Instagram as Louvre of our age

Living in Paris in the 19th and early 20th centuries near the Louvre was almost like having Instagram in your pocket today. In a way, it was easier for those in the past because you could always demonstratively stroll away from the Louvre, while today, you can't easily rid yourself of Instagram.

It would be correct to think of it as a privilege to be a leisurely stroll away from the rich heritage of world art and inspiration gathered in one place, which we can find in museums like the Louvre in Paris, the National Gallery in London, the Museo del Prado in Madrid, or any similar institution where centuries-old masterpieces of painting instill complexes. Equally so, it is a privilege today to have instant and comprehensive access to current displays of design, architecture, fashion, art, and other visual content on a small device. However, instead of satisfaction and inspiration, this content often brings anxiety and dissatisfaction.

As things have always been the same throughout history, this situation is no different. Some of the best and most successful artists, like Pissarro, Gauguin, Picasso, Braque, or Duchamp, did not find their happiness and excitement in the Louvre, but quite the opposite. At certain moments in their lives, they probably would have preferred the Louvre to burn to the ground. Not because they were vandals, but because their encounter with magnificent examples of art from the past made them feel less worthy and their creative attempts seem insufficient and pathetic.

Similarly, today, instead of being a source of novelty and diversion, Instagram casts clouds of doubt over the creative work of artists, mocks the wardrobes of girls, makes living rooms look unsightly, and makes neighbouring cafes deadly dull. Little by little, the category of ‘instagrammable’ becomes a criterion for private clients and the ultimate goal of designers, artists, architects, or photographers, indirectly signifying success.

The London agency Handsome Frank, which gathers some of today's best illustrators, organised an internal annual dinner for them to network and review the beautiful moments of their business collaboration. However, the agency owners were surprised to realize how some of these, although selected, best illustrators were saddened by the number of likes on their work, or rather by the fact that the virtual palace of Instagram did not showcase them in its most attractive wing.

And while a magazine can afford to seek illustrations that the Instagram algorithm favours most, and while it may be financially feasible (though not justified) for some to adapt their wardrobe to ‘it’ Instagram pieces, problems arise when ‘instagrammable’ becomes a criterion in shaping spaces, which requires hundreds and thousands of various amounts of money, whether it's a private living space or hospitality, retail or service spaces that should last for years.

Arthur de Menezes & Six N. Five

In addition to the seasonal imposition of always new and more beautiful materials and obsessions with the Pantone colour of the year, on the cover of the latest issue of Frame magazine, there are computer graphics, or a rendered depiction of a 'holographic' chair, by the Argentine studio Six N. Five and designer Arthur de Menezes, which Instagram has plundered with likes. But even the headline on the cover asks: Buy, Rent, or Render? because transferring the seasonality of the fashion industry into the more tangible world of furniture and architecture is financially unsustainable and gradually makes people visually insensitive. Too often, serving up the 'new' ceases to make it interesting and worthy of anticipation. The magazine also poses the question: What happens when an investor wants exactly that chair from Instagram in their home or business environment, when in reality, it's just deceptive computer graphics?

And while the digital world of design offers an outlet and a means to fulfill the desires of those who create, what can we offer to those for whom the same is done or who at least dream about such purchases? How can we convince them that the pink terrazzo kitchen countertop, as seductive as it may be this year, will become tiresome next year? The answer lies in shaping our spaces with meaning and significance for ourselves, rather than succumbing to what currently entices us on social media. Lessons from the past are offered by those who came before us and mourned for magnificent door handles and grandiose ceilings. What are images of expensive seasonal interiors and nonexistent spatial fantasies for us? These were images of opulence that most could only see in museums or noble homes a hundred years ago.

The Feast in the House of Levi, Paolo Veronese

In his essay from the early 20th century, Marcel Proust writes about a gloomy and dissatisfied young Parisian bourgeois who, sitting at the table after lunch, disappointingly observes the knife on the nondescript kitchen table, the poorly cooked cutlet, and the half-unfolded tablecloth. In the background his mother is knitting, and on the sideboard, a cat curls up next to a bottle of brandy reserved for special occasions. The everydayness of such a scene was in conflict with the tastes and desires of the young man. He envied bankers whose homes were richly decorated down to the smallest details, such as tongs for coal next to the fireplace and shiny relief doorknobs. To avoid the dreariness of his own home and deepen his agony, he could have further exacerbated it by going to the Louvre, where he could feast his eyes on Veronese's paintings of grand palaces, Claude's Renaissance arches, and Van Dyck's images of refined princely life. In short, he sought pleasure in the very same paintings that, had they been created today, would hang on Instagram rather than in the Louvre.

Seaport in Sunset, Claude Lorrain

As a remedy for the troubles of the young bourgeois, Proust advises only a small change in visiting the museum, towards that wing where equally valuable paintings celebrate the beauty of everyday situations. He advises him to unfollow the @veronese_official and @lifeofvandykc profiles, while revealing to him the observation of beauty through the eyes of Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin.

Basket with Wild Strawberries, Jean-Baptiste Chardin

Chardin shares with us through his paintings a fascination with bowls of fruit, pitchers and glasses, slices of bread, knives, and kitchen utensils. When it came to people, his models rarely did anything unusual to envy — they read books, built card towers, or just brought baskets from the market. By observing the beautiful in the everyday and unobtrusive, Chardin places on an equal pedestal what is familiar and attainable, while others elevate scenes that are distant and grandiose.

And returning to the present, the grandiose and distant seem so only because we do not see them every day, but through the small window of a numbing screen.