In this column, six young visual artists who graduated from an art school in the Netherlands in 2024 write letters to each other telling how starting their lives as visual artists is going for them and what they are working on. Taking turns, one of the six artists writes to the others what is on his or her mind. When everyone has had their turn, a second round follows, so that after a few months we as readers have an idea of how things have progressed. The artists participating in this column are: Donna van Oorschot, Esmée Pattipeilohy, Marta Ramirez, Renske Tiemersma and Sam Maske.
At the bottom of each letter, a question is always posed to you, our reader, with the idea that you could share your professional experiences by way of advice with your new colleagues. We greatly appreciate every response! Comments can be sent to redactie@bk-info.nl
Dear Readers,
It has now been over six months since I graduated from St. Joost in Den Bosch, which feels both shorter and longer. The entire fourth year of study I had a kind of plaguing little voice in the back of my head. The little voice pressed me to cherish that time, because what already graduated acquaintances from previous years told me would surely be true. 'After graduation, you come into a hole,' they said. They had already experienced it, so then it had to be true.
Now, of course, there is such a thing as selffulfilling prophecies, that when you expect the worst, the situation plays out as expected, perhaps by your own hand. Yet they were right, for the safe spheres of the academy turned out to be place- and person-specific after all, and the awesome beauty of autonomous art also turned out to be its loneliness. Suddenly I didn't have to clock in anywhere, the only person keeping track of my attendance and absences was me, and there were no more e-mails telling me what had to be handed in and when in which online environment. 'Wonderful' some say, 'horrible' others say. For me, it varies daily.
Being a graduate and the freedom that comes with it offered me full days of making in my studio. In July, August and September, I worked intensively here to create work for my first group exhibition since graduation. This exhibition: RE:CAST in Museum Maluku in The Hague was a superfi ne experience for me. In terms of subject matter, it fit very well with my graduation work and my further practice. Given that in terms of timing this was so directly linked to the graduation show, it was seamless. As a result, the gap was still a little long.
Suddenly I didn't have to clock in anywhere
The next few months, however, were all about standing still and trying to put the puzzle pieces back together. I moved back to Amsterdam, where in my childhood home I kept coming face to face with my former self and all its struggles. I could suddenly make nothing, take nothing in. The music was off, as it were. As I write this, I have my own place to live again and a nice part-time job. Being able to stand on my own two feet, in the broadest sense, proves time and again to be fundamental: to be able to create, to observe.
Sometimes the freedom of being a graduate is too much for me, too. Actually, it was quite nice to have to work hard, to be able to finish lists and be challenged. I miss the effortless contact with my classmates, making parallel, staying longer and eating together. I miss walking a bit together towards the station, making coffee in the morning with sleepy eyes in the little kitchen on the studio floor where we weren't actually allowed to put a kettle.
Of course, this all sounds much more romantic than it probably really was, but with lack comes rose-colored glasses. I think it will be all right in the end, I am slowly beginning to feel like making things again and so things will work themselves out. I have to do it all myself now, no by the way, I may do it all myself now.
Sometimes the freedom of being a graduate is too much for me, too
During these gray days I sometimes forget, in all the melancholy, that graduation was something I was ready for. It was time for the next step. Whether this step will be back or forth, I don't know yet. Maybe it's a walking route, maybe it's a tango, I'll be curious. For now, not knowing is enough, in any case it's wonderful that my hands are itching again. The rest will come later, the music is back on.
My question: how do you guys make sure the music keeps going?
Love,
Esmée Pattipeilohy
English 
Dutch