Digital Marketing for Creatives

Alright. Sit down. Grab your coffee. Pet your dog if you have one. We need to talk about the screaming.

Not literal screaming. Although, if you’re an artist right now, you’ve probably done some of that into a pillow. I’m talking about The Noise. The endless, deafening, soul-crushing roar of the internet.

You spent three weeks on that illustration. You mixed the colors just right. You captured a feeling, a moment, a piece of your fractured little soul. You posted it on Instagram. And what happened?

Crickets.

Maybe three likes. One from your mom. One from that guy you went to high school with who now sells essential oils. And the algorithm? The algorithm looked at your offering, your beautiful, vulnerable offering, and said, “Eh. Not enough dopamine. Bury it.”

You’re not crazy. You’re not untalented. You’re just trapped in the world’s biggest, loudest, most crowded mall, and everyone is screaming at the top of their lungs.

I’ve been doing this blog thing for years. Years of giving away the wisdom, trying to get people to listen. And I can tell you right now, getting heard today is harder than it’s ever been. Not because you’re not good enough. But because the entire system is designed to make you feel invisible.

Let’s talk about it.

The Mall From Hell

Remember when we talked about social media being a mall? Let’s expand that metaphor, because honestly, it’s worse than I thought.

It’s not just a mall anymore. It’s Black Friday. At 3 AM. In the middle of a pandemic. And everyone is on bath salts.

You’re standing there with your beautiful handmade pottery, or your stunning photograph, or your painting that took six months to complete. And you’re trying to gently say, “Excuse me, would anyone like to look at this thing I made with my hands and my heart?”

And standing next to you is a guy doing backflips into a pool of Jell-O while yelling about a sponsored smoothie detox. Next to him is a CGI cat playing the piano. Next to him is someone live-streaming their breakfast.

That’s your competition. Not other artists. Not other talented people. The competition is everything. Every video, every meme, every hot dog eating contest, every argument in the comments section. It’s all fighting for the same tiny scrap of human attention.

And you know what? Your beautiful painting of a sad clown fighting a robot? It’s great. It really is. But it’s not a cat playing the piano. And the algorithm loves cats playing the piano.

The Math Doesn’t Work

Here’s the thing that makes me actually angry. The math is rigged. (The whole system is rigged, but that’s for a totally different blog site).

Let’s say you have a thousand followers on Instagram. In the old days, that meant a thousand people might see your post. Now? You’re lucky if a hundred see it. Unless you pay. Then maybe three hundred see it.

So you pay. You throw twenty bucks at the algorithm. You get a few likes. Maybe even a comment. And then what? The moment you stop paying, you’re back in the dark. You’re renting light.

And look, I’m not saying Meta is evil. Well, okay, I am saying that. But that’s not the point. The point is, they built a system that profits from your invisibility. They make money by making you feel like you need to spend money to be seen.

It’s like a carnival game where the rings are slightly too small for the bottles. You keep paying, keep playing, and occasionally you win a stuffed animal, but the house always wins.

For a working artist, a real artist, someone who just wants to connect their work with people who might actually buy it? It’s a nightmare. It’s a full-time job just to be ignored.

The Desperation Spiral

And here’s where it gets dangerous. This is the part I recognize from my own dark days. The addiction.

You post something. Nothing happens. So you post again. Nothing. So you post a video. You try a trend. You do a dance. You do a dance. You, a serious artist, are now dancing for the algorithm because you just want someone to see.

I’ve been there. Not dancing, but performing for the wrong reasons. It’s a trap. It’s a desperation spiral, and it ends with you hating yourself and your work.

Because here’s the truth: You cannot make art for the algorithm. The algorithm doesn’t have a soul. It doesn’t care about your vision. It cares about engagement. It cares about time spent. It cares about keeping people scrolling past your work to get to the next thing.

If you try to feed the algorithm, you will starve your spirit.

Strategies

Okay. Enough doom. Enough despair. I’m not just here to bum you out. I’m here because I’ve survived this. Not by beating the system, but by opting out of it in my own way.

Here’s how you, as a visual artist, can navigate The Noise without losing your mind or your soul.

1. Stop Playing Their Game.

I cannot say this enough. The mall is for browsing. Your digital studio is for buying.

You need an email list. I know, I know, I sound like a broken record. But here’s why it matters for The Noise problem: The inbox is quiet.

When someone gets an email from you, they’re not scrolling past fifty other images. They’re not being distracted by a dancing cat. They’re just sitting there, in their weird little digital space, and you’re talking to them.

It’s not loud. It’s not crowded. It’s one-on-one. It’s the only place left where you can actually be heard.

Practical Tip: Put a sign-up link in your Instagram bio. Offer something simple. A wallpaper pack. A behind-the-scenes video. Just get them into your garage. Then you own the conversation.

2. Go Small To Go Deep

Here’s a radical thought: Stop trying to reach everyone. Also, try not to be for everyone.

The algorithm wants mass appeal. Mass appeal is death for art. You don’t need a million followers. You need a hundred real followers. A hundred people who actually care. A hundred people who would buy your work, share your work, defend your work.

Find your hundred. Talk to them. Not at them. To them.

Practical Tip: Reply to every comment. Every single one. Not with a canned “thanks!” but with a real response. Ask questions. Build relationships. The algorithm rewards engagement, sure, but more importantly, you build a community. And a community of a hundred is worth more than a crowd of ten thousand bots.

3. Be Boring. Consistently Boring.

This sounds like terrible advice, right? In the world of flashy trends and viral dances, be boring?

Here’s what I mean: The most successful artists I know don’t chase trends. They just show up. Every week. Same time. Same place. Posting their work. Sharing their process. Being themselves.

It’s not exciting. It’s not viral. But it builds trust. And trust is what sells art.

Practical Tip: Pick one day a week. Call it “Studio Sunday” or “Work-in-Progress Wednesday.” Post something on that day, every week. A sketch. A photo of your messy desk. A half-finished thing. Just show up. People will start to expect it. They’ll look forward to it. You become a reliable presence in the chaos.

4. Sell The Story, Not Just The Image

Remember the sad clown fighting the robot? That painting. You could just post a photo of it. Or you could post a video of you sketching it, talking about why you made it, what you were feeling, why the robot has sad eyes too.

People buy art because they connect with it. They connect with you. The story is the bridge.

Practical Tip: When you post a piece, write a caption like you’re talking to a friend. Not a press release. “I made this during a weird week. I was thinking about my dad. The robot is maybe me. I don’t know. Anyway, it’s available if anyone wants it.” That’s it. That’s the whole thing. It’s honest. It’s human. It cuts through The Noise.

5. Get Off The Platform (Sometimes)

Here’s the most important one. For your sanity. For your art.

Turn it off.

The Noise will always be there. The algorithm will always be hungry. But you? You have work to do. Real work. The kind that happens with your hands, not your phone.

Practical Tip: Schedule your social media. Fifteen minutes in the morning. Fifteen minutes at night. The rest of the day? The phone goes in another room. You make art. You live your life. You have experiences that will actually give you something to make art about.

Because if you spend all your time trying to be seen, what are you going to show them when they finally look?

The Bottom Line

Look, I’m not saying ignore the platforms entirely. They’re tools. Use them. But don’t let them use you.

The Noise is real. It’s overwhelming. It’s designed to make you feel small. But here’s the secret they don’t want you to know:

The people who matter will find you. Not through the algorithm. Through the cracks. Through the quiet moments. Through the email list. Through the consistent work. Through the honest story.

You made it this far. You’re an artist in a world that doesn’t make it easy. That alone means you’ve got something.

Now get out of the mall. Go to your studio. Make something.

And for God’s sake, stop dancing for the algorithm. You look ridiculous. I would know. I’ve done way more ridiculous things for way less.

Alright. I’m done. I gotta go feed my dog. They don’t care about my follower count, and honestly, that’s why I trust them.

---

Practical Tips Recap (For the Skimmers):

• Build your garage: Start an email list. It’s the only quiet place left .
• Find your hundred: Focus on deep connections, not wide reach .
• Be boringly consistent: Show up on the same day every week. Build trust .
• Sell the story: Share the “why” behind the work. That’s the hook .
• Log off: Protect your creative time from the algorithm. It’s a tool, not a master .

---

I grace the internet here twice a week at least, with strategies & advice for the creatives who hate to market, or the creatives who just want to market effectively. It’s ideas, tools, strategies to make you a successful marketer so you can spend more time being creative. That’s what we need right now: less marketers and more creatives. You can subscribe to the blog and get notifications (that magic box below – no spam), and/or you can do me a solid and buy me a coffee for being here for over two years giving away my pearls of wisdom. Yeah, I’m selling at you, right now.