Like an orgasm. Very exciting and rebellious. This is how it felt for journalism students when Herman Brood pimped ‘their’ training building in Tilburg in 1996 with an eight by three meter long mural. In exchange for a thousand guilders and two bottles of liquor. “Suddenly he was here. That was unreal.”
Unknown to the general public, but engraved on the minds of thousands of former journalism students. Since 1996, a life-size mural has adorned the auditorium of the building where the university of journalism in Tilburg is located. The program will move next year and the Herman Brood artwork will remain behind. But how did it actually get there? A jump back in time, based on the memories of five witnesses.
It was actually a joke that got out of hand, says Danny Braks. She interviewed Herman Brood with her former fellow student Anne-Fleur Pel. They sat opposite the flamboyant artist in a smoky cafe in Rotterdam for a round of questions. But first have a chat and a few games of bullying. Only then interview, that’s what Brood wanted.
The women wanted to know why Brood also sold his works through Wehkamp. Because the general public should also see the paintings, he thought. “Would you rather paint my room or the auditorium of our training?” Anne-Fleur blurted out. Soon they shoved a napkin under his nose, as if on a contract, to immortalize the answer. Brood promised to inaugurate the auditorium of the then new training building for a thousand guilders (450 euros) and two bottles of liquor. Below that is his manager’s phone number.
Danny: “We called him to keep Brood to our agreement. “He often promises such things to young women. He probably doesn’t remember,” he said. But after a week we spoke to him again. “Herman knows still likes it and wants to come by.’ We were perplexed.”
It happened during the May holiday. Brood came to Tilburg by public transport, but was not on the agreed train. After a search, Danny and Anne-Fleur found him with a beer in a bar opposite the station. After they took him to the Academy of Journalism and Information, Brood went raging. Dozens of students watched, cigarettes lit and bottles of beer in hand.
Brood would not be Brood if he single-handedly stretched the agreements made at that time. Using a limited area of wall? Not for him. And leave doors untouched? He also took care of that. In addition, he gave a sneer to the then director of the training.
The student council argued with the principal over a coffee machine. It would pose a fire hazard in the council chamber. And so it was removed. Nonsense, thought Brood. He cut a template of a coffee cup from an A4 sheet. He held it against the red door of the director’s room, while he sprayed the fit with a can of paint. Since then, the cup has adorned the door as a sign of ultimate rebellion. And the coffee cup is still visible, it hangs cut out in – how could it be otherwise – the coffee room of the teachers.
Back to the auditorium. With savage and grotesque movements, Brood finished the work in no time. ‘talk to me, it says, and figures who have microphones pushed under their noses. As a reference to journalism. Its striking yellow, blue, black and red stripes adorned the wall. With beer crates and blossoms picked from the garden, Brood added peculiar accents.
“It was very surreal,” Danny says. “After that we went to the pub with him. We ate and drank something there. That was great. And bizarre. We were there with all young people with such an old rocker. Because that’s what he stood for: rock ‘n’ roll.”
During all the drink talk, Brood was not painted. He made portraits of students on beer coasters. Thus the memory of Brood, who took his own life in 2001, remained alive not only in journalism training, but also with the then extremely enthusiastic young people.
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