where it's at

I'm almost done with social media.

Murder, rape, and suicide are broadcast live, and stalking, trolling, and bullying are par-for-the-course. Whacko conspiracy theories and lies abound and spread in an instant, engendering paranoia, if not hysteria and harm. The gullible, uninformed and misinformed are manipulated, and innocent people victimised. Greed, idiocy, heartlessness and narcissism are lionised.

Then there's the advertising, and obscene revenues made from selling users' data. And the ridiculously shallow 'recommended' posts, friends, news, etc. based on algorithms that really don't account for the complexity of being a thoughful, compassionate human. It's so insidious as to make any sane person opt out—many of my friends have, and I envy them for it. I'd prefer to have no part of it.

In fact, I wouldn't at all be surprised if in the future I remove my presence entirely from each of the platforms I'm party to. But for now, I'll barely maintain accounts for what is possibly the most inane reason: the art world expects it (read any arts grant or prize 'terms and conditions' if you need proof of that expectation). And already I feel a great sense of relief and freeing-up of time better spent doing more of what I enjoy most. Living!

In praise of living, I leave my dedicated readers with some images I recorded over Easter in Tasmania. I hope they might inspire those who've never visited to consider doing so, and those who've already enjoyed its many splendours to plan a return journey...