Surviving Art School in Hamburg
First of all, I have to say, I didn’t exactly survive my time at the University of Fine Arts in Hamburg. Yes, I’m still alive, writing this, but I didn’t leave there with a shining degree in hand. Instead, I had a wide brimmed hat on to conceal the fact that it was me leaving. I’m not saying that art school in general cannot be a very beneficial experience for some people, but after two years, I had enough. Now, in the two years that I did spend there, I witnessed a lot of stuff that would be unimaginable anywhere else. It was its own little micro cosmos: From the good old “Is this art or does this go in the bin” problem to questionable art performances first thing in the morning, there was a little bit of everything. University is crazy enough anywhere, but throw a bunch of weird art kids in the mix, and you end up having a memorable, if maybe not all that enjoyable time.
Once, for example, two people I knew decided to rent out our studio on Airbnb. To fully understand the implications of this, I need to tell you what said studio was like. It was a big, airy room with large windows, where about 18 students had set up their work stations. We all had constant access to this studio and after a while, next to empty milk cartons, cigarette stubs, beer bottles and bowls with unidentifiable leftovers in them, a big, dirty old mattress appeared in the middle of the room. You’d come in in the middle of the day, wanting to work on your painting, and find someone passed out on that mattress, still in last night’s clothing, cuddled up under a fire blanket. There was always a smell in the air consisting of turpentine, red wine and food waste. At night, you could hear music blasting from just about everywhere, while the scent of not all that legal substances permeated the air.
This studio then was what people decided to rent out online. The point of the whole thing, I still have not completely understood – they didn’t keep the money, in any case – and two innocent girls from Eastern Europe, who’d seen the flattering pictures that had been posted and didn’t speak good enough German or English to realize what they were getting themselves into, appeared on the doorstep. Apparently they ended up partying with some of the people who happened to be working there at the time, but I am sure the smell at least makes them remember their trip to Hamburg in a slightly different light.
Another thing that was remarkable about that certain school were the parties. There were some quite famous people teaching there, but you hardly ever saw them – one of the Professors lived in LA and had to be flown to Germany once a fortnight, for instance. The parties, then, gave everyone an opportunity to catch a glimpse of their chosen idol, looking at all the artwork people had come up with, and downing drinks like the infamous “skinny bitch” – vodka with water. Parties at that school were a bit like entering wonderland; you never knew what to expect behind each door and who you’d meet. The parties, most of the time, coincided with the exhibitions, and those were truly something else. Distinguishing between art and dirt became especially difficult during those times. To get to our studio for example, we had to take a lift. Once, about a week before the biggest exhibition of the year, I entered the lift, tiredly (there were never any classes before 10am, since the professors needed their beauty sleep, too, but still) and discovered a big handwritten sign that had been stuck to the mirror inside: “I’ve pissed in the lift. Please don’t clean it up.” After looking down and spotting a suspicious looking stain on the ground, I decided to take the stairs from then on.
Stuff like this happened all the time and while I’m certainly happy to be out of that place, I am thankful for the memories I have made there.
Photo’s Miriam’s own & https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=ART&safe=strict&rlz=1C1CHWA_enGB600GB6…