There persists an question in my own heart, and I suspect it exists in the heart of many people who write, take pictures, make art, compose music, or do any of countless creative roles in our world: when does art become content? And when does content become art?

The reality of creating in this digital world shaped by the algorithms is that a huge chunk of the audience for many creative people has moved online. Sure, there are still festivals and printed books and galleries, but it certainly seems like the vast majority of opportunities and places to perform and share one’s work is online.

…but this leaves in its wake a small problem of defining purpose.

For example, I write here, I post photos here, I design an experience here. This site where you are (presumably) reading these words (or at least where I intended you to read these words) is not primarily a content shop. I don’t post advertising. I don’t “leverage clout” for clicks. I don’t write this for influence or fame or profit. It is something of a creative effort of sharing and activist art—in the broadest sense of my personal feelings about it, at least.

But I do generate social media posts to promote it, and yeah, it swirls around in an ecosystem of similar writing, videos, memes, books, and podcasts that are often ad-supported, monetization-focused works of content. A lot of other people do this specifically as an effort to make money from it—it’s not some feel-good art project, think-piece abstraction notion like what I tend to hold in my own head about what I make.

And bluntly, the difference probably only exists in my own head—and heart.

But even in there, it begs a question: what is the difference, where is the line between art and content, and can anything muddled into the mess of the algorithmic-centred internet be something besides?