******
At Rhode Island School of Design, perhaps? I swear, the photographic dinosaur in me makes me cringe at the ARTEESTES. A lot of it, methinks in my jaundiced O.F. view, is just being able to keep a straight face when slinging aft-end-male-bovine-detritus.
In a slightly different context, I recall an episode in college. I had spent time in the college darkroom printing some informal portraits of a good-looking female college friend.
I had a botched print which I had thrown in the trash bin. It continued to develop, fogged itself, and did a partial "solarization." For a reason I do not remember, I fixed it, washed it, dried it, and took it with me. Later, when showing the prints to my friend, she fell in love with the ruined print, had it matted and framed, and made me into a real artiste to everyone who saw the print. Go figure.