Everything flows

A few more steps and then I'm there. I'm in the stairwell to an evening art school named 'Freie Kunstakademie Frankfurt' to get some fresh inspiration.

The academy, which emerged from the former 'Städelschule', offers evening courses every semester. Every weekday there is a varied programme with courses of all kinds, at an unbeatable price-performance ratio.

The decision was made when I was once again sitting alone in my studio and didn't know how to start. I had produced a few sketches in my 100-day project that seemed promising – with colour and fineliner in my art journal. This is something that has appealed to me for years: the combination of drawing and painting. But it seemed like it was jinxed, I couldn't get into it, inwardly resisted switching from pen to brush, couldn't make any headway.

Now I'm here, I open the door and find myself in one of the two painting rooms. It is already bustling with activity. Tables and easels are being moved, brushes unpacked, glasses of water filled. I find a seat and start to unpack my materials and tools.

Friederike Walter, deputy instructor for the first lesson, says a few words and then makes her rounds. When it's my turn, I show her my art journal, tell her how much I'd like to make something like this bigger and explain my concerns about why it won't work. Her simple and equally brilliant answer is: "Try it!" As daft as it sounds, I needed that nudge. So I stop wasting my time and get started.

I've brought various papers with me and start by working with acrylic, spreading colour over several sheets and creating a base. While I wait for the paint to dry, I stroll through the rows, look around and exchange ideas with the others. I then return to my A2 sheets, select one and apply the fineliner. Exactly – the fineliner, not a brush. As in the sketchbook, I let myself be guided by the traces of colour, let the lines of the pen flow with the brushstrokes, let myself be guided by the random irregularities.

My lines emphasise some things and leave others uncommented, consolidate some structures and not others. The familiar drawing with the pencil is easy for me, I am immediately in the flow, lose myself in the picture. And I remember something that another artist once said to me: "Do more of what comes easily to you! Put as much energy into it as you do into the things you can't do!" Much quicker than I thought, I get the feeling: Hey, this could work!

Fast forward to the end of the semester: in one of the last lessons, we present our work to each other. Because I like to inspire my fellow students, I lay out my series chronologically on the floor: starting with my art journal, continuing with the first big attempts and ending with the later, more complex motifs. It's easy to see how one thing led to another. I can read it in the faces of the viewers: We understand it. We see where it comes from, how the idea has matured, how the next works arise organically.

I get a lot of positive feedback. On the technique, on the progress, on the depth of detail. Everyone seems to see something different in the pictures – a dragon, a city, a battle, a dance.

We excitedly discuss where else the journey could take us. This exchange – and that with the actual course instructor, Suzanne Wild – results in a whole list of further ideas that I would like to work on. I have the feeling that the stream of ideas for this project will continue to flow for quite some time.

But the special thing about the end of the semester is not the work that lies in front of me. Rather, it's the feeling that I didn't have to do it alone, that my image of being a lonely artist isn't necessarily true. That there are places and opportunities to exchange ideas and grow together, to create a creative environment – even for solo projects. And if it's just one person telling you: try it out!