Two Artist Encounters: Legend / Local
A few years ago, something subtle shifted in my Instagram feed.
For some reason, the algorithm finally decided that I was “an artist.” And once it made that decision, it committed. My feed filled up with creators from all over the world: people making wildly intricate, deeply thoughtful, often mind-blowing work. Ceramics. Illustration. Film. Book arts. Things I didn’t even have language for yet.
One day, I stopped on a video of a woman pressing flowers into handmade books. Every page felt alive, delicate, intentional, tactile. It hit this perfect intersection of things I love: the natural world, physical craft, and the quiet mindfulness of making something by hand.
And with a flick of my finger, I was in her world.
She was somewhere very far away—Russia, I think. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was this: I had instant access to her work. Her process. Her finished pieces. Her entire artistic universe.
And with another flick of my finger, I could move on.
Which, of course, I did.
Not because it wasn’t meaningful, but because that’s what the platform is designed for.
And somewhere in that moment, a thought crept in: this is amazing… and also kind of strange.
Because while I was watching a stranger across the world make beautiful books, I have a friend right here in my own community who teaches book arts.
I’ve taken classes from Geoff Davis more than once.
I’ve sat across the table from him, folding pages, stitching bindings, talking about process and life and why any of us feel the need to make things at all.
And yet, on that day, I was seemingly more connected to someone thousands of miles away than to someone I could see this weekend.
That’s the juxtaposition.
Not right vs. wrong.
But something worth noticing and discerning.
The Top of Everest… from our couch?
I shared this experience with a coworker once and he immediately recalled a clip he’d seen from a late-night interview with an actor talking about scrolling through Instagram and seeing a photo from the top of Mount Everest.
Here’s the clip:
His reaction wasn’t inspiration.
It was frustration.
He said something along the lines of:
“Why do I, while sitting on my couch, get to see what the top of Mount Everest looks like?”
Someone trained for years. Risked their life. Climbed to one of the most inaccessible places on Earth.
And I experience it with a half-second glance… before moving on to the next thing.
It’s not that access is bad.
It’s that access without effort can flatten meaning.
It turns the extraordinary into just… another post.
Meeting a Legend
And then, within the span of a week, I had two experiences that brought this idea out of the internet and into real life.
My wife and I are big Disney fans, so when Tony Baxter, an official Disney Legend, was appearing at Walt Disney World, we made a plan.
Disney Legend Tony Baxter, along with me and my amazing wife at Epcot.
He was selling and signing artwork.
We showed up.
We waited in line.
And eventually, we stood in front of someone whose work had shaped entire environments that millions of people have experienced.
We got to talk with him briefly. Ask a couple of questions. Shake his hand. Walk away with signed canvases that now hang on our wall.
It was, without question, a special moment.
The kind of moment that feels like it could come up in conversation down the road (also known as a humblebrag).
Recognizing the Local
And then, about a week later, I had another moment.
I met up with a local artist, Adam Reed, who lives right down the street from us.
He’s done work for Disney. He currently designs for one of their licensors. He’s created Disney-themed Hot Wheels cars—actual products you can find sitting on shelves in stores.
Adam Reed and me - genuinely amazed that I now own a Goofy Hot Wheels car that he designed.
In fact, my wife had already bought one without having a clue that he was the designer.
So I went out, tracked another one down (the Goofy-themed car), and asked him to sign the package.
And here’s what struck me:
Adam comes into our coffee shop almost every weekend.
I’ve watched his family grow.
His daughter will happily oblige when I ask her what sound a goat makes.
We’ve had the kind of small, human interactions that don’t feel like “fan moments.”
They just feel like life.
I’ll never have that with Tony Baxter.
And that’s okay.
Because they’re not the same thing.
But we live in a world that constantly nudges us to treat them like they are.
Or worse, to actually prioritize the distant over the present.
And again, this isn’t a rejection of global inspiration.
It’s incredible that we can see artists from around the world. Learn from them. Be inspired by them. Support them.
That’s a gift. But it comes with a tradeoff:
If we’re not extremely careful, this system will train us to overlook the equally meaningful, often more relational, creativity happening right in front of us.
So maybe the takeaway isn’t to choose one over the other. Maybe it’s just to keep them in perspective.
To let global inspiration expand our imagination… without letting it monopolize our attention.
Because sometimes the most meaningful creative experience isn’t the one that the algorithm determined will impress you most.
It’s the neighbor who leaves a lasting impression.
And very likely, that’s the one worth the most attention.
Next Steps:
🧠 Think about it - When do you actually feel the most inspired - when you’re online or in person? How can you create more structure around how you’re inspired the most?
💬 Talk about it - Who’s someone in your community that we could pay a bit more attention to? I’d love to meet one of your inspirations!
👉 Sign up for the email list to get each new Juxtapost in your inbox. Don’t let the algorithms decide whether or not you’ll see the next one.
