There was a time when fame had standards. You either earned it through excellence — or you forced your way into it through notoriety. The former could get you into newspapers and the occasional magazine feature, and, if you were patient, a Doordarshan primetime slot, too. Infamy, on the other hand, also demanded effort. Not your everyday pickpocketing or chain snatching — no, that wouldn’t suffice. It had to be imaginative, chilling and memorable. Fame, in that era, was conferred. Not claimed.
Then came social media, and with it, a remarkable reform: the complete removal of entry requirements. Today, anyone can be famous. Or at least, feel famous — which, in many cases, is close enough. You can post a video about your smelly socks after a long day and find an audience that not only watches, but engages, debates, and possibly forms factions. From impromptu kitchen dances to full-blown domestic squabbles, nothing is too trivial or too private to be broadcast.
And yet, to be fair, this new system has one undeniable virtue: access. For the first time, visibility is not controlled by gatekeepers. You no longer need to pass auditions, face repeated rejection, or wait to be “discovered”. A smartphone and a reasonably stable data plan will do. The stage is open. The audience is waiting. Which makes one wonder — if the doors to visibility are wide open, why does art still feel like a closed room? If access has expanded so dramatically, why hasn’t meaningful engagement with art grown alongside it?
The reason is simple — while we have made fame accessible, we have not made art familiar. Our relationship with art, as a country, is brief and ceremonial. It begins in childhood with a few enthusiastic attempts at drawing two hills, one sun, and a bird that looks like it has been permanently startled. By the time serious academics arrive, art is quietly shown the door. Once the life-altering board exams are announced, creativity is packed up and stored indefinitely. Adulthood does not help. We grow into efficient professionals who can navigate spreadsheets, deadlines, and traffic — but feel vaguely out of place in an art gallery. Art becomes something other people understand. We are left with little familiarity, and therefore little curiosity for it.
If we want a culture that truly engages with art, the change must begin in schools. Art cannot remain an afterthought; it must stand alongside subjects like mathematics and science. The solution lies in rethinking education. Children should learn art history, visit museums, and understand that art is not decoration — it is expression, perspective, and, occasionally, protest.
This familiarity will breed confidence. When people feel at ease with art, they are more likely to engage with it. The same platforms that amplify trivial content could just as easily normalise artistic exploration. People might begin to share their attempts at painting without hesitation, not because they are skilled, but because they are unafraid. We already live in a world where people dance without knowing how to dance. The day people paint without knowing how to paint — without hesitation, without intimidation — we might finally have made art accessible, too. Until then, fame will remain easy. Art, strangely, will not.
