Egor Sokolov

photography’s real gift is slowness. The act of framing forces you to notice. Not just what’s in front of you, but what’s been there all along. It’s the pause between breaths, the quiet recognition that this, whatever this is, will never happen again.

Even the language has gone stale. We don’t talk about portfolios or bodies of work or essays anymore. We talk about content. That word... sterilized, corporate, utterly devoid of soul, is the final nail in the coffin. “Content” doesn’t demand you to think or to feel; it demands you to engage. It’s not meant to last. It’s meant to loop.

We’ve reduced wonder to a footnote.

A brand is a cage you decorate yourself. Once you build it, you spend the rest of your career making sure the world doesn’t notice the bars.

We post because the algorithm likes it when we appear human. Vulnerability has become content. Even sadness has a brand palette now. Muted tones, diffused light, a caption about burnout. You’re not allowed to have a breakdown anymore unless it’s photogenic.

Art, by nature, is supposed to be reckless. It’s supposed to make you uncomfortable, make you question something, even piss you off a little. But risk doesn’t trend well. Risk doesn’t get saved, shared, or reinterpreted into brand collaborations. So we self-censor. We trim the fat, smooth the flaws, kill the chaos. We sand down the edges until the... See more

The algorithm is like a moody god, it demands sacrifice. You give it your best work, your time, your sleep, your joy, and in return, it offers you a few fleeting seconds of attention. Then it forgets you exist.

The number of likes has become a kind of digital rosary, a way to pray for validation while pretending we’re above it.

Instagram didn’t kill photography. It just franchised it. Turned the quiet craft of seeing into a 24-hour buffet of self-promotion and emotional fast food. Everyone got a camera, a platform, and a craving for attention. What used to be an art of observation became an industry of performance.