I was delighted to attend the private view of Wolfgang Tillmans’ mid-career show 2017 at Tate Modern this week. An exhibition on an epic scale, it covers 14 rooms and nearly 25 years of his work. The photographs on display include portraiture, landscape and intimate still lifes. (You can read more about it in the Guardian’s review.)

I photographed quite a few of Tillmans’ pieces on my phone, including a huge close-up photograph of his friend’s backside and testicles. I posted a picture of this, along with others, to my Instagram account, and also shared it from there to Facebook.

Facebook didn’t even upload my post. Instead I got an instant message saying: “We removed the content that was posted because it doesn’t follow the Facebook community guidelines.”

Instagram is apparently a little more relaxed, as my post happily stayed up there all day yesterday. It got quite a few “likes” from my followers, most of whom I know personally, and who, I genuinely believe, were reacting to this as a depiction of an artwork in the context of Tillmans’ well-known practice.

However, towards the end of the afternoon one of my followers, someone I do not know in the real world, decided to let me know how upset she was: “Not really happy this came up on my feed. In fact I find it downright offensive. I’m so sick and tired of being bombarded with sexual imagery when there is so much more out there that is aesthetically and visually pleasing. I’m so sorry but this is not art. Signed sincerely annoyed!!”

I replied saying she could please feel free to unfollow me. A few hours later the post was removed from my feed. I didn’t really have any problem with her comment: while I obviously did not agree with it, she is entitled to her opinion – although I do question why she did not just simply unfollow me, if she did not want to see the images I post.

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Had I had the energy, I could have entered into a lively debate on the role of art in challenging societal values and affecting social change, pointing out that this was an artwork by someone known for very personal responses to cultural attitudes about gender and sexuality in his practice; or perhaps how this piece engaged me with what I perceived as a very moving vulnerability; or maybe even that I found her use of an artist’s palette emoji while trying to communicate that this was not “art” quite frankly offensive in itself.

However, I was more surprised that Instagram saw fit to remove an image that was clearly of a work of art, in-situ, in a gallery. It is pictured in a frame, on a wall, and there are even reflections from the gallery lights on the glass. This points to an increasingly popular culture of the fear of offence, not only by corporations, whose very popularity and success lie in the dissemination of the visual image in many forms, but by the audiences of these pictures too.

While she didn’t particularly 'want to see a ball sack on a wet Wednesday, hey-ho, that is equality'

As one person commented, we are bombarded every day with images of women’s boobs and bottoms, and these aren’t all removed from Instagram. And while she didn’t particularly “want to see a ball sack on a wet Wednesday, hey-ho, that is equality”. Another pointed out that as around half the population have them, he didn’t see the problem with seeing some testicles on his feed.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘If people are indeed offended, is this not in fact the start of a dialogue where interesting, enlightening and necessary conversation may take place?’ Photograph: Emma Blau/Instagram

As Ricky Gervais said in a Twitter post last year: “Everyone has the right to be offended. Everyone has the right to offend. But no one has the right to never be offended.”

When did this assumption that everyone has a right to never be offended take precedence? If people are indeed offended, is this not in fact the start of a dialogue where interesting, enlightening and necessary conversation may take place? Why should disagreement be treated as an opportunity to shut down any debate from the off?

But then, are we surprised at this growing culture of outrage when almost two thirds (63%) of university students believe the NUS is right to have a “no platforming” policy, which includes individual unions and student groups having the right to decide whom they ban from speaking?

This idea that we have some intrinsic “right to be comfortable” at all times makes me highly uncomfortable. And I am heartened by the fact that I am not the only one. Many people have been in touch with me to say that they cannot believe Instagram has removed my picture.

Interestingly, I took a screenshot of the original, deleted Instagram post and put it up on Facebook instead, where it has yet to be taken down. Perhaps someone out there is not afraid of a little healthy debate after all.