My name is Nikolina Dimitrova, and I am a bachelor’s student at the Faculty of Fine Arts at VTU, specialising in “Drawing and Intermedia”.
If I had to sum up what Erasmus+ in Belgium gave me in one sentence, it would be this:
it taught me not to wait for the “right moment”, because it usually arrives when you have already left.
This is my story – without heroism and without a filter. With fears, awkward moments, small victories, and big “aha!” moments. And with a sketchbook that… quite literally crossed the border before I did.
1) When I saw “LUCA School of Arts”, I was excited first. Then I panicked.
It all started on one of those days when your mind is stuck somewhere between “I have so much to draw” and “there’s never enough time”. I was in the studio, my hands smelled of graphite and turpentine, and one thought kept circling in my head: “I want to see how art is taught outside Bulgaria. What happens there? What is expected? How do they think?”
And right then I came across the opportunity for Erasmus+ Student Mobility for Studies – Belgium, Brussels, B BRUSSEL43 LUCA School of Arts, in the field of Fine Arts.
It sounded like something very “big” and very far away.
My first reaction was: “Yes!”
My second: “But… will I manage?”
Because going on Erasmus is not just changing a city or a country.
For me it meant:
- flying alone for the first time
- living in a dorm with people I don’t know
- speaking a foreign language all the time
- entering an art environment where I don’t know the rules
- showing my work to lecturers who don’t know me and won’t “go easy on me” just because I’m new
And yes – my panic was very real.
2) The paperwork? It turned out to be easier than my inner “what if…”
While I was hesitating, I went back to the VTU Erasmus website.
And here I want to say something very practical: if the information had not been written so clearly, I would probably have postponed it and missed the deadline.
Everything was organised step by step, with no “hidden conditions”. I’m a visual person – when I see structure, I calm down.
Then I contacted the coordinator, Prof. Antoaneta Ancheva, PhD. The human factor matters a lot. When someone tells you, “Don’t worry, we’ll go through everything,” you start believing that you truly can.
And so… I applied.
When the confirmation arrived, I didn’t jump with joy like in the movies.
I just stared at the screen for two minutes and thought:
“Okay. Now the real part begins.”
3) My first flight – and my first awkward moment before I had even taken off
I’ll say it directly:
I had never flown before.
On the day of the flight I woke up so early that the world still felt “paused”.
My hands were shaking while I checked my documents – three times. Then two more.
And I still felt like I was going to forget something.
The most important thing for me was… my sketchbook.
And this is where the “my sketchbook crossed the border before I did” moment comes in.
Before leaving, I had sent some materials and books by courier to the dorm address so my luggage wouldn’t be too heavy. The sketchbook was inside. Yes, I know.
And when I arrived at the airport, it suddenly hit me:
“What if the package doesn’t arrive? What if it gets lost? What if…?”
Even before boarding, I had already used up half my battery checking the courier tracking over and over.
Then at security, an alarm went off because I had forgotten a metal craft knife in my pencil case. I will never forget the officer’s look. I blushed, then started explaining that I’m an artist.
He looked at me calmly and said something like: “Yes, but a knife is still a knife.”
They took it away. I just stood there, stunned.
That was Erasmus lesson number one:
your story doesn’t matter – rules are rules.
On the plane, honestly, I didn’t enjoy it. For the first 20 minutes I was tense like a wire.
Then I started looking out the window and suddenly a thought crossed my mind:
“I’m really going to Brussels. Alone. To study art.”
And that’s when I smiled.
4) Brussels welcomed me with rain, signs in three languages, and the feeling that I was a tiny dot
The first thing I noticed in Belgium was the light.
It’s not like Spain – not warm and generous. Here the light is softer, greyer, like a veil.
For an artist, that is… shock and gift at the same time.
The second thing was the language.
In Brussels you hear French, Dutch, English, ten more languages – sometimes within the same minute. And it feels like everyone knows exactly where they’re going, while you’re some character who has accidentally walked into a foreign film.
At the dorm, I was welcomed by a receptionist with an accent that completely threw me off.
I nodded confidently, while in reality I understood… about 60%.
I signed some papers and only afterwards realised I wasn’t entirely sure what I had signed. (It was fine, but the moment was still a moment.)
My room was small, but clean.
My neighbour was from Italy. The first thing she said to me was:
“Hi! We will be friends, yes?”
Me: “Yes. Yes, we will.”
And inside: “Please, let this be a sign that I’m going to be okay.”
5) Culture shock: silence, rules, and “here nobody steps into your life”
If in Spain culture shock is noise and improvisation, in Belgium it was silence and distance for me.
In the dorm there were rules for everything:
- when you do laundry
- when you use the shared kitchen
- how loud the music can be
- how you throw away the trash (yes, it’s a whole science)
On the first evening I made tea, sat on my bed, and realised I was alone. Truly alone. Not lonely – just alone.
And here’s the important part:
in Belgium nobody “interrogates” you or pulls you along. Nobody comes to say, “Come with us.” But if you go to them – people are incredibly respectful and warm.
You have to be brave enough to be the person who says:
“Hi, I’m Nikolina. Can I sit with you?”
The first two times were horrible.
The third time… it was already easier.
6) LUCA School of Arts: when you realise that “right” often doesn’t exist in art
My first day at LUCA School of Arts felt like stepping into a space where anything is possible – and at the same time feeling insufficient.
A building, corridors, studios, people with portfolios, strange objects, installations, projects you don’t understand the first time you see them.
And everyone looks confident… until they start talking, and then you realise everyone is a little scared.
We had an introductory meeting and right there it became clear to me:
here they won’t ask me “what did you want to say?”.
Here they will ask: “What are you doing? Why are you doing it? How does it work in space? How does it communicate with others?”
In other words – art as a process, not as a product.
My first works were… safe.
I didn’t want to look stupid.
Then the lecturer looked at me and said:
“You are hiding. Why?”
I laughed awkwardly.
He: “Don’t hide. We came here to work.”
That hit me.
And the following week I did something that scared me: I took a personal topic and turned it into a project.
7) Awkward moments that feel funny now, but back then… they didn’t
- Once in the shared kitchen I put my food in the “wrong” cabinet and someone left me a note. A very polite note, but still a note. I felt like I had violated an international treaty.
- I tried speaking French in a shop and the cashier replied in Dutch. I froze. Then I switched to English. He switched to English and everything was fine, but inside I was like: “Brussels, please, be gentle with me.”
- One day I walked to the university and it rained so hard that when I arrived, I looked like a soaked poster. I entered the studio and everyone pretended not to notice, which made it even funnier.
These small awkward moments actually taught me something:
it’s not scary to look confused. It’s scary not to try.
8) Friendships: when you start talking about art and end up at “my childhood”
The best thing about an international environment is not only the parties and the photos.
The best thing is the conversations that happen by accident.
You sit with people from different countries and start talking about a project.
Then someone mentions why that project hurts them.
And suddenly you’re talking about family, fears, identity, and what it means to feel “at home”.
Sometimes I thought:
“How strange that I’m in Brussels and I feel more understood than I sometimes do at home.”
With my friend from Italy we started a “tradition” – every Sunday we would go to a museum or draw outdoors if it wasn’t raining. (It rained often.)
I met a girl from Portugal who did incredible things with textile and video.
With a guy from Germany we argued about “the meaning of intermedia”, and in the end we realised that both of us were simply afraid of making “empty” work.
These are conversations that stay with you.
9) The “practical and inspiring” part that’s different from the previous stories: I learned to keep an artistic “portfolio journal”
Here is one concrete habit I kept and would recommend to anyone, especially people in the arts:
At LUCA, we were encouraged to keep not just a diary, but a portfolio journal – a document of the process.
Not “today I went there”, but:
- what idea I have
- what visual references I notice
- what annoyed/inspired me
- what I tried and didn’t work
- what I learned from feedback
- how I will change the project
I started taking photos on my phone of small details – light on a wall, a reflection in a puddle, textures, random compositions.
Then I added them to one file and wrote two or three sentences around them.
It did something incredible:
my ideas became more visible to me.
And when it was time to present a project, I already had the project’s story – not just the final work.
This is extremely useful as advice for future art students on your website too:
Erasmus is not only about making a “beautiful piece”. It’s about learning to think like an artist and being able to explain your process.
10) When the courier texted: “Delivered” – and I realised I was starting to believe
Yes, the package with my sketchbook arrived.
When I received the “Delivered” notification, I laughed alone in my room.
Not because the sketchbook is just a notebook.
But because it contains a part of me. And this time I hadn’t lost it.
I had sent it ahead – as a symbol that I, too, can outrun my fears.
11) What Erasmus in Belgium gave me
- I learned to live independently
- I learned to ask, to search, and not to be ashamed
- I learned that in art, “uncertainty” is sometimes the most truthful thing
- I made friendships that are not just “Erasmus for five months”, but real
- I saw how work happens in an environment that doesn’t give you ready-made answers
- I returned braver, clearer, more “myself”
Final note to future applicants
If you’re reading this and thinking:
“Yes, but I’m not sure…” – that’s exactly when you should apply.
Erasmus+ is for people who want to grow.
You don’t have to be “ready”. Erasmus makes you ready.
You will have awkward moments. You will have culture shock. You will have days when you miss home.
But you will also have moments that you will later call “the point where I became a different person”.
Apply.
Mobility opens doors, creates contacts and friendships, and most importantly – it gives you the courage to step outside the frame, even when that is exactly what scares you.
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