Fascination with Poetry

Recently, whenever I scroll through TikTok and Instagram, there seems to be an explosion of poetry. As a poetry lover, I can’t help but stop. Most of the time, however, I can’t help but feel disappointed by what I’m reading. 

On one hand, I think it’s awesome that poetry is starting to become popular on social media. These platforms finally give a voice to folks who might not have otherwise had the chance to share their work with such wide audiences. Poetry is reaching completely new communities that traditional methods never could. Without having to submit poetry to a magazine or publisher, a person can now communicate their deepest thoughts and potentially resonate powerfully with thousands of people around the globe.

At the same time, though, some of the poems I’ve seen don’t quite seem like what I typically consider poetry. Most are very brief, sometimes just one line or a plain statement formatted like a stanza. And they usually focus on relatable emotions or everyday experiences, which is great, but sometimes they seem to lack the imagery, craft, and depth I associate with true poetry. I would quote some of these poems, but I don’t want to look as though I’m targeting or bullying anyone. Instead, I would like to focus on the overall trends that I am noticing with GenZ poetry. 

I also catch myself thinking that maybe tastes have evolved since my formative years took shape. Perhaps what really resonates today is different than what connected with past generations. We take in information at warp speed in this modern age, so possibly bite-sized creative expressions suit our fast-paced lifestyles better. Maybe poetry doesn’t need to follow old conventions to still mean something.

I may be clinging too rigidly to outdated notions of what poetry demands. After all, art naturally shifts over time as each new generation puts their own spin on it. These social media poems might simply be opening the door for more self-expression and human connection. They could even serve as a starting point for some to explore richer poetic works.

In the end, I think it’s important to appreciate both the positives as well as limitations of this trend. There’s value in all forms of creativity, even if they defy tradition. Maybe the healthiest approach is keeping an open mind and continuing to experience poetry in both new and old forms alike. That way we can truly gain from the full spectrum it offers in our digital world.

Work of W. Benjamin

Recently, I’ve been fascinated by an essay called “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” by Walter Benjamin. Even though it was published back in 1936, so many of his ideas really resonated with me and seemed just as applicable today. Benjamin explores how technological advances impact art, a subject that’s always interested me.

He talks about how reproduction methods like printing photographs or duplicating paintings essentially change the way we experience and value the originals. One of the key concepts Benjamin brings up is the idea of an artwork’s “aura”—that unique charisma and authenticity tied to its history and singular existence in a certain place and time. According to him, when art gets mechanically copied, it loses that aura because duplicates can’t capture what makes the original special.

This loss affects our relationship with art since there’s less of a linkage to a specific moment or place. As someone who loves visiting museums and feeling a connection to pieces through learning their whole journey, I understand why looking at a piece in a book or on Google images can be less of an experience. At the same time, Benjamin also points out how reproduction makes art accessible to more people who wouldn’t otherwise have the chance to see it. That wider spread of culture is definitely valuable.

Still, he argues it could weaken how deeply we engage if everything’s so effortlessly available. Indeed, Benjamin essentially anticipates what we do online now, when we scroll through an infinite reel of art (or images or videos or music) without registering any of its meaning or impact. Another thought-provoking point was how mechanically copying art shifts its purpose from ritualistic uses to political messaging and mass communication. That can empower communities but perhaps has drawbacks if it’s manipulated.

Overall, reading Benjamin made me look more closely at technology’s impact on art. He prompts important discussions about what we gain and lose when reproduction becomes so simple. Certainly, access grows, yet there are valid concerns about losing art’s capacity to spark intimate, individual connections. His perspective inspired new insights into how I experience visual culture moving forward in this modern world.

Lee’s “From Line”

Lee Ufan’s From Line series are simple yet highly evocative paintings. Each painting shows vertical lines that start boldly at the top of the canvas before gradually fading out as they move downward.  

Lee Ufan created his artwork during Mono-ha, a popular movement in the 20th Century that influenced both Korean and Japanese artists. Mono-ha tended to focus on the relationship between natural and industrial materials. In contrast, Lee’s From Line series pivots away from this concern and instead seems to meditate on the very nature of painting itself. By repeatedly drawing those gradual lines, Lee makes the viewer conscious of the artist’s hand, the brush, the paint, and the surface he is working on.

What always fascinated me the most was how the fading of the lines seemed to represent the inevitable passing of time and the impermanence of all things. As the brush ran out of paint, the line grew lighter and lighter until disappearing completely. This simple reality reminded me that everything is temporary and forever changing. The sparse simplicity of the lines encouraged me to think about even greater ideas, like how small actions can reflect profound truths about life.  

Lee’s work was also clearly connected to philosophies of Eastern traditions like Zen Buddhism, which valued serenity and presence of mind—things I aspire to learn as a young person. The blank spaces on the canvas were just as meaningful as the lines themselves. They created a sense of equilibrium and invited me to slow down and truly experience the current moment. It was like the paintings were calmly nudging me to stop rushing around so much and really see what was right there in front of me.

In a world that constantly bombards one’s senses, Lee Ufan’s minimal “From Line” series offered me a peaceful escape. The spare approach stripped away unnecessary clutter and encouraged me to appreciate the basic elements of any artwork: the line, the movement, the space. It showed me that art didn’t need complexity to be meaningful—a lesson that will always stay with me.

These paintings inspired me to consider the connections between simple acts and profoundly consequential ideas. They reminded me to take a moment every once in a while, to observe and reflect on myself and the world unfolding around me. I’ll always be grateful for that calming invitation to mindfulness that Lee Ufan’s work first extended to me.