Life at the RCA: Finding your research voice

I developed a taste for caffeine after I started at the RCA. That’s sort of a mischaracterisation. I started drinking coffee regularly once I moved to London. It’s part of the lifeblood of the city, maybe more so than tea. Every artisan, financier, public servant, and bartender takes time in the hustle and bustle of London life to sit with their friends, professional or otherwise, for a cup of coffee. Coffee has become a moment of meditation before the real work starts, or a moment for communication when working stands still. Even at this moment, when I pause the difficult process of writing my thesis’s theory chapter, I sit beside the dregs of an ice-cold latte.

That option, of contemplation or camaraderie, I’ve learned at the RCA is the core struggle of my thesis. I moved to London from “sunny” California, having received my MFA from the eccentric UC Santa Cruz, to the RCA’s particular niche of contemplation and camaraderie. Were the unfamiliar quirks exclusive to this institution or English institutions writ large? Were the struggles ones I experienced in isolation, or also felt by my cohort? Was the enduring process of academic inquiry that exists in doctorate study more daunting than MFA study because of my own shortcomings, or a misinterpretation of what doctorate study entails?

And so began the series of coffees had with advisors, with cohorts, with strangers, all to puzzle out these questions of philosophy. The excuse to chat as one journeys to the various cafes of Kensington, Battersea, and White City became the backdrop for understanding the RCA’s history and potential futures. These chats became moments of shared dismay over the state of our writing submitted for review, or the joys of a newly produced exhibition. And in this, I found my thesis. Social theatre, the balance of community and understanding of the self through communication. Chats with advisors became jaunty debates on the blend of theorists and pop culture. With other students, the chats were hotbeds for exploration of new methodologies and London living. Chats with strangers became distilled lectures on the RCA’s freedom for radical study.

I am almost two years into a roughly three and a half year degree. The first year seems to take the same trajectory for everyone: a spiral into niche topics that catch whimsy, followed by the dawning realization that 99% of that research will be abandoned. You will find the core somewhere in that exploration, but will spend your second year trying desperately to articulate it. While I’m full-time, convincing myself that I should treat this degree as such requires a severe amount of discipline and scheduling. Often, it is the accountability I find in my cohort that makes me show up to our shared workroom, even if we keep wildly different hours.

Now that I’ve worked through the growing pains of imposter syndrome and locational foreignness, I must remind myself that while getting lost in the sauce of making or research, ultimately, I must be able to write it down.