A 4-day graduation short film with over 20 crew members cost 12,000 yuan. This is the price that broadcasting and television directing student Zhang Ran squeezed out by being resourceful: the lead actor was his nephew, the set was his grandmother's old house, and transportation was a large borrowed vehicle through family connections. For a commercial crew, the total budget would be at least 100,000 yuan.
A photography collection, created by one person over three years, cost 200,000 yuan. At this year's graduation exhibition, this work by Sichuan Fine Arts Institute photography student Wang Jinglan became the campus's top attraction, even leading to a market for reselling related merchandise.
In 2015, the Central Academy of Fine Arts upgraded its internal graduation exhibition to a public "Graduation Season." This year, the CAFA graduation exhibition attracts nearly 15,000 visitors daily. The 2025 Sichuan Fine Arts Institute's "Open June" graduation exhibition drew a total of 750,000 visitors over its entire run. CAFA Vice President Yu Yang noted: "After 11 years of the graduation season, these exhibitions have evolved from simple showcases into a popular cultural phenomenon with festival and consumer characteristics."
At the exhibition venues, some students report spending a few thousand yuan on their projects, while others spend tens of thousands. When asked, "Can your graduation project help you find a good job?" some answer "it's difficult," while others say "I believe it can."
Setting the Production Set at 'Grandma's House'
Deng Yangchen, an undergraduate from a major media university's directing program, spent over 200,000 yuan on his graduation short film. Even split three ways, that's nearly 100,000 yuan per person. He states that in top-tier film academies, "graduation project costs are generally in the 200,000 to 300,000 yuan range."
Deng explained: "I didn't attend many classes seriously. I worked part-time for four years as an undergraduate, participating in commercial projects, just to save enough money for my graduation film." He believes that making arthouse films is relatively cheaper but heavily tests a student's artistic sensibility. However, making genre films is hard to compress. "Just renting equipment, a professional film lens costs several thousand yuan a day. A few days and you've spent tens of thousands, so we have to work under immense pressure."
Overtime costs multiply the daily expense by 1.5. A young actor from Hebei who has participated in several student graduation short films says pay is often squeezed, and shoots almost always run from dawn to late night, making it "more tiring than making micro-dramas." Student crews often over-schedule to save money, but their lack of experience causes one delay to snowball, leading to "spending more money just to save some."
In 2024, a Central Academy of Fine Arts student's work, "Super Honeycomb," went viral. It consisted of stacked cardboard, mechanically driven boxes, and a screen showing recycling footage. Some called it "trash." The creator later explained the special boxes cost about 20,000 yuan, including labor and steel welding.
This year, Chen Zhengda, Dean of Academic Affairs at the China Academy of Art, wrote in an article about a shift in evaluation paradigms. He noted, "The massive traffic generated by the 2025 graduation season declares that social networks have broken through the academy walls as a hidden 'evaluation power'." Some students admit that under this scrutiny, they unconsciously overspent.
Public exhibitions pressure students not to be "half-hearted" with their projects. The price, however, is that artistic presentation and installation require money. Some students rely on themselves, while others turn to crowdfunding. A review shows that most crowdfunding attempts for graduation projects fail, with most funds coming from the creators' family and friends.
A graduate from Beijing Film Academy from over a decade ago recalls seeking investments and sponsorships for their project. During the booming real estate market, they approached several agencies until one agreed to sponsor a student crew with 30,000 yuan.
Zhang Ran, now a graduate student at Beijing Film Academy, funded his undergraduate project through thrift. He relied on national student loans and worked odd jobs in his spare time, building a network and even training junior students to help him. To save on venue costs, he moved the set back to his hometown county, using his grandmother's old house as the main location. His nephew was the lead actor, and other child actors were selected from a local elementary school; in exchange, he made promotional videos for the school.
This 20-person crew, filming for four days, cost only 12,000 yuan, mostly for transportation and food. In a field where projects often cost hundreds of thousands, Zhang Ran maximized limited resources. He says: "A good story doesn't need a huge budget."
Li Jiahe, a student at Hebei University of Science and Technology's Film Academy, made the short film "The Land" with six people for a total of 5,000 yuan. It was selected for the 75th Cannes Film Festival's Cinefondation section, one of only four Chinese short films that year. The 24-minute film, made without even a boom microphone, was shot over just 10 days, with Li editing every night.
Opportunities and Losses
At this year's Sichuan Fine Arts Institute exhibition, Wang Jinglan's photography work drew constant crowds, with people even selling her project's merchandise. Her project, "21st Century Babel," took three years and cost 200,000 yuan. She travelled from the Americas to Ethiopia, documenting life in warzones, wilderness, snowfields, and cities.
Observers note that QR codes beside each work link to creators' social media accounts. Some students have seen significant follower growth. Graduate Guo Wanyu mentioned gaining 900 followers on Xiaohongshu and 700 on Douyin during the May Day holiday, with viewership jumping from single digits to five figures.
Wang Jinglan, already an influencer, believes she can "leverage the exhibition's traffic to attract investors and curators, exploring added value."
A calligraphy student, Kang Ni, told reporters that her department has a room dedicated to storing past graduates' works. Large-scale calligraphy works are considered to better demonstrate skill, but they are costly to produce and frame, and "in previous years, they basically didn't sell." Now, many students opt for smaller, more decorative pieces that are easier to monetize.
Hong Rongman, Deputy Director of the Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts Art Museum, noted in an article that emotional therapy installations and interactive elements have become regular features of graduation exhibitions. They attract the most attention from families. He questioned: "Is graduation creation exploring enough new directions?"
A design teacher at a vocational university in Guangdong shared her experience. She invested heavily in her undergraduate project, a decorative piece that was quickly ordered, allowing her to recoup costs. She used it for her graduate school application. "I could take my time and invest both time and money." She later founded a jewelry brand based on her academic work.
However, she now advises her students to "spend within their means." She finds most students unwilling to invest much, partly because her school doesn't emphasize the exhibition, offering little tangible return. For jewelry design, raw materials can be cheap, but students are often too busy with internships to make items by hand. "Using a factory is expensive."
International art students face similar financial challenges. Lin Yue, who studied industrial design in Melbourne, Australia, made a headache-treating headphone for her undergraduate project. The school hosted a public exhibition. To make her display look good, many classmates shipped better-quality display boards from China, "costing hundreds just for shipping." She left her business cards but received no feedback.
Now preparing for job hunting, Lin Yue didn't use her school projects for applications. Instead, she paid an agency to build a professional portfolio. "What you do at school is different from what companies want to see." For instance, schools prohibit AI in projects, but some jobs require AI proficiency.
A UI designer at a major internet company who has interviewed many design interns says he doesn't care about a project's cost or the effort put into exhibition displays. "We only look for candidates who can use design to solve real problems." He values internship projects over academic ones. He often sees student work as "fanciful," lacking practical context and research.
He recalled an impressive candidate who had only interned at small companies and switched to digital media in graduate school. The candidate's portfolio showed a simple interactive design page, but it included reflections on the process. "His takeaway might have been understanding that design isn't just about your own creativity; you have to convince stakeholders and consider if technology can realize the idea."
Because of these public exhibitions, schools can observe social changes. Kou Jianghui, Vice President of Tianjin Academy of Fine Arts, said the exhibition is not an end but a mirror reflecting changes in teaching. "It reminds us to ask: How can art education get closer to real life? How can youth creation engage more deeply with cities and society? How do we preserve human creativity, aesthetics, and cultural judgment in an age of technological upheaval? This is a question contemporary art education must constantly answer."
Expensive Ways to Film, Cheap Ways to Create
A university teacher in radio and television said his department allows students to choose projects over theses to better prepare them for the workforce. He prefers projects. Teachers accept that projects need budgets, but "there are expensive ways to film, and cheap ways to create."
The 2022 First International Film Festival featured the film "Smartphone," which cost only 300 yuan, with 150 yuan going to the voice actress. Despite its simple visuals, the film's engaging plot captivated audiences. The teacher admits more budget improves quality, but "content is always first." He encourages collaboration and suggests students explore personal topics. "During the pandemic, many excellent private documentaries emerged," focusing on family and friends. "These topics are grounded and thoughtful."
A journalism student invested heavily in her project, even though she already had a job offer as a product manager. She doesn't regret it. Her film about "mother-daughter relationships" helped her resolve long-buried conflicts. "The healing it brought is priceless."
In 1995, Jia Zhangke, then a Beijing Film Academy student, pooled resources with classmates to make the short film "Xiao Shan Goes Home." They borrowed a camera and sound equipment, and Jia used his savings from writing TV scripts. When the equipment was reclaimed early, they couldn't re-rent it, forcing them to cut a storyline. They edited in borrowed spaces. Yet this rough work helped Jia find the key partner for his first feature film, "Xiao Wu," and launched his career.
Schools are exploring support systems. The Beijing Film Academy has a more developed system. Its Youth Film Studio provides funding for undergraduate graduation projects through a "Graduation Joint Works" program. BFA Vice President Li Wei says this creates a closed-loop mechanism of "teaching, creation, competition, and incubation."
Other schools offer smaller subsidies. The China Academy of Art provides hundreds to thousands of yuan. Nantong Polytechnic allocates 200 yuan per art student. Many schools offer bonuses for award-winning works.
Lin Yue's undergraduate school supported projects through workshops. Industrial design students had to create 1:1 models with free machine access and instructor help. "You could buy a piece of wood, saw it into shape, and polish it." Hand-crafting saves money but results in a less refined finish. "Teachers still value whether your design solves the problem you identified."
Design isn't just about solving problems. Every graduation season, Zhang Ran hears about crews falling out over disagreements or payment disputes. But he believes this is part of the project's true meaning. A lack of funds, people, and resources is a lesson in itself.
Director Bi Gan, who won a Special Award at the 78th Cannes Film Festival, made his early works in his hometown, casting his aunt as the lead. As a sophomore, he used 10,000 yuan from his aunt to experiment. Later, he met collaborators at film festivals. He made "Kaili Blues" with only 20,000 yuan in his pocket, supplemented by a 100,000 yuan "investment" from a professor. The film's production cost was just over 200,000 yuan.
"In the industry, these challenges are even more common," Zhang Ran said. He compared the graduation project to a final test from a master before a disciple descends the mountain. "If you don't pass, you'll get beaten up more down there. If you do pass, you'll get beaten up less."
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