We are living through a strange contradiction. Never before have artists had so many tools, platforms, and audiences within reach, and yet, never has genuine artistic expression felt so under threat. The speed-over-depth, frequency-over-intention, and visibility-over-meaning mindset that the modern audience now demands has turned a once-sacrosanct, slow, and demanding practice into a content laboratory, or at least insists that it be.

This is the crisis of the artist in the age of content.

The modern internet has collapsed distinctions. The same platforms now host profound artistic statements and disposable entertainment alike, flattening works that once lived in time into something designed for the scroll. The most revered artworks were never immediate. Leonardo da Vinci did not paint the Mona Lisa to rush out ten more because the audience grew bored. Neither did Van Gogh, Picasso, nor Andy Warhol create under the pressure of constant replenishment.

The very unpredictability and genius that allow artists to reveal to audiences what they didn’t yet know they needed, guided by intuition, curiosity, and emotional truth, have always been the foundation of art. The moment these are lost, art is stripped of its capacity for sublimity.

History and life itself have always taught us that the most rewarding work doesn’t perform immediately. So when did the divide happen, that modern humans now value less depth in music, architecture, and art? Is it a reflection of society, or solely an indictment of the ephemerality and spectacle of social media, where everything is shoved into our faces?

The consequences are devastating. If art, the bedrock of humanity, is constantly measured by metrics designed for virality, its essence is endangered. Yes, commercialization is important; art is also an industry. But the corruption of something sacred for mere profit and fleeting attention is a cost humanity cannot afford.

If you can’t be patient enough for the unfolding of Anthony Azekwoh’s The Wedding series, then there’s a problem. Artists aren’t content creators. Unfolding a narrative slowly and enduringly has always been a hallmark of true artistry. Criticisms like “Get on with it,” “People don’t have the attention span for this,” and “You’ll lose your audience” are symptomatic of a growing culture obsessed with immediacy over depth.

The conversation is complicated by commercial realities as art does not exist in a vacuum. Artists need audiences. Art can, and often must, be commercialized to sustain a practice. But it has never been art versus money; rather, it is art versus compromise.

How does an artist remain faithful to their vision while operating within systems that reward speed, sameness, and immediacy? There is no simple answer. But clarity emerges in understanding this:

Utilizing platforms is not the same as being owned by them. An artist can choose to engage audiences without letting metrics dictate meaning. They can communicate their work without diluting it. They can build anticipation instead of chasing immediacy. They can, like Azekwoh, trust that the right audience will meet the work where it is, not where the algorithm wants it to be.

There is a distinction here that matters. An artwork does not need to win the day, it needs to survive the years. It must hold relevance beyond the moment it was posted. It must document a period in time. When artists internalize the logic of content creation, they risk eroding the very thing that makes their work meaningful.

The crisis of the artist in the age of content is ultimately a question of values.

What do you create for, visibility or truth? Metrics or memory?