March and April have been a jumble for me. A mixed bag of new possibilities and existential crises. How was it for you?
In this post, I think about tending to the possibilities with care and releasing the feelings of being jostled.
The tides of possibilities washed up a few interesting ideas, approaches, and tantalising emails. Nothing concrete. Just, a sense perhaps, that nice things are on their way. And yet paired with that, I’ve also been dealing with the complicated aftermath of being hacked on Instagram. Unthinkingly, I responded to a phishing approach, and hackers took control of my main account. It took a painfully long time to reclaim that account–and all associated Meta accounts. That was two Instagram accounts and my Facebook account. I won’t give you the details. But there’s something unsettling about losing control of your name and seeing fraudulent use of your name. I felt external to myself, and disconnected from my own voice.
When I got back into my account, it felt like I’d got my car back after joy riders had stolen it, with full ashtrays, a strong smell of weed, mud caking the footwell mats. The Instagram equivalent: my date of birth changed, my friends blocked, and I saw the thousands of messages the hackers sent. It’s been mortifying. I feel so embarrassed.
Why am I detailing all this? The time away from my Meta accounts has been an enforced digital detox, a pause for silence, and I realised I want some things to change. Mindless social media scrolling had become habitual for me and I haven’t been showing up in good faith. While I am holding the potential seeds of new possibilities and projects, returning to the jostle of Instagram has felt jarring.
When I open up the apps, the monetisation of Meta platforms means that they feel like virtual shopping centres rather than previously, a jolly hubbub of a town square–news from people I know. I realised, I don’t want to be there all the time. I don’t want to open up the social media apps in bad faith.
Having said that, the key social media platforms are an easy way for me to reach out to people in my network. I did feel at a loss without that connection when I was locked out. And in a weird twist of fate, one of the messages the hackers sent out precipitated someone I hadn’t messaged before to look me up and reach out, and fortunately, we connected after the hacker’s occupation. And so, I am grateful that Meta has enabled me to find, interact, and meet up with new colleagues and friends. I know I don’t want to leave the platforms. But I do want to reframe them.
And so, I downloaded the minimalist phone app, which removes the icons from your phone screen, leaving you with a list of the app names. It feels more like admin than confectionery to open apps. Also, you set a time for how long you’ll be in key time-sucking apps before you open them. Using the app has shifted how I feel already, I feel more intentional in my phone use.
I also recognised that on both Instagram and Facebook I feel inhibited in what I say. My voice is shaped by the apps, and the distribution of my voice by the mercurial algorithmic forces. Sometimes I say exactly what I want to say, in the way I want to say it, and nobody sees it. Mainly, though, my desire to communicate in more meditative and reflective ways doesn’t work on Meta. I write here, of course. But I see this space as my service to artists, in which I share my career reframes in the hope that what I’m thinking about is useful to others.
I’ve had to ask myself some hard questions in order to get to the reframes. In particular, I’ve been asking myself if I show up to write, to share myself, and my work online in good faith. And because I’ve been dealing with some murky feelings, some shame, and anxiety about myself brought on by some projects reaching fruition, as well as the hacking incident, I’ve not been able to show up for myself in good faith.
And so I offer my apologies for the hiatus in writing here, showing up for Joy Development. I love writing this Substack, and thinking again about how we can find agency as artists in how we do our professional development tasks. But I’ve been without my voice, and I didn’t want to write when I was in that space of silence.
Now as I emerge out of the silence, I realise that I have stories of my own artwork and writing projects I want to share, without the lens of Joy Development. An artist’s newsletter. A studio diary. Reflections on what I’ve made, what I’m working on, what I’m selling direct from the studio, and where you can see my work. If you want to join me with that, it’s here Glamour in Practice.
My wish for you is that you have your voice, and you have somewhere or two you are happy speak, and you find your groove in communicating in good faith. And if this is something you’d like help with, as ever, let me know. I can help.
Share this post