June 2025, Leipzig

“You are not a cancel victim, Ronja,” Gundula Schneider tells me from across the table. Her eyes are full of resentment, arms crossed, anger-fumes spiking through the air around her. Her wording activates a tide wave of feelings inside of me. Does Gundula Schneider really think that I think that I’m a “cancel victim?” Or does she think that that’s what I’m trying to portray myself as? And would that be a misunderstanding on her part, or a miscommunication from my side? And either way, what would it matter? My whole stick is to position myself as a confusingly ambiguous character. And since a while, it’s gotten completely out of my hands how people perceive me, which is even amusing to me at times. But my vain desire of being seen as someone who knows what she’s doing, someone who’s in control of the chaos she’s creating, is instantly disturbed by Gundula Schneider’s words: “You are not a cancel victim, Ronja.” Or is it the pedagogical way of adding my name to the end of the sentence that pisses me off the most? Not only do I feel mis-seen, I now also feel patronised by dry, administrative authorities. As I’m spinning through my own confusion, I turn my head to look at Connie Cox who’s sitting at the end of the small table, trying to moderate the confrontation between Gundula Schneider and I. She’s as always looking awake, calm and curious. As I feel my face heating up from my inner boiler room, I look back at Gundula Schneider while trying to remain calm. “I never said I was a cancel victim, Gundula,” I say.

A few hours ago, Connie Cox and Gundula Schneider had come to me as I was busy with my Man Disorder-photoshoot in the photo studio at the Academy of Fine Arts. I was lying in a small pile of men wearing tight, white undies saying “Art Whore” in pink lettering on their butts. B was behind the camera snapping away. “Can you come to my office later, please? We’d like to talk to you,” Gundula Schneider said standing in the doorway to the studio. Connie Cox was standing next to her, as usual vaping away, while looking at the scenario with a facial expression that was hard to interpret. “Sure, I’ll come down after the shoot,” I said with my head sticking out between hairy limbs and Art Whore - butts.

“In my 20 years long career of working in the administration of multiple universities across the country, I’ve never experienced anything like this!” Gundula Schneider agitatedly continues. “But Gundula, with all due respect, in that reel, I’m literally just telling what happened. I’m not lying, creating fiction or calling you out. I honestly don’t see what the big problem is,” I say, before Connie Cox calmly cuts in: “Listen, Ronja, there are certain laws one must follow. The wisest thing you can do now is to remove the reel from your Instagram account where you mention the two of us, otherwise we could actually sue you for breaking the law.” With Gundula Schneider silently fuming across from me, I think for a second, then say: “Okay, I will remove the reel from my account. Now, I have to think about how I act online moving forward. My Instagram platform is a very important part of my current research. A crucial part of The Project is the process, and the showing of the process. Reactions and interactions during my experiment become material. It’s not just about the finished piece, and the making of the finished piece is not a closed-off entity, it is an ongoing collaboration between real life and art. And Instagram provides me a platform in which I can tell my stories with immediacy,” I contemplate, ready to engage in a mind-bending dialogue with these two women. But it seems this is not that kind of talk. Gundula Schneider just looks at me like she has no idea what I’m talking about, and also no interest in finding out, whatsoever. “Ronja, art is not liberated from abiding to the law. I advice you to inform yourself on the law and act accordingly to it before you really get into trouble,” she says, her arms still crossed across her chest. Connie Cox inhales her vape, the room is filled with silent tension. I nod my head and observe Gundula Schneider’s frustration painted all over her face. “I feel defiled by your reel and the commentary on it. B deliberately called me a cunt and you didn’t remove that comment! Unbelievable!” she says, and I begin to understand the root of her aggressive reaction: she’s vain too.

It makes me think about something Lara Viper says about shame in a PASTINAK film.“I think vanity is a very strange human trait. It’s very close to shame. The shamefulness of people exposing you as a shell, or a vain character with vain desires. Vanity is an inherently ashamed, paranoid personality trait. At the same time, someone who’s vain wants to protect the world in which they can gratify their own vanity. Like a bubble they want to stay inside of. So the brief moment they admit their own vanity is like a safeguarding. So that the bubble, the world in which they can be vain, and comfortable, can continue to exist.” Watching this scene, Lara Viper’s words hit me hard, cause it was impossible for me to not mirror myself in them. And the rest of the world. Strange trait or not, vanity does seem to be a winning dynamic in the human experience. Not that being vain ever let to good things. But like chickens evolutionarily seem to be the most successful species in terms of quantity, vanity does seem to be one of the more successful human traits in terms of, well, the same: quantity. Vanity seems to have been spreading like a pandemic.

I snap out of my stream of thought. “I didn’t delete B’s comment, cause I think that if anyone should feel ashamed of themselves, it should be him. And I think everyone would be on your side. B calling you a cunt only reflects his own shortcomings. Not yours,” I say, but by the look on Gundula Schneider’s face, this issue is not up for debate. It seems the sole purpose of Gundula Schneider and Connie Cox pulling me down to their office is to teach me a lesson about laws and morality and have me delete that fucking reel. It’s such a pity. It was a really good reel. It generated 39 comments and 125 likes. That is quite a lot for a reel of over 5 minutes. And I look good in it. “That reel was completely unnecessary,” Gundula Schneider continues, still bursting with resentment. “I actually don’t think it was. Look where it got me: I got to meet the students behind the anonymous letter and we had a proper talk. I’m not sure whether that would have happened had I not reacted in my own way,” I say. “The email would have been enough!” Gundula Schneider almost yells. Connie Cox is side-eyeing her, but remaining calm.

The email Gundula Schneider is referring to, is one I wrote with My Professor to encourage the concerned students behind the anonymous letter to step forward and speak to me about their issues with myself, Horror House and our upcoming Unsafe Event. I’d sent the email to the entire university:

“Dear fellow students of the Academy of Fine Arts, I am Ronja Brainstorm, and I am curating an exhibition in the Festsaal on the 26th of July, titled The Unsafe Event. It has come to my knowledge that some of you students have anonymously sent a letter to Gundula Schneider, with a compilation of screen shots taken of my Instagram content, stating that what I’m communicating makes you feel “uncomfortable and scared,” and therefor you do not like that The Unsafe Event will take place at our university. I’d like to encourage the people who apparently have a problem with me and my work to speak to me directly. I am the one responsible here. And if for some reason, you do not want to speak to me, a good alternative would be my mentor on my project, My Professor. She is very well informed on my work and I trust her to speak for me. I am generally very open to have conversations and receive criticism. Some of you might have misconceptions of what it is that I’m doing, and I’m of course more than happy to clarify. I cannot clarify though, if I don’t know what exactly it is you’re reacting to. So here’s an idea: Let’s engage in dialogue with each other, instead of spreading rumours and weird vibes in our environment. I think we’ve seen enough of that as it is at our academy. What I can do now though, is tell you what will happen at The Unsafe Event: For my master project, I am experimenting with working as a hybrid between an artist and a curator. In doing so, I am inviting artists that I find interesting. Among those artists is the Amsterdam based artist collective Horror House and Jonathan Meese. What will happen at The Unsafe Event is the following: The event will take place on the 26th of July in the Festsaal. From 12-17, the exhibition will be open for visitors. Between 13-15 o’clock, the exhibiting artists will be present for the visitors to talk to them about their work. At 15.30 the Leipzig based rapper Mahouna will do a concert. From 18.30-23.30, there will be a performance variety show by different artists, including Horror House. Then from 23.30 there will be an afterparty with drinks and DJs. The whole show will reflect my own, individual artistic vision. You do not have to agree with me, or like me or my work, and I am forcing absolutely no one to attend The Unsafe Event or follow me on Instagram. But sneaking around and spreading misinformation and rumours and even profiling yourselves anonymously is not constructive or reasonable in any way. So if you have a problem with me and my work, here are two suggestions how you can deal with it: 1) You can contact me and engage in conversation with me (or My Professor). 2) You can stop engaging with what I do, by minding your own business and not attending The Unsafe Event. Lastly, if you feel uneasy about Horror House, you can also take a closer look at what they do via their website. I wish you a good day and hope for some interesting conversations soon :) Love from Ronja.”

It’s only been a few hours since I met the students behind the anonymous letter. And it hasn’t been more than a day since I got to read it. Having been clarified about the specific concerns in regards to The Unsafe Event, I’m feeling kind of silly how I thought anyone would be concerned about me. It was all about Horror House and their affiliation with Guy Bug, of course. I’ve, yet again, been confronted with my own self-centredness. And whereas I could also be feeling relieved about the news that no-one seemingly has a problem with me, I have to admit that I’m, for some reason, moreover feeling a bit disappointed.

“We can’t know if the email would have been sufficient enough or not, and it also seems a pointless discussion,” I say to Gundula Schneider and Connie Cox. “No matter what worked and how, I got to speak to the concerned students just this morning. And it was really good!” I say, then move my chair closer to the table so I can lean on it. “And the purpose of the reel was not solely to encourage dialogue and conversation. As I said before, I’m experimenting with putting the entire process of The Unsafe Event and The Project on display. That reel is currently a part of the artwork that is my life, a part of my artistic strategy,” I reflect, and point to the neon pink lettering on my chest saying “ART WHORE.” But by the look on Gundula Schneider’s and Connie Cox’ faces, I get the feeling that I should be wrapping this up instead of trying to turn this intervention into a thriving, stimulating conversation. I slowly lean in over the table towards Gundula Schneider. I look her straight into her eyes, while she’s still leaned back on her chair with her arms crossed across her chest. “Gundula, I’m very sorry I insulted you by naming you in my reel. And I’m sorry I didn’t remove B’s degrading comment. But I can assure you I will remove it all from the public eye as soon as I leave this meeting.” Gundula Schneider nods, still looking at me with furrowed brows. I take a breath and look at Connie Cox, “But right now everything that happens in my life is possible material for my work. And so is this meeting. So we have to come up with a solution how I can materialise these situations without defiling someone or ending up in a court case,” I say, and something in Gundula Schneider’s face softens. “You can start by researching on the German law,” she says. We shake hands and Connie Cox and I leave Gundula Schneider’s office.

“You can come with me to my office,” Connie Cox says out in the hallway. She’s in a surprisingly friendly demeanour and I’m curious to hear what she might have to say without Gundula Schneider sitting next to her. “Sure,” I say and follow Connie Cox through the door to her big, bright office. We sit down at her desk and she pours me a glass of sparkling water. “I actually think Gundula’s is bit of an overreaction,” Connie Cox says smiling at me. She puts a new filter tip in her vape and clicks. “I honestly thought your reel was kind of funny,” she adds. Thank god. Finally someone who understands my humour. I feel my tense chest warming up a bit. “Thanks for saying that, though it was unnecessary and stupid of me to say her name out loud,” I say and take a sip of my water. “If I’d known how much it would affect her, I’d just called her “the administration” or come up with a pseudonym or something for her. Then I could have also kept my reel online,” I say, rolling my eyes at myself, giggling.

Back in the corridor, I bump into B. He’s been called down to Gundula Schneider’s office as well because of his fatal comment. We hug tightly and I smell his warm, sun-kissed neck. “Are you ready to be grounded?” I whisper in his ear with his arms around my waist. “What happened?” he asks, and we go sit in a window frame and light up our cigarettes. “I think Connie Cox is really cool though, she said she thought my reel was funny, and that Gundula Schneider is overreacting,” I tell B at the end of my tale. He looks sceptical. “I don’t trust Connie Cox,” he says blowing smoke. “When she came to pull me aside earlier, she said that that reel was terrible,” he says. “Don’t you think she meant that your comment was terrible?” I ask. “I mean, calling an older woman a “cunt”, babes, not cool,” I say, smiling at my problematic love in front of me. “No, she specifically meant the reel,” B says with an energy around him that I can’t quite recognise. He seems oddly scared, and I don’t recall having seen him like this before. “Hey,” I say and try to catch B’s gaze with mine. He looks up and for seconds that feel like a vacuum, our eyes are locked. He’s paler than usual and he seems sort of in despair. I don’t really get it. “Just apologise sincerely and be nice, it’s simple,” I say, still not really understanding why B’s demeanour is suddenly turning the situation much worse than I think it is. “I don’t want to apologise,” he says, and I throw my cigarette bud to the ground. “It would suit you though,” I say, kiss his forehead and leave.