Make art, not content
there's enough noise on the internet already
Art is having something to say. Content is having to say something.
I came across this distinction a few weeks ago in a video by Mango Street Lab. It hit me in the gut, perfectly summing up a feeling that I’ve grappled with for years of being a creative online—that pressure to be consistent, to keep posting, the fear that if I don’t I’ll be lost in the rush and no one will discover my work.
I shared the sentiment on Notes, just a few quick lines jotted down so I wouldn’t forget it in the late-night nursing haze.
Turns out a lot of you feel the same way.
I kind of hate the word content. It sits in my mouth like a cotton ball, sucking away all moisture, making me gag like a cat trying to dislodge a piece of fur from its tongue.
Content feels like noise. It feels like a never-ending scroll, seven second Tiktok videos in line at the grocery store, staying up until 2am bathed in the blue light of my phone.
Something that just fills the time (though steals the time might be a better description).
Isn’t that the nature of content though? The very definition of it implies a lack:
the things that are held or included in something
The purpose of content is to fill a void.
When I hear the word art, I think humanity. Art is an expression of genuine feeling and truth into the world, a comment on an experience, an opinion, a thought, a story. It’s what happens when we’re connected to our intuition, to our heartspace, to our experience as humans.
We make art because we feel something. It makes us pause. It stops time rather than stealing it.
If I were to summarize my definition of art, it probably would be:
the distillation of imagination, emotion, thought, and/or beauty into a medium that can be interpreted and enjoyed by other humans.
How I interpret the distinction between art and content is in the motivation behind them. Are we making because we genuinely feel inspired to (having something to say) or because we feel like we have to in order to stay relevant in the attention economy (having to say something)?
Social media has an endless appetite. It’s trained us to feel like we have to always be producing in order to stay connected. We’ve all seen the advice: be consistent if you want to succeed! The fear that if we don’t keep posting, we’ll be lost in the static. That pressure breeds an environment where we mine our hearts for something, anything to post, even when we don’t want to.
When I make art, I’m intending something behind it. That intention can be as simple as capturing a moment of beauty through my camera. Art requires a genuine creative spark. It doesn’t have to be something profound or socially impactful. Having “something to say” can be as simple as, I saw this flower and thought it was lovely.
This isn’t to say that art can’t happen within structure. I actually really love the idea of a creative container, a routine that provides a framework and support to our creative ideas (in witchy terms, this would be the divine masculine holding and supporting the divine feminine of creative flow).
But there has to be a synergy between them. I know I can feel it in my gut the moment my creativity starts to feel forced. My stomach tightens, my skin feels itchy. I get this weird, staticky anxiety buzzing between my ears, where all my thoughts are focused on how the piece will be received instead of what I’m actually making.
When we create to fill a void or to satisfy an obligation, we’re automatically creating for other people. We’re trying to catch their attention, to keep ourselves top of mind. Instead of inspiration driving us, it’s fear—the fear that we’ll be forgotten if we don’t abide by the rules of the game.
What gets to me is the way that content and art are used interchangeably these days.
Oh, I love their content.
They’re a content creator.
It’s like the internet decided that we needed a word other than art to describe what it is when people put their ideas out into the world. Content has become this placeholder for “things people make and share online.”
Is this imposter syndrome, that we don’t feel comfortable claiming what we create and share as art? Or is it some sort of self-imposed gatekeeping on what is and is not allowed to be art?
Maybe we just need better nouns.
Despite these feelings, I know the answer isn’t as simple as Make art, not content (though that is a catchy title). We live in a world where artists online can’t just be artists. They’re also a marketer, an accountant, a CEO, a publicist, and on and on.
If you’re trying to run a creative business or promote your art online in any way, there are times when you’ll have to write, make, do things that don’t feel like art, but are in support of your art. Think your website copy, welcome emails, sale announcements shared on Instagram. This is the business, or in my opinion, work side of being a creative online.
There’s the thing you make (your art) then there’s all the stuff that happens around trying to promote, share, sell the thing you make (your content).
For me, I take this distinction as a reminder to keep the work side of sharing my art online separate from the act of creating the thing itself. I know it’s not realistic to expect that everything that I share online will be art—but it’s important that I don’t mistake content for art. They serve two very different purposes. One is for me, one is for other people.
Maybe a better title would be, Make art when you’re inspired, content only when required.
But that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.
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Not now, I'm wintering
So often people set goals this time of year and then feel guilty when they’re not able to follow through on them (I know I’ve experienced this myself before). The New Year’s resolution becomes a stick we beat ourselves with, just another way for our imposter syndrome to prove to us that we’re not good enough and that we can’t cut it. But maybe part of that struggle with following through on our goals at this time of year is just that the depth of winter isn’t the best time for new growth.
Yes yes yes!!!
Well said. I’m glad you brought up money and business because I think it would be so easy to say, “Make meaningful things! Don’t feed the algorithm!” and walk away. But the reality is that people rely on these things for their livelihood so it creates this really weird tension.