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thedalatribune · 1 year

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Klee, the Music Painter Paul Klee and Cutback Studio (2022) Infinity des Lumières (Dubai, United Arab Emirates)

Instagram And Art

Instagram has more than 500 million daily users, and its focus on images has made it especially popular among those who make and appreciate art. We are all just singular humans rooted in space and time, but Instagram gives us access to creative production all around the world, whenever we want it. Hooray! But what is it doing to us? Is it changing the way we interact with and experience art?

The benefits of using Instagram became clear pretty soon after it launched in 2010, for institutions and individuals alike. For photographers and designers and artists of all kinds, Instagram is your own free gallery. Well, if you don't count the cost of giving away your data and attention to advertisements, but it does give power to artists who represent themselves outside of traditional systems. You don't have to wait to be taken on by a gallery or make the kind of work a gallery thinks they can sell. You hold the reigns and can show your art how you'd like it to be seen. You can share aspects of your process and demonstrate that you are a person outside of your work...

Art history has tended to provide us only a handful of iconic images of artists seriously engaged in their work or posed with a painting conveniently in the background, but Instagram gives us views into the daily lives of a multitude of artists, making visible the diversity of the individuals producing art today and allowing each the ability to represent themselves, and Instagram is an outstanding networking tool, allowing you to not only build and cultivate community among other artists, but also speak directly to followers, fans, and potential collectors.

When most commercial galleries take 50% of a sale, the ability to connect to potential buyers without a middle person can be a real boon. As galleries are painfully aware, rent is high and employing people is expensive. While showing your work in person may be the ideal scenario, it's not always feasible, especially if you live in a place that isn't a cultural mecca, which is most places.

Does Instagram favor particular kinds of work? Heck yes. Square! Bright! Easily legible! Immersive! Some artworks come across better in photos than others, but most can figure out a way around these problems if they want to, and plenty of artists have used the platform as a strategic aspect of their work, recruiting participants and fundraising for performances and events, and sharing documentation with those who can't be there in person.

Some have used the images they find on Instagram to make actual works in real life. Ai Wei Wei has consistently shown us the power of social media to bear witness to his own experience of censorship and to injustice and suffering around the world, all of which are integral to the work he presents in museums and galleries, but Instagram can be a limiting influence for artists just as it's an empowering one. Like the rest of us, artists are susceptible to the dopamine rush that comes from likes and instant feedback. Artist Andrea Crespo admitted in a 2018 Vulture article, "Reward systems in social media were influencing my decisions while art making. I would think about what people would think based off of likes and comments."

Artists have long sat out insight and criticism from friends and colleagues, but more often than not, the feedback offered on Instagram is superficial or purely congratulatory or when offered by anonymous strangers, unconstructively cruel. Exposing your work on Instagram can also make it vulnerable to copycats, other artists as well as companies just trying to decorate their stores. An artist doesn't have to have their own account for this to happen either. Anyone can snap a pic of your work and post it with your name associated, making you present on Instagram even if you don't want to be, and what about Instagram's effects on museums and galleries?

Most not-for-profit institutions have missions that involve sharing their collections with the public, and their publics used to have pretty finite geographical boundaries...

Today, their conception of public can be much more expansive and inclusive. They can now try to create meaningful experiences with art for anyone with an internet connection and Instagram plays a big role in these efforts.

Museums have the problem of only being in one place. You've got to take the bus or drive and pay for parking and do all the walking. Social media platforms give museums a way of reaching people where they are, sharing works from their collection, promoting special exhibitions, and luring people out of their hidey holes with glimpses of the cool things they can be doing out in the world, and the magical part is that it doesn't have to be one way communication anymore. For so long, museums were the authority, imparting knowledge upon the huddled masses, but with social media, the huddled masses can easily impart their knowledge on the authority, explaining what they value about their experiences and what they don't.

If art museums are trying to show us the best of what's around, the peak moments in human creativity, do we want them heavily weighing Instagrammability when deciding what shows to devote money and scholarship to?

The answer doesn't have to be yes or no, and museums often navigate this by creating Insta-worthy moments within exhibitions, even if the art itself isn't so Insta-friendly...

For some, it might just be, art is cool. Me is cool, too, but I think there is more to it, or at least there can be. The research on this is just beginning, but a study of one exhibition in 2014 suggested that visitors use Instagram in meaningful ways to promote the exhibition, not replacing the in-person experience, but encouraging others to see it for themselves. The study found that visitors' use of Instagram was actually connected to their aesthetic experience. They captured mostly close-up images of the objects in the show and focused on their details. Only 9% of the images in the dataset included people.

Now, this was just one single exhibition in Sydney, Australia about the history of shoe design from the 1500s to the present. It was not a Kusama infinity room, where almost any photo is a selfie, but it's still showing, at least in one case, what I'd call real engagement with the objects. What we're really getting to here is how we construct meaning around art, right? Like, the old way was to just look at the thing, walk around it, observe it, and maybe read about it and talk about it with others.

Perhaps the camera and Instagram are tools we now use in this construction of meaning, revealing details we might not have noticed through our eyes alone, selecting and framing alternative views of the art. Does this add to the way we understand art or does it replace the traditional methods of direct observation and reflection? If, on average, we only look at a work of art for seven seconds, does our photographing it extend our engagement or does it take the place of what might have been a more fulfilling experience? Is one way better than the other or in the wise words of the internet's favorite young lass, "Why don't we have both?"

...One study published in 2017 found that taking photos with the intention to share them on social media actually undermines your enjoyment of the thing you're experiencing, increasing your feelings of anxiety. By worrying about presenting yourself in a positive light, you've lessened your engagement with the experience.

One of the co-authors of the study Alixandra Barasch, suggests you might take the pictures but wait until after the experience to share them, or you might even just take pictures for your own memories, which I think we can all agree is weird. I mean, who does that? But it's complicated. I really enjoy virtually visiting artworks and shows I can't get to by following artists and museums and galleries and curators on Instagram, and by exploring hashtags and geotags, I can find out about the ways other people experience the art I can get to. Like when I visited Prada Marfa in the middle of nowhere, Texas, I spent mediated as well as unmediated time at the site, but later, I found it really enriching to discover who else had been there, famous and not famous, years ago or just an hour before or after I did. This expanded my experience of it, extending the work beyond just an interaction between me and the art.

...Now, of course seeing an image of an artwork on a phone is not as good as being there, but social media gives us access to art and ideas that were previously off-limits for many of us due to geography or privilege and sharing art on Instagram is clearly something people want to be doing, at least right now. Museums would be foolish to ignore or resist our strong impulse to capture and share our experiences, but hopefully, we'll all evolve better, healthier ways of doing so, ways that deepen our engagement instead of making it more superficial.

Instagram can't last forever. No platform does. Maybe one day, we'll just get tired of filtering our lives through screens and museums will still be there for us. Not as stage sets for our individual dramas, but as destinations in themselves, whole places filled with voices and visions, past and present, where we can come together and interact in real time and real space, or maybe we'll come to some sort of equilibrium between those poles. Until then, I'll see you on Instagram.

Sarah Urist Green Is Instagram Changing Art?

#Sarah Urist Green #Is Instagram Changing Art?#Art #The Art Assignment #Klee #the Music Painter #Paul Klee #Cutback Studio #Infinity des Lumières #Immersive Art #Dubai Mall #Dubai #United Arab Emirates

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makasey · 1 year

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Spaceship concept.

A cargoship for liquid or gas.

#infinity painter #artwork #spaceship #conceptdrawing #art #sketch

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i-couldntfindanoncringeusername · 8 months

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#oc #ocart #ocs #oc artwork #original character #infinity painter

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lobitadluna · 10 months

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RuPaul

Made on infinite painter app.

#art #artwork #fanart #infinity painter #digitalart #RuPaul

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rottiens · 6 months

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GONER | GOJŌ SATORU

✮ wc. . 2.3K

✮ tags. . angst, fem reader, major character death, manga spoilers. divider creds: cafekitsune.

✮ about. . a sequence of events that begin with you ending your relationship make you reflect on the effect your decisions have on the future.

How long is "forever"? For a child who is left in line at a supermarket while their mother goes back to get something else to put in the cart probably a long time, for someone who is sick it probably feels like an eternity.

For someone to whom you tell for a whole year that you love them, and that you will always be together probably the phrase ceases to carry the same weight as when it was first said, after a few months, one of you may say the words because they sound nice rather than because you really mean it.

Looking back you're not sure you remember it very well. The scene is a blur in your head, just like those old VHS's where you start in one scene and if it wasn't cautiously recorded it ends up jumping to a totally different one. You're not sure exactly what you said or how it sounded, nor what he responded to hearing you say it, you struggle to remember because it's important now.

You can't quote the exact words that came out of your mouth but you have etched in your memory his flushed cheeks, the way the gentle breeze ruffled his hair naturally. Everything felt like slow motion or at least that's how it's saved in your head, you think the detail of his blush was stored so clearly in your memories because you've never seen him so red before.

His face was just like a painter's canvas that had had a big red stain spilled down the center.

"Come on. Let's go home before it rains," Satoru suggests, ignoring the knife you casually plunge into his chest.

You clutch the black bag hanging from your shoulder tightly to your body and avoid his blue eyes at all costs, after all, the oval sunglasses do little to hide them and you don't know if you'd rather he was wearing the blindfold today. You glance down at his high-soled loafers, as shiny and shimmering as the rest of his outfit. You divert your eyes to his briefly to stall for time and refocus on your shoes.

He calls your name, reaches out his hand breaking the infinite distance between you and you pull back adding more space. You think you hear his heart break.

"You can't be serious." His hand returns to his side in submission, his throat rising and falling swallowing saliva. "Are you serious?"

"I want to focus on other things."

"I'm unfocusing you?" Satoru laughs dryly, briefly bringing a hand to his chest pointing to himself before lowering it.

"I'm not sure if we're compatible, I think we're only together because we're both lonely."

His lower lip trembles because what you said was a low blow, it's not fair for you to mention the things he's secretly told you while you were snuggled under the covers of his bed for a situation like this. Concern flashes fleetingly across his face along with a lightning bolt that breaks the sky. The parking lot is practically empty, there are couple of cars scattered around as if it had been put there specifically as part of the scenery, you lose yourself in satoru's porsche behind him, gray as the cotton clouds that suffocate the sky, the flash of the kisses you have shared, the laughter, the secrets that stay stranded in it stick in your chest like a sharp arrow but you quickly disguise it by blinking fast and pretending to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles in your clothing.

The silence is heavy. Satoru stares at you so intently that you think he has forgotten to blink.

Satoru opens his mouth but the sudden torrent of water that flows over your head startles you. Satoru gets wet in seconds which makes you wonder why he doesn't activate his infinity and take refuge in his technique, why he stands next to you as if made of stone, still contemplating you.

"You're tearing me apart!" he shouts through the sound of the rain collapsing against the pavement, the water making his shirt cling to his chest, his white skin glistening through the fabric.

"I'm so sorry."

You need to run from there, the rain is everywhere just like the pain that covers your body from head to toe. You feel it all over, crushing your bones, squeezing your lungs and stealing your breath. You are ready to run and flee by his side, but his long fingers stop you, catch your wrists and pull you to him.

Leaving you no escape he pulls you into a forced kiss full of hunger and resentment, his fingers squeeze your cheeks tightly almost as if he's forcing you to stay close but it doesn't matter if he hadn't, you wouldn't have pulled away anyway. He brushes your tongue with his, you let him taste you one last time as he tastes the trace of the drink you were given at the event you attended only minutes before.

The perfect couple, he strongest next to the best sorceress, everyone was talking about the children they would have together, about the future of both clans and the great family they would form, all without asking you first about how you felt. You immerse yourself in a lot of expectations that you have to live up to when all you want is to survive at the end of the day, with so much pressure from your family and the higher ups it is only logical that the band that keeps your appearance of the perfect woman stretches and torn.

You hate yourself for doing this to him before he leaves on a week long mission away from you but you think it's the perfect time for him to detox from you.

As you pull away to breathe he still holds your cheeks possessively, gazing at you just like the most valuable object on display. You can't know what those pretty eyes that hide a sea in them are saying, but you wouldn't blame him for hating you.

"Let me take you home," he asks in a raspy voice and you shake your head.

You can't be near him alone again, not in his car, not in your apartment.

Then Satoru releases your cheeks and they immediately burn from the absence of his fingers and embarrassment, he takes the longest backward step he can and lets you run away from him, literally and metaphorically.

That was the last time you saw him, after leaving him soaking wet in the rain.

It's not like you were desperate to see him again but you weren't sure that would be the last time you'd see his face either. With everything that happened after that day you purposely decided to avoid him, you took missions as far away from Tokyo as you could, avoided going to school on the days he would be working as a teacher and ran away from every social activity you know he would be involved in… little by little the big strong couple fell apart until people accepted that it wasn't a rumor and that you two were really over.

Then he was called to Shibuya along with the other sorcerers who were available. Conveniently you were in Latin America, too far from home to do anything more than hope that all your friends made it out alive from the massacre that was happening there while all you could do was wait and find a plane ticket as fast as you could. You had your phone taped to your chest all night at the airport and all day until you got off the plane until Yaga personally called you to tell you the details.

Satoru Gojo was locked up in the prison realm, I have a death sentence on my head… You'd be lying if you said you heard anything else after that. The phone rolled free from your hand to the ground, crashing to the concrete of the street in a muffled sound.

On your way back you found Tokyo in a mess. Shibuya seemed to have been crushed by a large black hole that consumed and destroyed everything in its path, that it had been a phenomenon fallen from space would have been easier to deal with than admitting that the monster that had created that was still there, hiding in Itadori's body lurking like a predator ready to strike at the precise moment and you could do nothing but wait for it. Guilt digs into your chest as deep as a knife, you refuse to cry and swallow the pain like a hard pill, you should have been there.

Since then you did everything you could to rescue Satoru as you know he's the only one who can take on a now free Sukuna, you can't do it without his help or a logical plan. And after everything that happened between you you feel you owe it to him, as a silent pact that you must keep your word to.

So this is the first time you see him after that afternoon. He looks different from the last time you saw him, maybe it's your fuzzy memories that didn't store the information correctly but he looks bigger even, his hair has grown and his shoulders are broader.

"I knew you'd be here," he jokes in his usual tone.

Here, away from the show his students prepared to welcome him as the celebrity he is. Your belly was in knots and you didn't want to see him, you weren't ready.

You want to slap him for being the first thing he says after months of not seeing each other, for treating you like the sweet friend you always were to him because you feel you don't deserve it, but instead and against all odds you pounce on him. Your arms wrap around his waist embracing an infinite cold emptiness that then materializes in the warm body of your partner.

You hadn't realized how much you missed him until now, until his fingers melt into your hair massaging your skull and pulling you further into him, until you hear him unabashedly sniff your hair and say between giggles how much he missed the smell of your shampoo, you soak his black t-shirt in your tears while his chest burns. You feel safe, you feel at home, and you realize that everything you did was a mistake.

As you lift your clouded eyes to him, you see everything blurred by the raindrops threatening to overflow like that day yet at the same time, you have never seen so clearly in your life.

I love you so much, I'm so sorry - It's at least what you would have liked to say before he interrupted you, his lips make you weep when they touch your forehead so soft, so delicate, you want to stay here forever, you want to tell him to quit, you don't have to save anyone else, you want to tell him to run away with you, that you're ready to start a family and grow old together but you know what he's going to say. Instead, his words make you keep silent:

"You can tell me all that when I get back, I have a lot to tell you too."

You hit the cold table hard where half of Satoru's body rests and the whole room shudders as your cursed energy emanates from you in great waves.

"You promised you'd come back so get up off that fucking table," you sniffle through your nose without letting a single tear fall. Shoko next to you says your name as low as if she doesn't want to be heard, her fingers squeezing your shoulder feels like she's doing it with pity, like she's comforting you, why is she doing it? Perhaps it's her way of telling you that that's it . "Tell me you can do something." You look her straight in the eyes but she keeps quiet, like everyone else, no one dares to speak or scream, why is everyone acting like this is part of the plan? Why are you the only one sinking into a deep salty sea? "Shoko, fuck!"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry."

Your knees fail you and you have to lie down on his legs, hiding your face in the white sheet covering what's left of him, your heart dropping to your stomach as something sour and bitter rises up your esophagus.

"Leave me alone." That's all you ask, you don't get up to see if she's heard you over your voice drowned out by the white cloth.

The smell of the hospital and medication, unused gloves and alcohol makes your gut knot, it's all too much. You can barely breathe, your throat burns and it would be so much easier to feel a curse tearing you from the inside out.

"You promised…" you sob again hugging the corpse of the one you recognize today as the love of your life. "I'm so sorry," you mumble with a mouthful of saliva.

When you broke up with satoru you missed him every day, every hour, everything reminded you of him because you didn't just lose a boyfriend, you lost a friend. You missed him but you knew you were going to see him again someday, when the symptoms of grief would subside for both of you, maybe you could even get back the friend you lost because of your relationship but now, missing Satoru is a feeling of anguish that won't go away, because you can't call him anymore, you can't show him the pictures you took in the day, you won't be able to hear his voice again, you won't be able to hold his hand again….. It is a loop of a feeling of emptiness that cannot be filled with anything because he is now gone forever, a black hole that no matter how hard you try to fill it with things and people it will not fill, because nothing and no one will be able to take his place.

And for a person who has lost a loved one who told them that he would be there with them until they grow old, forever is a long time.

notes. . ngl this is really a catharsis for me. i miss a person who is no longer with me irl and what better than to open my heart and let out some of the pain through one of the characters i adore the most <3

thanks for reading! Reblogs are appreciated. And don't forget to spend time with your loved ones and remind them how much you love them whenever you can.

#wr #gojo drabbles #jjk drabbles #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo angst #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru angst

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dailyrothko · 2 months

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Hi! I’m already drawn to Rothko’s art so much just by looking at his paintings on my tiny phone screen. But it is quite unlikely that I’ll get to see his paintings irl, at least not for a few years. Would you mind sharing your experience of looking at a Rothko? Thank you for putting in the work on this blog :)

Hi, I'm sorry I didn't answer this sooner but Tumblr has not been notified me that I have messages and I forgot to check. I've had a coupled of weeks of insomnia so you may have to forgive some languid prose.

In my early viewings of Rothko, I think my reactions were fairly standard exchanges with modern art when you're getting acclimated. Among these, were how big the paintings were, and I duplicated this surprise in my viewings of a couple of other abstract, expressionist painters, notably in my mind, Franz Kline, Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner along with Rothko.

I think there's a hand in the hand reaction about the size that then you are aware the paintings are not hard edged, the way, say an Ellsworth Kelly painting would be. There's a plastic look effective in pop-art that Rothko strenuously avoided. They are undeniably sensual, almost romantic.

Once you get the size, you can really appreciate this because when you read art monographs or look at the internet, the lens is so reduced, one tends to get a constricted notion of color squares like you would see in a color theory book. However, the face-to-face confrontation reveals quite the opposite feeling of that kind of art.

It's a little hard to describe, but it's not that the paintings are completely soft. They have a lot of minor details, brushstrokes, stray lines and bits of splattered paint, but none of those colliding forces interfere with an overall limitless impression of the form that makes it very different from hard edge or gestural painting (like de Kooning). Part of what's hard to describe, is how it is not soft, but rather translucent, not vague, but flowering out to infinity.

I find with Rothko in particular that when you start looking, you want to keep looking. I suppose one of his detractors might say you're doing it because you're looking for something where there is nothing, but my experience with art is that, where there is nothing you quickly move on. Rothko might be equated in some minds with an Antonioni movie (Certainly Antonioni himself thought this) where it has a quality of nothingness but not one of no meaning. We read meaning into everything we are exposed to, it's part of how our brains process things, but perhaps Rothko's great skill is inviting you to look. i would not be the first to think so.

My tendency to invest in things I like leads me to unconsciously test myself as if from the outside, making sure that I am not fooling myself as to the merit of it (who wants to be a sucker, right?) and, I've seen a couple over the years that I felt didn't age well, maybe, something about them didn't look as alive, not the color combinations, but possibly something with the paint dulling overtime. I don't think galleries like to talk about it because the artist so valuable as an investment, but you do see, if rarely, paintings would you feel maybe age got the better of. Much of this, though can be attributed to the way light works with Rothko. The public tends to gripe when a gallery is not brightly lit, but Rothkos tend to wilt under bright lights and lose depth. This has a lot to do with the fact that Rothko painted in dim light like El Greco, and voiced his paintings to speak this way.

When they do work, which is quite often, it's pretty vivid, and I feel, entrancing. When I first got really interested in Rothko in my late teenage years, I did not know a single person who was interested in it among my group of friends and I bought a poster from the cover of Bonnie Clearwater's works on paper book and I hung it on my wall. It was a conversation starter because nobody liked it! I suppose that's the age where some people are geared towards something more classically punchy.

My feeling of the paintings, especially early in my life, remind me of an effect one might feel from music that you've never heard before, much like the response I had from the early rural blues music of the late 1920s. I didn't know how much I loved it exactly, I only knew that it was powerfully beckoning me to return. And, as one returns, you participate in a communion. You relax into it and the feelings you have rise to the surface, sometimes framing emotionally charged interchange between you and the art. I think that's a lovely thing to get from whatever kind of art you like.

Now, I am kind of an old hand at seeing Rothko paintings, but I rarely cease to be surprised by them and that maybe that is their finest attribute.

I can't imagine this helps much, but I hope that when you do see one in person, you will write and share your impressions, because after all, they are the ones that count

#mark rothko #markrothko #rothko #daily rothko #dailyrothko #abstract expressionism #modern art #abstraction #colorfield #ab ex #colorfield painting #mid century #questions

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