None of this was built when I was here. The whole back yard was a overgrown, charming garden of huge trees, wild grasses, interspersed with student built structures. I heard that some students camped out during the year, I don't doubt it.
Behind and below this part of the new, modern concrete structure was the old sculpture shed; nothing fancy. I remember a ramshackle, open ended room with two bins, one for plaster of Paris and the other, a tangle of wire to be used for armatures. One student worked on a continually changing, evolving piece the whole time I was there. I wonder if he went into the video game business because his wild animal forms would be a perfect match for mutant alien life forms.
I remember the old cafeteria which is probably hidden by the new concrete building. We would walk through a couple of rickety French doors onto the back yard. I was young and lost, working nights and getting no help on what to do with my life, how to make a living or how to continue being an artist. It was even more difficult in those pre-feminist days. But confusion and concern about the future are not limited to the 20 year old that I was in 1965. When I was leaving, a young man, having heard me tell my friend that it had been 40 years since I was here, asked me how I survived. I gave him a very abbreviated version of my life and how I paid the rent. He did not seem very optimistic about his future and was not too joyous about his experience at SFAI. The world is hard on artists and is probably going to get more so.