https://www.ft.com/content/86b76229-bd48-4c07-8c8f-3b0cbf340a55
It was an historic campus. He imagined the days when his hero walked through the same doors, down the same corridors. “Art School”. The very words were old fashioned but so powerful. He was following in the footsteps of the greats. There were ghosts. He knew the stories, those who had come before and discovered their voices, their style, broken new ground, taken on the Man. Been feted and banned. Worked with the great teachers. This was hallowed ground for him. He felt creative the moment he set foot inside. He looked around the studio and logged into the AI.