/reader

Micro.blog Studio adds longer video hosting for your blog, with uploads up to 20 minutes. You can read some of the technical bits here. It can automatically copy videos to PeerTube and Bluesky too.

I'm pretty happy with this lineup and think it will serve us well for many years without changes. The standard plan was $5 when it launched in 2017, and it remains that price today, but it is wildly more capable than it was back then. It's unusual for blog hosting to stay the same price for so long. Feedbin comes to mind as another blog-adjacent service that has stuck to a flat $5 price seemingly forever.

I think of Studio as a new 1.0 product built into the larger Micro.blog platform. We have much more we plan to add to this in the future, including for podcasts. You can imagine new web-based podcast recording and editing, so that podcasting is more accessible to people, as well as an update to our companion app Wavelength.

Thanks everyone for your support, especially the folks who have upgraded to Studio even if they aren't sure they will use it much yet! As we approach the holidays and the year winds down, I'm excited about what more we can build for the open web heading into 2026.

 

I’ve been drawing comfort from the way established artists will typically vanish for a while and suddenly re-appear with a fully-formed new body of work.

By established artists, I mean those with the freedom to work without constant pressure to create content. Some musicians, for example, face demands from record labels to maintain a social media presence, and I recognise that many artists rely on platforms to reach audiences or support their practice. The artists I’m thinking of are typically more financially secure or supported by thoughtful patrons or labels.

Unlike “content creators” whose primary motivation is constant sharing, established artists typically present work only when it’s complete: resolved, coherent, and finished. A visual artist emerges from isolation to announce an exhibition; a musician returns with a new album. They might also present a book or video documenting their process or offering context, but only once the work is done.

I find it inspiring that in the time between idea and completion, they don’t waste energy on “engagement.” Few dilute their focus by leaving the primary headspace to stitch together reels or strategise social media posts. Beyond a certain level of experience, you don’t hear demos or see preliminary sketches. They don’t spend a week scripting and filming a YouTube episode (which means your soul isn’t crushed by hearing them remind you to like or subscribe).

They stay focused, they do the work, they trust themselves to follow the process and arrive at the thing.

If there is any in-progress material, it tends to follow after the main work has launched. You might only see photos of their studio during interviews. There are exceptions, of course — among the people I follow it’s primarily visual artists — who share ideas and process almost daily, which can be truly delightful. But what’s key is that they don’t feel obligated to do this. When they do share, it’s on their own terms, at their own pace, and because they derive genuine value from it — it nourishes their creative process in some meaningful way. I don’t get any sense of craving attention or bumping stats.

This has been on my mind as I’ve been working on multiple things over the last year, including lots of visual art strands alongside my music projects. I’m incredibly excited about how it’s all going, but I’ve shared barely anything anywhere.

Over the past year or so, I’ve found comfort in realising that it’s OK to just shut myself away from the Internet and get stuff done. It’s encouraging me to return to how I worked in the ’90s: staying focused and largely private, journaling primarily for myself, and simply doing the work. If something meaningful happens, I can share it when everything’s truly ready.

Thinking about my approach to design and music, I’ve developed some unconventional approaches to bringing ideas to life, devising processes that others might find fascinating. I’ve often considered making YouTube videos or setting up a Patreon or Bandcamp subscription tier, but I know these would divert precious time and energy from my actual creative work. (There are other reasons not to do it, which I won’t delve into now.)

As I’ve noted on several occasions, I’m thoroughly worn out by social networks and have been for many years now. I occasionally find myself keen to share something, and when I do, I almost immediately regret it, feeling that nobody saw it or cared; I tend to feel that I’m out on some weird limb, frustrating those who followed me for CSS workarounds twenty years ago. And so I retreat again.

And it’s probably just as well. If I start viewing my art and music work as “content,” I’ll lose my way. I might miss opportunities, but what would they really be? I don’t want to be dictated to by a record label; it’s better to remain independent and in control of every detail rather than trade autonomy for reach. And as much as I enjoy performing live, I don’t seek invites to play shows right now. And I don’t desire to inflate any metrics. That said, I’d absolutely love to compose a soundtrack, and there’s always that nagging feeling that it is worth sharing things because you never know who might see them.

While drafting this, I read an interview with artist KMRU on the always excellent Ableton blog, which digs into lots of related issues. I especially liked the intro:

“Sharing music comes with a certain kind of vulnerability. When we release our work, we put our creative judgment on the line, opening ourselves to scrutiny, interpretation, and critique… what if music, for you, is something quieter, more inward-facing, a slow and uncertain process grounded in emotion, or a simple need to make sense of the world? / In today’s era of constant content, that tension can be especially acute. Sharing music often means navigating an online ecosystem that rewards consistency, visibility, and momentum, qualities that don’t always align with the texture of the work itself.”

The texture of the work. Wow.

So, anyway. I have learned that I simply cannot grift. At least, not while work is in progress. I’ll continue posting things here, when it helps me — I recently shared reflections on my summer activity and a deep interview about field recording, and I have something more specific about the work to publish soon — but I’ll share on my terms, not as part of a strategy. I like to write about my process because composing my thoughts helps me understand it, but I prefer to keep the work itself private until it’s ready.

Few will care about any of this, and that’s fine because this is me being me, for myself, like I was pre-Internet. Pre social media. Pre “content,” pre metrics.

When my next project is complete, I’ll give it the public support it needs: accompanying material, a book, deep explanations and so on. Until then, I’ll have my head down — exploring, expanding, and doing the work.

Reply via email