I used to love this. Then Instagram happened.
Joy was when i came across an artist, an artwork, a conceptual idea novel to me. Exhilaration was when I was able to proselytize someone to my amazement, wonder—really, you could call it a zealot’s faith—with this artist, this work, this kernel of beauty, truth. That was why Instagram, at first, seemed liked a godsend.
However, it turned out more like a malediction.
These past days, Instagram administrators have blocked my account because apparently I have been “over” liking other people’s posts. You could say that the administrators thought that I was Instagressing the s##t out of every posts only that I do not have an Instagress account and, as far as I know, Instagress is not even a thing anymore. Also, at several points before, they have deleted some of my posts (e.g. a Ren Hang photo, etc.) because, apparently some of the administrators’ sensibilities were offended.
And at some point, I just came to this revelation that I could no longer be a part of an exercise, I so thought to be predicated on the freedom of thought, that is ultimately ran by a non-sentient algorithm.
This is a rather circuitous way of saying I am going to 86 this account and to say thank you to all of you who have been a part of this bittersweet journey. (ALLEN RUPPERSBERG: from the lithographic series Preview, 1988