I went to the Picasso 1932 exhibition at the Tate Modern yesterday: an astounding compilation of works by the giant of modern art, from a particularly prolific time in his career. I was blown away by the art, and the fact that I had the opportunity to see the original works in the flesh.

Like so many Londoners, I am originally from somewhere else, and I am keenly aware that living in this city has afforded me opportunities to see, hear and experience so much more than I otherwise would have. From an exhibition of original Leonardo da Vinci drawings and a massive retrospective of Matisse’s cutouts, to performances of Elgar in the Royal Albert Hall and a live concert by Alanis Morisette at the Eventim Apollo, over the years I’ve been lucky to enjoy a formidable array of arts and cultural experiences.

The richness and variety hasn’t waned over the years, but what I have seen is the rise and rise of people experiencing these joys through their mobile phones: recording live events and photographing artwork.

At one point, as I made my way through the Picasso exhibition, there were more people snapping pics of the artworks and labels, than those not. What’s more, it seemed that most were stopping long enough just to take a photo, and moving on to the next artwork, without lingering to give the paintings much consideration.

Of course, I don’t believe it’s my place to dictate how people choose to engage with art (some might like to give each painting a lot of thought; others prefer to have a more fluid walk-through of an exhibition). And, if you read other articles on my website or see my Instagram feed, you’ll see I am certainly not innocent of the crime of snapping shots of artwork or recording music concerts.

Nonetheless, this trend – to be a videographer of our own lives – is a worrying and sad one. It speaks of a generation, or several generations (because yesterday’s snapping of art wasn’t limited to a single age group) either so afraid of missing out, or feeling compelled to keep a record of their every experience.

Here’s the thing: if the fear is of missing out, or missing something, then the mental focus that’s placed on recording the event – shooting a video of your favourite musical artist perform, or photographing artworks in the Tate – means we’re not in the moment, and not fully experiencing it. We will, ironically, be missing out.

If the obsession is with making a record of what we’ve done, seen, heard, tasted, experienced: well then, most of what we’ll be left with is a slightly grainy video, or a photo that just doesn’t do the original much justice.

Also, who this record is for, is an entirely separate can of worms. I doubt many of us go through all the photos and videos on our phones and enjoy these events retrospectively. And no, no-one on Facebook – except maybe your parents, but even that’s pushing it – cares as much as you do about the record you have made of your amazing evening at the Rolling Stones concert, or the photos you took at the Damien Hirst exhibition.

Why not just live in the moment? Why not put the phone away? We won’t be missing out if we do so. I’m as guilty of this as the next person, but the sight of so many people living through their phones was a moment of revelation.

Let’s try to limit ourselves to a maximum of 3 photos or 30 seconds of video, and then put the phone away. And then, you can enjoy the concert – be embraced by the beat and the bass – or see (really see) the artwork: get up close to it, pick out the brushstrokes, and take a moment to let the art speak to you – in whichever way it chooses to.