September 2025
Hello,
For the past few months, I've been thinking about ways I could share my work and connect with my community after some time away from social media. I never stopped painting—just stepped back from Meta platforms for about a year, for reasons both personal and political.
Hope Portal, 2025, acrylic paint on paper, 15.5 x 14.5”
I think we can all agree it's been a particularly challenging year, and I'm sure many of you can relate to the mixed emotions that come with social media participation: the information overload, the addictive dopamine reward systems, our shrinking attention spans, and the weight of witnessing so much hate and violence through our screens daily. Clearly, I needed to step back and assess how it's affected me and what (or who) exactly I'm supporting by using these platforms.
Sweet Talker, 2025, collage and acrylic paint on paper, 11.75 × 9.75”
During this time away, I focused on educating myself more on what's happening in the world and finally made space for that ever-elusive "inner work" we always want to do but rarely prioritize. Art-making is what I've always gravitated toward. It's how I process what I'm thinking about and going through. For the first time in a long time, I did it without the pressure to share, which brought up a curiosity about how I felt about my own work, in silence, without likes and comments on Instagram.
Sketchbook page
What does it mean to make art and not share it in the year 2025? More broadly, what does it mean to live life without sharing it? These questions have inspired me to approach my work (and my life) in new ways. The biggest shift has been a seemingly obvious one: a greater inclination to be brave, take risks, play, and follow my intuition. I feel less like a brand to be marketed and more like myself. In this silence, I've experimented with photography (Polaroids and film photography), Polaroid transfers, cyanotypes, sculpture, digital art, drawing, and writing. All of this has heavily influenced how I approach my painting practice.
10 Things I love About You, 2025, collage and acrylic paint on paper, 12.5 × 9.5”
There's a freedom that comes with creative isolation. What matters most is the work itself. The biggest risk you face is making something unsuccessful or wasting materials, which becomes pretty irrelevant when you emphasize play over creating fully resolved, marketable objects. Nothing is really wasted, and there's so much to learn from an unsuccessful painting.
Studio moment
I understand (and admittedly worry about) the consequences of not being on Instagram. I acknowledge that the majority of my success as an artist has come from that platform—most sales, networking, and exhibition opportunities all came from Instagram. Recently, I sold a painting to someone who sent a message through my website to tell me she'd followed me on Instagram and had been wanting to buy a painting from me for a long time.
Morgan Dyer and I making Poloroid transfers
These are the moments that make me emotional. I haven't posted anything on Instagram in a long time, yet she remembered me. She reached out without needing a social media reminder that I exist. As meaningful as that experience was, the truth is, to some extent, I know I'll be forgotten by not showing up online. I know I'm missing opportunities. I do feel pressure to participate.
When Your Heart Remembers, 2025, collage and acrylic paint on paper, approx. 6 × 12”
It's not that I don't enjoy sharing my work and connecting with those who are interested in it. I just want to do it in a way that feels more authentic to who I am, honors where I'm at in life, and do it on a platform that aligns with my values. For now, I'm happy with the idea of a monthly email update, sharing more on my website, and you can find me making semi-regular posts on Bluesky. Through these channels, I'll share new work, art/life reflections, insights into my creative process, and more.
Thanks so much,
Kevin
