University of Wasteminster – part II

This university should be nominated for the Turner Prize. A new genre of modern art has been skillfully crafted here.

The Zone gallery is only the beginning. In the back corridors and unfrequented open spaces off the Street, there is a never-ending source of artistic genius.

On the walk down towards the station, just before the subway, there is a classic example. An inspired person has constructed a series of concrete, fenced off areas which do not appear to have a purpose.

To the untrained eye they appear to be a complete waste of space and money.

But I disagree. Padlocking a waist high fence with nothing inside it provides a deep and philosophical insight into the rest of this university.

You only have to look on the surface to find more of these astounding art-mocking-life-mocking-art situations.

There is a space behind J block where a wayward 20 minutes can be spent admiring the quality of student the University of Wasteminster spits out.

The student who spent time constructing a car wreck which is too large to be removed from the space by anything other than a helicopter, should be given a degree merely on the strength of this piece of scrap metal.

Alongside this lies a pile of everything I ever misplaced. Everything and the kitchen sink. And a giant toilet to throw it all in.

The university has surpassed itself by supplying the tools an average University of Westminster student needs to complete their degree. A giant abacus is pride of place in the most essential of university spaces.

Also sharing the spotlight is a shed. It is highly in demand because it has been booked out for the last two months. It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to taking my Mac in there for a quick session.

Oh well, back to the J block. I will have to settle with the art that adorns the corridors outside the news rooms. Wedgewood should recruit the ceramic master whose pieces threaten to take my eye out every time I take a tea break.

You know, the ones that make the wall look like a pubescent teenager’s ravaged face.

As summer draws near and the office gets sweatier, I am lifted from my misery by the garden room outside the second floor of the library. One day it might have actual students occupying those wooden benches.

The architectural splendor of this university offers many a wondrous construction. In testament to the Pompidou Centre in Paris, we have our own set of outside staircases.

I would enjoy talking to the person whose idea it was to build a staircase that doesn’t go anywhere. Always useful. Perhaps the university could explain what time, money and effort was spent on that divine idea.

Or perhaps it was another charitable gift made to this centre of academic genius.

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