Resist the information bubble
Falling into an information bubble feels safe.
It's comforting and validating, but the cost is high.
I believe it limits perspectives, stunts intellectual growth, and ultimately dulls creativity.
To stay sharp, I consistently seek out opposing views and fresh perspectives, even when they challenge me.
Growth comes from discomfort—stepping beyond what’s familiar and risking being wrong.
My advice?
Stay curious, stay open, and never settle into echo chambers.
Technical jargon is a barrier to entry
The onchain world, like many fields, is filled with buzzwords such as "NFTs," "L2", and another insider language like "ERC-721," which can feel alienating to those outside the loop.
It's tempting to use complex terms that resonate within the community, but these words can feel confusing and exclusive.
Swan Sit, the former Global Head of Digital Marketing at Nike, agrees it’s time to move beyond jargon and communicate in ways that connect with the average consumer.
Using technical or niche language can push people away, creating barriers that limit engagement.
This tech isn't just for insiders; it’s for everyone. Over a year ago, I posted:
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And I still believe that to be the case. To truly connect with a broader audience, we need to make this space—and how we talk about it—accessible.
Clear communication is key.
Instead of focusing on industry terms, speak about the impact and how it resonates with the human experience.
Use simple language and relatable examples that invite everyone into the conversation.
This is about connection.
By speaking plainly and openly, you break down walls for the average consumer to engage with the space in a deeper way.
Locked inside an invisible cage
Web3 platforms are often hailed as a means to empower artists by decentralizing control and removing traditional gatekeepers.
Yet, many artists find themselves facing a new set of challenges.
Instead of dealing with more conventional intermediaries, they navigate the intricacies of blockchain tech, cryptocurrencies, and smart contracts, which can be equally opaque.
Artists feed these platforms with their work but are often subject to fluctuating token values, evolving platform rules, and governance systems that lack transparency.
While Web3 platforms hold the promise of greater autonomy, many artists are still wrestling with the complexities of understanding and controlling how their work is distributed, priced, or monetized.
Despite the promise of freedom, many artists find themselves with limited influence over how their work is discovered or how royalties are structured on Web3 platforms.
These platforms can feel like an invisible cage, where artists contribute to the system's success but have little control over the forces shaping their careers.
Stop tipping artists in valueless memecoins
Continuing the conversation from my recent posts about Warpcast, I want to write about a key issue: the tipping meta and how it impacts artists, especially when tips come in tokens of little value.
Let me be clear—I’m not against tipping culture. In fact, I appreciate tips and encourage them. But if you value my content, tip me in something that holds real value: USD, BTC, ETH—not a memecoin you received for free because that just feels cheap.
The main problem with tipping these types of tokens is that it shifts the focus away from genuine appreciation for the art and turns it into a memecoin moneyball game. Instead of supporting creators based on their work, users are more concerned with earning and spending these coins, treating tipping as a vapid economic exchange rather than a reflection of true engagement. This dynamic erodes the connection between artist and collector, diluting the value of the artists work itself.
It’s similar to the "free mint" issue that collectors often mention. When something costs nothing, they perceive it as having little value. The same applies to tipping with free tokens: If there's no cost to the tip, what does that say about how much the tipper truly values the content? Even though these tips are appreciated, they don’t carry the weight of true support or interest in the artist’s work. Instead, they risk devaluing the effort and creativity that went into the content.
While tipping speculative tokens might offer short-term excitement, it’s not a sustainable way to build a thriving creator economy. The argument for tipping is often that it introduces new audiences to the creator's work and provides a sense of community. But it doesn’t foster long-lasting relationships between artists and their supporters in the long run. It’s more of a quick thrill, but over time, it weakens the integrity of the artist/collector relationship and the true value of the work.
At its core, tipping should reflect a genuine interest in the artist's work. Using free, speculative tokens turns art into a transactional act, reducing it to an exchange rather than an appreciation of creativity. Creators want their work to be valued for what it represents, not reduced to part of a token-flipping game. This is why I suggest tipping in more stable currencies like ETH, BTC, or USD—because it shows that the person tipping genuinely values the artist and isn’t just speculating. For instance, if an artist receives a significant tip in Bitcion, it can not only provided financial support but also a sense of validation for their work.
This memecoin tipping culture also contributes to a broader issue: the reduction of meaningful engagement. Instead of fostering "multi-user discussions" and deeper conversations, we’re seeing more broadcast-style posts, where users are focused on rewards rather than building connections. This shift toward transactional interactions further reduces the depth of engagement between artists and their audiences.
Ultimately, we should to rethink how we support creators. Real support means treating their work as valuable and offering tips in currencies that reflect true interest, rather than relying on free tokens. A more meaningful way to engage—similar to tipping—is by collecting content. For example, you can collect these articles on Paragraph (see the footer below) or my podcast episodes on Pods, both of which cost about the same as most tips but reward creators with ETH, thanks to the efficiency of Layer 2 networks and low transaction fees.
Builder’s Paradise or Artist’s Dilemma?
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on an ongoing discussion I've been having about Warpcast's direction and its appeal—or lack thereof—to visual artists. What strikes me is that many of the artists leaving aren’t new to crypto culture or Web3. They’re experienced creators, fully immersed in the space, and their departure signals a deeper issue: a misalignment between what Warpcast offers and what these creatives need.
The heart of this issue seems to be Warpcast’s developer-heavy culture. The platform’s focus on technical discussions and building features can be a barrier for many artists. It’s not that developers actively exclude others, but the space naturally prioritizes what resonates with builders and coders. This creates an environment where those who don’t fit that mold—especially artists—feel left on the margins.
A conversation I had with @matthew highlights this dynamic. He suggested that most people on Warpcast probably aren’t interested in scrolling through a feed full of AI-driven art, comparing it to how niche dev-focused content can feel. [1] What struck me was how quickly AI art became the reference point in these debates, as if that’s the primary type of creative work the platform associates with. But this reflects a broader challenge: Warpcast’s hyper-niche, builder-centric focus unintentionally sidelines artists who don’t fit into this tech-first narrative.
Beyond this, the type of collectors on the platform also adds complexity. Most collectors here are what I’d call “builder-collectors”—they’re more interested in the technology behind the art than the art itself. This makes it tough for visual artists, especially those who aren’t developers, to thrive in this environment. The frustration expressed by others around "AI-generated slop" [2] and free mint frames only intensifies the debate about what it means to be an artist in Web3. The line between tech innovation and creative expression feels increasingly blurred, and for some, that tension creates more frustration than opportunity.
Still, there are missed opportunities here. As @niftytime.eth pointed out, Warpcast offers one of the best digital art collecting experiences, particularly with features like in-frame purchasing. Yet, this strength seems underutilized. [3] The platform has the potential to be a great space for digital artists, but the current focus on tech-driven conversations means these creative possibilities are often overlooked or lost in the noise.
A perspective from @proxystudio.eth recently highlighted another layer to this issue: it’s unrealistic to expect every artist on Warpcast—a small, niche network—to find a sustainable audience. Given the current state of the NFT market and the limits of the patronage model, this makes sense. [4] However, the deeper concern is that artists who have tried engaging with the platform often find it too transactional—focused more on tipping than on fostering genuine interaction. And when creators who understand the tech still decide to leave, it signals a need for a broader conversation about what kind of experience the platform is actually providing.
This leads to the bigger question: should Warpcast remain a niche network for developers, or should it aim for broader adoption? Some users have already voiced concerns about the platform’s shrinking user base, hinting that its current trajectory might not be sustainable. [5] If the goal is long-term growth, then attracting a more diverse user base—including artists—should be part of the strategy.
One potential solution might be to explore offering different experiences within the Farcaster protocol. If builders prefer to stay on the Warpcast client, perhaps a separate, artist-focused client can be developed. This would provide creatives with a space that better suits their needs while still being part of the broader Farcaster ecosystem. A tailored environment could allow both builders and artists to thrive without feeling out of place.
The real challenge seems to be how to bridge the gap between these two groups. Artists like @jake and @sgt-sl8termelon,who are deeply engaged with both the technical and creative aspects of the platform, provide a great example of how this can work. But the question remains: can the Farcaster ecosystem evolve to create an environment where artists who aren’t as technically inclined still feel at home?
Content curation could also play a role here. As I mentioned in the conversation, the current system may be contributing to this divide. [5] More refined onchain curation could help tailor content and bring non-AI artists back into the fold. But whether the Farcaster community wants that is still unclear.
At this point, Warpcast, the preeminent Farcaster client, is at a crossroads. Its unique features and strong developer community are undeniable assets, but they could also be limiting its growth. The exodus of artists—especially those who understand the tech but still choose to leave—shouldn’t be ignored. One commenter put it perfectly, “If artists aren’t feeling at home, it’s a sign the platform isn’t meeting their needs. Building for users is always about balance.” [7]
Ultimately, Warpcast's creators have to decide whether to double down on its identity as a builder’s paradise or evolve into a more inclusive space that attracts a wider range of creators. And the way the community navigates this balance will shape its future success. What remains clear is that the tension between technical innovation and creative expression will be pivotal in determining where Warpcast goes next.
Note:
Being better doesn't guarantee widespread adoption
In the world of technology, being the best doesn’t always mean you’ll win. History contains examples where superior tech lost out to more accessible, affordable, or well-marketed alternatives. It’s a phenomenon often called the “Betamax effect,” where the better product gets left behind for reasons that have little to do with its technical merits.
Take the classic Betamax vs. VHS battle. Betamax had better video quality, but VHS offered longer recording times and a more aggressive licensing strategy. The result? VHS dominated the market, while Betamax faded into obscurity.
Another example is the QWERTY keyboard. It’s inefficient compared to the Dvorak layout, which was designed to reduce finger movement and increase typing speed. Yet, QWERTY became the standard—thanks to its early widespread adoption—making it nearly impossible for the technically superior Dvorak to break through.
Even modern examples show that better tech doesn’t always win. Blu-ray vs. HD DVD: both formats offered high-definition video, but Blu-ray came out on top, largely due to stronger backing from major studios and better marketing. The technology was similar, but Blu-ray had the momentum.
Then there’s Windows vs. Macintosh. Early Macs were often considered more user-friendly and innovative, but Windows’ business partnerships and affordability gave it a much larger slice of the market. Microsoft won, not because of better design but because of better distribution and pricing.
I think we’re seeing the same situation between decentralized social media protocols like Farcaster and centralized giants like X. While Farcaster offers innovative features like in-frame purchasing and censorship resistance, they often miss key opportunities to engage users in meaningful ways. In contrast, centralized platforms like X succeed by focusing on simplicity and delivering what users need at scale.
These cases highlight a simple truth: adoption is driven by more than just being technically superior. Things like network effects, pricing, market timing, and partnerships can make or break a product.
Sometimes, being better helps, but it’s not enough on its own. In the end, the market just doesn’t always care.
Understanding pioneers
Pioneers in any field are trailblazers, venturing into uncharted territory with little more than vision and determination.
They face skepticism, technical hurdles, and the challenge of defining what’s possible.
Their efforts lay the foundation for future advancements, and their legacy echoes through every new development that follows.
It’s natural for pioneers to feel a mix of pride, nostalgia, and even envy as newer generations rise to prominence.
These feelings are valid—human responses to rapid change.
Recognizing and honoring these emotions is important, but they shouldn't overshadow the shared progress that comes from building on past achievements.
As new technologies and movements gain traction, it’s easy for pioneers to fear their contributions will be forgotten.
Yet, progress doesn’t erase the past; it builds upon it.
Each new wave of innovation is a testament to the groundwork laid by those who came first, and their influence remains woven into the fabric of every new discovery.
Choosing the right edition type
Choosing between Open Editions, Limited Editions, and 1/1 artworks goes beyond numbers—it's a strategic choice that affects both the artist and the collector.
Open Editions (OE) make art more accessible, allowing a wider audience to engage with it. In the digital age, where network effects play a significant role, having thousands of collectors support a single piece can help it reach millions. By offering OEs, artists can tap into a broader community, creating a sense of shared ownership and connection.
Limited Editions (LE) strike a balance between accessibility and exclusivity. With a set number of copies, each piece is usually numbered, adding a sense of scarcity and urgency. The LE format appeals to collectors who want something special without the exclusivity of a 1/1, and it can increase in value over time.
1/1 Artworks cater to collectors who value exclusivity and uniqueness. Owning a 1/1 means holding something truly one-of-a-kind, which can significantly drive up the artwork's perceived value and desirability.
I believe artists should carefully consider how these different formats align with their creative vision and the kind of experience they want to offer their collectors.
AI is our collective responsibility
AI is rapidly reshaping our world, altering how we think, create, and engage with technology. What began as a niche pursuit in the 1970s has grown into a central force, sparking critical debates about the nature of intelligence, creativity, and ethics.
As AI capabilities evolve, so do the questions surrounding its impact. The ongoing discussions about Artificial General Intelligence (AGI) aren't just about pushing technological boundaries; they’re about redefining our understanding of intelligence itself.
Our responsibility extends beyond developing AI technologies—we must guide its growth thoughtfully. Ensuring that AI aligns with our values is crucial, as it can enhance rather than overshadow our creative and technological pursuits. The focus shouldn’t just be on what AI can achieve, but on how we direct its impact to benefit society as a whole.
Ultimately, AI’s success will be measured by how well it reflects our shared principles, amplifying our creative and intellectual potential while safeguarding the human element at its core.
Resistance is futile
Back when I was working in book publishing, I saw firsthand how technology reshaped the industry. In 2006, blogging and social media started to disrupt traditional publishing. Authors were nervous—worried about stolen ideas, lost writing time, and losing focus on their craft. But those who adapted quickly discovered something important: engaging with readers through new platforms only amplified their visibility.
Social media, ebooks, and podcasts didn’t replace the writing process; they enhanced it. Authors who embraced these tools became more than just writers; they became part of a community, sharing their journey and building anticipation for their work. Readers, publishers, and agents all paid more attention to those who were active online.
Today’s artists face a similar crossroads. You can resist new technology or use it to connect with your audience in meaningful ways. Just as the publishing industry learned, embracing digital tools doesn’t detract from the art—it deepens the relationship between creator and audience.
The digital art space is complex, but mastering these new tools can set you apart. Art is evolving, and so must you. Resistance is futile—adapt, connect, and let your work resonate in the digital world.