It is the age of self-promotion: promote the song you sang, the picture you painted, the book you wrote, the boat you built, the loss you suffered, the death you’re grieving.
Do I sound cynical?
When I meet with a friend for lunch or coffee, and tell them about my week, that’s sharing. What I am doing on Facebook and Twitter and Pinterest and Google-Plus and Linked-In and You-tube is promoting.
Sure, I can see on Facebook that a family member has had a baby or gotten into the college of their choice. I can look at a friend’s fabulous vacation pictures, or read an inspiring quote they wish to share. I can click “like” and leave a comment: “congratulations,” “love it,” “right on.”
It’s nice to see what my artist and writer friends are working on, too, and give them a thumbs up.
But I am by nature not an outgoing person. I like to be home alone, in my studio, doing my thing. Interacting with family and a few close friends is all the social stimulation I need.
And yet I find myself obsessively linking my Typepad blogs to Facebook and Twitter, posting my art daily to Fine Art America, where it is automatically uploaded to my Facebook accounts. When I read a new marketing article about doing more sharing and posting and linking, I’m at it again.
Before I know it, an hour has gone by. And I get this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that rather than being happy to see all these little postings of mine, my online friends are saying, “Get a life!”
I may be agoraphobic and value my solitude, but I’m also an exhibitionist. When I create something, I want everyone to see it and tell me they love it.
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In the past we could count on the book publisher, gallery director, or record company to promote our art. Many of us still got on stage before an audience because we liked it, but at least we had a choice.
Now there is none.
I’m glad that I don’t have to send my portfolio to galleries any more in order to sell my art. Promoting myself online means a collector in California or Hong Kong can click “buy” on my website with no intermediary. I love that.
But building a beautiful website does not mean people will come. These days, the experts say online social networking is the hot way to bring in traffic. But it feels phony to me to mix “friend talk” and “buy my stuff” in the same encounter.
So why do I keep doing it, at a faster and more furious pace?
I am fascinated by the spectacle, moved to compete by the numbers of page views, likes, repins, followers—numbers going up, numbers going down.
It is never enough, so I do more and more and more.
Am I having a social networking breakdown?