TURPS EDITORIAL
London Art Students Now: Year three painting undergraduates Rohena West and Erin Lewins discuss the current state of the ‘art school idyll’.
Erin Lewins: With social media there’s this overload of choice and opportunity, you could literally (and some people expect you to) just message a gallery directly. Things are at your fingertips but feel so out of reach. I was having a conversation before Christmas with two college friends about the difference between painting and drawing (as processes, regardless of medium), which is at least a bit analogous to this topic. We thought that drawing, as an activity, tends to open a direct path between the mind and the marks made by the hand. Painting could (for the sake of argument) refer to a longer process: surface prepared, composition considered, colours chosen. In that gap in time, between the idea of a painting and its manifestation, confusion occurs; in my peripheral vision, a friend’s colourful palette can catch my attention, flaring brightly and briefly eclipsing the evasive idea I’ve been glimpsing through the undergrowth of my subconscious for weeks. Ideally, this moment of comparison, inevitable in shared university studios, shouldn’t become a constant state of mind for a young artist. For most of my peers I’ve spoken to, however, social media has claimed a new role in the conception of their work. In the past, art colleges were the epitome of group collaboration and collective drive. Currently, my own experience (corroborated with those of my friends) is characterised by a hyper-awareness of being observed. Coffee and cigarette breaks are filled with online reminders of the great work and all-round uniqueness of other artists, both friends and strangers. The subtle ingenuity of our own ideas is too often intercepted by the public development of other peoples’ creative identities on social media platforms.
A lot of people might relate to the accessibility of drawing and painting... There’s always bits of paper around, but times are rough with the cost of living and finances are stressful! I feel really reserved to start a painting unless I know what it’s going to be. The cost of living has a huge impact; our generation craves security. On my hierarchy of needs, art is up there, but I’m not going to sacrifice a comfortable place to live and my own wellbeing to make artwork. In second year, I was working four days a week which resulted in not having regular studio time because I couldn’t come in as much as I wanted to.
Rohena West: And then I guess you almost have to catch up the lost time in third year, expediting your creative process. The studio of any London art college is strange in its anticipated, versus actual, functioning reality. A studio environment is generally considered to be an unproblematic and socially ‘complete’ space, especially within a liberal city that encourages qualities of inclusivity and progression. Amongst the issues that cloud what it means to be a young artist today, emerging out of university, generosity becomes an important antidote. This doesn’t just mean sharing resources or including one another in group exhibitions but mutually forging a solid base where emotional reassurance takes place, where we pitch our boldest ideas and allow for our unsettling doubts. As my friends and I approach graduation, I’ve discovered that the art world loses its bite when I look back over three years and remember whose tracks are alongside mine. Within the discourse surrounding sexism, a tutor reminded us of the wider need for generosity within a group of artists. A common theme was male students claiming bigger studio spaces and showing a reluctance to share ideas, creating mutually beneficial relationships that often-excluded female students. This dynamic also arose in technical processes such as stretching a canvas, some students ‘taking over’ another’s project. The solution isn’t to blame our male friends personally for this, but neither is it to deflect the cause of these dynamics onto an oversubscribed course (which only exacerbates such already-present issues).
Our tutors are often confused by the lack of ‘rambunctiousness’ and activity in the studios, reminiscing about their art school experience as resembling a sort of lively ancient Greek parliament or something. But I think the sheer size of our course, which is clearly oversubscribed, leads to a disconnect and a decrease in familiarity between students. The pandemic, while unifying our experience, hit us on the brink of our transition into adulthood, creating a sense of individualism. There’s an underlying sentiment of ‘even if you’re my friend, you’re my competition’ which people don’t talk about because it’s uncomfortable.
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