and their work.
Not being everywhere does not mean disappearing.
It means choosing where we want to be.
Art Existed Before the Algorithm
Perhaps we have reached a point where we need to remember something very simple:
Art existed before the algorithm.
It existed before followers, likes, Reels, and the pressure to turn every creative moment into a post.
And it will continue to exist long after them.
Because a great work of art does not need to go viral to matter. It does not need thousands of views or to appear on our screens every day.
It needs to find someone willing to stop in front of it.
Someone willing to look a second time.
And perhaps even a third.
The true value of art was never measured by how long it managed to hold our attention on a screen.
It was measured by how long it managed to remain within us.
