Over the past week, we had been discussing a lot of our plans over Facebook Messenger, seeing as how that was the most convenient method for all of us. Jordan had been e-mailing Marcus Cook, our assigned artist for Assessment 3, liaising to come upon a suitable day in which we would be able to hold an interview and film a short documentary with him.

And so, the day was finally here. Siobhan had to babysit, so Jordan and I handled the interview. I came up with a couple of interview questions to give Jordan a rough idea on some of the things he could potentially talk to Marcus about, and Jordan booked a TV studio at RMIT.

On the day of the interview, however, we found out that we had been double-booked. However, we were lucky enough to get help from some of the RMITV crew, and they reassigned us to a radio theatre at Building 9, and even gave us a couple of external lights. Jordan and I had no experience whatsoever with setting up those lights, but thankfully we managed it quite alright.

We set up a key light, back light, and fill light. We arranged the setup, had the main camera filming on a tripod, a Zoom mic recording audio, and one floating camera which I later handled. On the other hand, Jordan held the interview with Marcus Cook. No doubt there were a few technical difficulties with the main camera as it heated up and also ran out of memory, we eventually managed to get the footage we needed, so all was well.

Overall, it was a good experience, from contacting our artist, all the way to documenting his experiences with Testing Grounds. Siobhan will be editing the video, and I’m personally excited to see how the final cut would turn out.

Traversing up the stairway on my first visit to the Nicholas Building, I had intentions to explore it, with thoughts that it might be a good place to carry out Assessment 2. However, two floors up, and dread had already kicked in and I didn’t want to see what lied ahead (well, at least not alone). I’m not often someone who is easily creeped out by my surroundings, but I had enough of the eerie silence and dim hallways for one day. It is said that “a person entering the space of non-place is relieved of his usual determinants” (Augé 1995, p. 103). I wanted to go ahead, but instead turned back and decided to come with somebody the following time.

With the experiences I previously had in mind, I decided to document the Nicholas Building in a way that revealed its ability to instil the feeling of being trapped or confined. The next time I went, I was with my group mate, Nicolette, and we explored pretty much the entire building. By “broadening and deepening [my] sensitivities” (Mason 2001), I began to notice the various elements that constituted this prominent building. I looked at the jarring white lights and the cracks in the wall; the alluring architecture and the graffiti on the windows.

We were doing some filming in the elevator when a woman entered and asked us what we were doing. Filming for a uni project, we told her. “You should film one for us,” she said, as the elevator stopped at her floor, indicating that she offered Tarot reading. On a different occasion, we were at the vertical stairwell, and at the very top of the building was a heavy grey door that read NO ACCESS: MAINTENANCE ONLY. We were kindly acknowledged by a woman who too asked us what we were doing. Filming for a uni project, we told her. “You see those locks?” she asked, pointing towards a window nearby. “They’re there ‘cause they found some kids who liked sneakin’ out over there, sittin’ there for a smoke.”

Just as in Karavan’s memorial, the keepers of this building have too “intentionally insert[ed] manufactured objects into the landscape” (Hornstein 2011, p. 19). Padlocks to avoid youngsters from going out for a smoke; closed up entrances that refrain wanderers from wandering; windows that are locked on the inside and barred up on the outside. The walls are stained with graffiti and blotches of spray paint, and stickers dominate little crevices in the building – perhaps a sign of rebellion, or of recognition.

Looking at this building as a non-place and how it “creates neither singular identity nor relations; only solitude, and similitude” (Augé 1995, p. 103), I am brought to think about these spaces that have made room for conversation, and how they give me the impression that there is so much more to the Nicholas Building than what we know. So many hidden secrets, trapped within these walls; countless stories that seem almost as surreal as the building itself.

REFERENCES

• Augé, M 1995, Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity, Verso, London & New York, p. 75-114, viewed 17 August 2015, <http://www.acsu.buffalo.edu/~jread2/Auge%20Non%20places.pdf>.
• Hornstein, S 2011, Losing Site: Architecture, Memory and Place, Ashgate Publishing, England, p. 15-22.
• Mason, J 2011, Researching Your Own Practice: The Discipline of Noticing, RoutledgeFalmer, London.

“If I were compelled to sum up Melbourne in a single building, it would be this one, with its striking terracotta and dark-green faience-glaze facade.” – Sophie Cunningham

Walking along Swanston Street, I went in any building or entrance that caught my eye. I came across an escalator going downwards, into a $2.80 Japanese mart, Daiso, where little knick-knacks were illuminated by faint 2700K lights. I also found a thrift shop with a sign outside saying 50% OFF EVERYTHING – it was an ocean of unorganised racks and mismatched colours; they had a decent playlist on the speakers and I Shazam-ed two songs. My favourite stop was a slightly dodgy building with a short stairway that led to a shop called RetroStar Vintage Clothing – if it weren’t for the sign outside, I wouldn’t have known that this place existed.

I came out of the shop with two tops and a pair of cute earrings (that were already dusty from age) and noticed that there was a stairway leading upwards on my right. I thought about how this might be a good bet for Assessment 2. Out of curiosity, I went up the steps and found the entrances to a shop selling buttons, and a place that offered Tarot reading. There was another set of steps ahead of me, but I dared not venture ahead – it seemed to get darker as the floors got higher. My curiosity turned into a small wave of fear. I turned back, and hastily found my way out of the space, which I then recognised to be the Nicholas Building.

The next time I was there, I was with my group mate, Nicolette, and we traversed up the stairways, one after the other, from the ground floor, all the way up to the ninth floor – the tenth was boarded up with no hope of entry. We also found our way to the vertical stairwell, where the toilets were situated. All of them were locked, though … Just like the door that led back to the building. We looked at each other in utter shock, upon realising that the door only opened from the inside. Making our way down to the lowest floor, we finally found relief as the door easily swung open.

We decided to pick this building. This would be the building we document for our upcoming assessment. I thought about what I might focus on, and perhaps, after these various experiences, perhaps one thing I would like to zoom in on are the elements of being trapped, or simply the experience of being in an enclosed area.

My roommate and I eat on the floor because there’s no space for a dining table.

The rustling of the sheets every night, as my roommate finds a comfortable spot in bed. The difficulty of closing my bathroom door, and the pain of getting it open. The entrance to my room, a colourful – and dangerous – array of shoes and more shoes; a Minesweeper affair. These are the things that have grown on me. These are the things that make my home.

Last week, as I took hold of the assessment brief, my first thought was, “There’s nothing interesting about my tiny two-bedroom studio.” As the days went by, however, and I did the readings and engaged in studio classes, I found that there are quite a lot of stories behind the place in which I currently reside; this student accommodation, RMIT Village, which I now call home.

I love cacti but I can never take care of them. This is my shrunken cactus which now resides in my bathroom.

I remember once having a conversation with my roommate, about two months back. We just got back from getting groceries. I lumped everything on our small kitchen counter and said, “I’m tired. It’s good to be home.” My roommate looked at me and said, “It’s kind of weird, don’t you think? That this place is now our home.” We talked about it, and realised that we have gone from saying I’m back in the Village to I’m back at home.

It might be true, that this really is home to me now, or it may be for the fact that saying “home” is easier on the tongue. I don’t quite know.

One thing I do know, though, is that there are many things about my dwarfish abode that grant me comfort, and ignite within me memories from long ago. For the past couple of days, I observed the few things that comprised and happened in my little space, and found that the few things I have hold many stories.

I talked to my roommate about it as well, as we have lived the past five months together, and it was only fitting that we discuss together about the many things that we have gone through since coming to Melbourne. Apart from exploring life in a student accommodation – as compared to back in Malaysia where I lived with my mother, brother, and dog – I also looked into days spent with my roommate in this two-bedroom studio.

My artistic mess. I’m not the best at being tidy.

What I have prepared is a collection of places and sounds in my student accommodation that I have made significant contact with, and also several artefacts that have impacted me in various ways. I came here with only a bed too springy for comfort, a dusty study table, a small kitchen with a roll of brand new cling wrap left by its previous owner, and a bathroom with stubborn strands of hair still lurking in the corners.

I have found that home isn’t just a building you go back to after a long day of work or classes. It is a venue you daily project your life and feelings onto; a place where you are always comforted.