When Influencers Become Incessant Flies
Andy Warhol’s fifteen minutes of fame has given carte blanche to a horde of desperadoes.
Has the obsession of self-infatuation killed photography?
Photography has battled evolving technology for decades, since the first silver iodide plates, to Leicas and Polaroids, to the mass produced cheap Kodaks and the paper one shot disposables. Surpassing all of these in the onslaught to capture life’s fleeting moments is the mobile phone which allowed everyone, through virtue of astounding technology, to become a collector, or purveyor of image to the visual world. The patient, painstaking art of composition in the representation of nature took a left hook from mobile phones, a slap of considerable force.
Accidental art and disposable moments ad infinitum, allowed the capturing of an image devoid of the meticulous craft, skill and premeditated composition of the professional. Everyone became a photographer and the addiction to ‘self’, like a maggot in the mind, ate into the the global conscience and fed the ego.
TikTok, Twitter, Snapchat etc., have reduced the words of Andy Warhol from fifteen minutes to fifteen seconds. Such is the voracity of humans to claim their fifteen minutes of fame that it has neutered the artists role in the portrayal of life.
A plethora of hungry, camera-wielding egos stand technically capable and equipped, but barren of talent. The ability to post content immediately, without protracted consideration of its quality, statement, or appropriateness has made a mockery of true art.
The only positive from this dilemma is that, because of its ludicrous ephemeral lack of substance as art, the true talents of visual portrayal, the photographers sublime, have risen to the top as the ego driven snappers, desperate to garner their 15 minutes of notoriety, sift lower.
Why does the selfie brigade crave acknowledgement? What do they lack in their lives that ferments a blind yearning to be ‘known’ to be an ‘influencer?’
If we hold a mirror up to humanity as Shakespeare suggested, or like Narcissus gaze into a lakeside reflection, would we see that we have become an era of Narcissists, only able to find validation in generating excitement from our image, our following? Our tribe?
Did da Vinci, Michelangelo, Picasso, van Gogh, Banksy, Francois Nellie do self portraits? Yes! Were they infatuated with their persona to such an extent that they presented themselves daily, even hourly, just because they can? No!
Watching two-year-olds learn to scroll and tap screen devices, I worry where will the skill of artistic composition go? Will we surrender to mere bleeps, codes and automation? Will we be melded onto some AI assisted form that will designate and regulate our capacities to make sure they have maximum market saturation or positive google analytics?
It is a real threat.
Where lies the responsibility to instill an appreciation of substance and analysis in the minds of youth rather than mere presentation? Does this lie with the conglomerates of social media? I think not.
Is the issue only with my old, withered perception? Am I not merely a stick, but an entire tree trunk wallowing in the mud?
As a baby boomer, I worry that my era, rich with questioning and rebellion, has forfeited our legacy. Are we, the very ones who searched for meaning and expression, now encouraging complacency and superficial lifestyles so as to line our pockets. Have we evolved at all from those we thought oppressed our freedoms fifty years ago?
But then wait… maybe, it is me?
Can I not appreciate the pose?
Can I not see the value of the angle?
Do I not understand the need to show my booty, cleavage, or strut, to tens of thousands? Do I not know this is designer?
Can I not understand that somewhere out there in the 7 billion, someone I don’t know loves me and will give me my 15 seconds of fame?
NOPE, I CAN’T.
I have nothing against portraits, self-promotion and chasing fifteen minutes of fame, but I take issue with the obsession of presentation over substance. Pursuit of fame and notoriety over a considered understanding is the road to narcissism.
As an old codger, I suppose (if I’m lucky) I may bear witness to an entire epoch of evolution where my world journeys from self-expression, to self-presentation, to social confirmation, to some form of reformation.
I hope the purveyors of art, young and old, who hold substance and discernment as being of value, are allowed to flourish and that the incessant buzz of social media flies distills into a dark mass and drifts to the lower regions, as quality precipitates to the top.
Ten Second Takeaway:
The narcissist enjoys being looked at, and not looking back. — Mason Cooley
Happiness does not depend on what you have or who you are. It solely relies on what you think. — Buddha
Thanks for reading.