While drawing this I couldn't help but think of how I got to know my husband. We had a long distance relationship in 1995 which meant letter writing, packages, phone calls and a lot of time and space to be myself as I got to know him.
Phone calls were SO expensive. Not to mention, he didn't always have a phone.
So letter writing was the standard form of communication for us. I loved sending and receiving mail. Especially from him. One time he mailed me a comic he made and I laughed so hard. Another time he sent me a Celtic ring that only fit on my left ring finger. I was thrilled. It was how I knew someday we would get married. I have all of the things he sent me. I keep them in a wooden box he "got" me from the Air Force Academy.
Lately, I have been thinking about how I wish things could go back to before smartphones and social media. Although, I love being able to communicate in such an easy way with so many people. Being able to share my art and see the things that other people are creating is truly amazing.
I really miss going to the mailbox to find a note, reading then rereading handwritten letters and the time and space I had around it. The feeling of looking forward to the mail being delivered and seeing if there was anything for me. The time to be ponder, feel and express myself.
It was spacious. Now it's crammed.
Now I get my "mail" on social media and email (if I am lucky). I sift through my social media feeds hoping something will catch me and engage me. There's so much content and so much of it is formulaic. I keep going back to the feed looking for inspiration.
It bores me- because formulas are advertisements.
Formulas are the things that dampen creativity and true expression. I don't like the way social media has molded me. The way I have adopted this formulaic way of expressing myself. The post formatting and the "likes" -it's become my default way of thinking: Am I resonating? Do people like this?
Somewhere along the line my process became muddied.
And it's so sneaky.
The Social Media Brain
It gets in there and starts driving.
Where are we going? I ask
Forward, it says.
(I keep hoping we run out of gas, get stranded somewhere and have an undocumented "in real life" adventure.)