Aubergine Paint Proof

Black walls, a black ceiling and a chipping black floor. The layers of black paint could tell countless forgotten stories, but here is mine. 

Happy.

They called it the “Cement Box”, which is a fairly accurate description. The walls were made of those awful, crumbly besser bricks and the floor was hard and cold. Objectively, you couldn’t think of a worse place to perform in. Dancers and actors are meant to perform on sprung floorboards, not cement, and there was some rumour about someone getting haemorrhoids from sitting on the concrete too long. Though I don’t even know if that’s medically plausible.

The lighting rig was a nonsensical mess of wires, and we always ran out of light bulbs. One day I took an old light into a technical theatre supplier and asked the guy behind the counter what kind of bulb I would need. A look of fear flickered across his face as he told me that the light was about 50 years old and full of asbestos. We kept using them, of course, but we stopped opening them after that.

The audience sat in blue and red chairs, which always seemed to go missing between shows. You’d have to crawl through the storage spaces and into the orchestra pit in the upstairs theatre to find them, and I was always determined to get enough of each so we could alternate. Aesthetics, you know? Important stuff.

We staged old classics and student-written work, some of it was god-awful, some amazing. But the most impressive part of all was that we did it all ourselves. Every play was acted, directed, costumed, designed, marketed and managed by amateurs, students... kids really. The company was called “Underground”, which was meant to be a joke, I think, because the theatre was semi-subterranean.

Backstage was my favourite place. You could go hunting in the depths and find all sorts of magic: working lamps, foam walls, dodgy doors and an office chair papier-mâchéd to look like a villain’s high-backed seat. You’d find actors sitting on broken audience chairs or on moth-eaten couches, an Assistant Stage Manager doling out props and the director smoking with some of the actors, trying to be relaxed. And then, watching over them, my favourite part of all: the graffiti. The name of every show that had ever been performed in that cement box was immortalised on every square inch of space on the walls and ceiling. Everything was covered, crammed with the names of people I don’t even know, shows that happened 5, 10, 15 years ago. I spent enough time there to know that the oldest date was on the door. 1984. Before I was born.

The best graffiti by far though, was in the tech box. I spent countless hours sitting in there, so I would know. Every show, the stage managers and techies would leave their marks too. Though undated, they undoubtedly went back as far as some of the ones out the back did. But there were no names here, just an endless continuation of the same joke. “No actors in the tech box” one read, “no fuck ups in the tech box”, said another. “No farting in the tech box”, “No sleeping in the tech box”, “No scrub turkeys in the tech box” … “No holds barred in the tech box”. I wish I could remember more, because they were one of the first things to go.

The place was full of secrets, of doors you only discovered after a year of walking past them, of little-used rooms and unknown passages. It was full of fire hazards and broken things, full of dirt and possum shit. One night the resident possum made its theatrical debut, scaring the pants off actors and audience alike.

I became the keeper of the keys at the start of 2009. From the second I had stepped foot in there 3 years’ previously, I had wanted to know all those secrets. It was like knowing where the entrance to Narnia was, or how to get into the Lost Boys’ hideout. The guy with the keys in 2007 used to park his car out the back under the graffiti to save on university parking fees, and I had heard about people sleeping in the office, or having sex in the office, which was frankly disgusting. I knew where the good napping places were (NOT the office) and I often studied or ate my lunch in the foyer with friends.

Always start a relationship in a dirty, cement pit, would be my advice.

All my friends acted or teched in that place, I met my partner there, I had some of the best times of my life there. It was a safe space, a fun place, a filthy, grimy, ugly space. I wrote a third year paper about theatre spaces and how they impact on the theatre that is made in them. I researched theatre troupes in far off, exotic places like Melbourne. They all had whimsical, abandoned, amazing spaces, and it was only in writing about them that I realised I had one of my own all along.

And that’s when it got taken away.

Yes of course, the evil “man” came and ruined our bohemian dreams. That’s how this story always had to go. The union contacted us, and told us they were giving the Cement Box back to the uni, and then came a series of meetings with people in suits. I wanted protests, placards, fire, shouting, but what really happened is that we cut a fairly boring deal and got out of the way. They promised not to paint over the graffiti, and for the most part they kept their word, but they covered some of it with the same awful purple paint they covered the rest of the black with. Aubergine, a lecturer told me later, is the new colour for theatres. They renamed it after Geoffrey Rush and a couple of my friends stole the old Cement Box sign and hung it in their house.  Not to be outdone, I broke in one night with a tin of paint and in large blue letters proclaimed “No more Underground Productions in the tech box”. I thought I was very clever, but it was gone a month later.

In my essay that semester, I wrote thousands of academic words about art and space, about the impact of both on each other. I waffled on about creative safe-spaces, about the value of found spaces and designed spaces alike. I desperately tried to fit our little space into the essay, and I slipped it in there towards the end. But it’s only now that I realise that the Cement Box didn’t just influence the art we made, it was a crucial element of the people we became. The filthy, badly built Cement Box made us the loud, crude, funny, dirty, clever, self-made people that we were, that we are still. It lives on in the friendships around me today, in the life I share with my partner, in the terrible jokes we still tell. They painted over 30 years of stories, but this is mine, and it is aubergine paint proof. 

Thanks to Emily Rowe and Amy Randall for photos.

Lizzyish gives advice: UNI1000

Hello and welcome to UNI1000 – Introduction to Surviving Uni

Following the success of my advice blog, where I gave advice on how to get through school, I have been inspired to write something similar for University students. In the following blog you will not find study tips, help with choosing courses, or suggestions for how to make yourself job-ready. What you will find is a series of actually useful things about surviving the other stuff, from making sure your tummy is filled, to making sure your social life is fulfilling. Enjoy…

Centrelink – Ah, Centrelink. The devil you must keep close. On the one hand, they give you free money, and you should never complain about them, on the other, they are a bureaucratic nightmare wrapped in a confusing website wrapped in a pile of contradictory mail. I have regularly received two letters on the same day, dated the same date, from two different Centrelink offices telling me two completely opposing and contradictory things. Like 1. “Dear Miss Ish, you are now eligible for payment, to be issued on the 1^st June 2007” and 2. “Dear Miss Ish, NO! NO MONEY FOR YOU, YOU MUST STARVE NOW AHAHAHA!”

When dealing with Centrelink, you must always stay at least 1 step ahead of the game. Study their website, read all the pamphlets, get to know their inner workings. Follow the rules, always report on time but always be on top of it. You should see one of your major occupations as “Centrelink Expert” because at any time they could do something crazy and cut you off. Exhibit A (from my own vault of experiences) – they may send a letter to your house, and it may not get to your house because Australia Post is in cahoots with Centrelink. They may receive this letter back marked “undeliverable”, they may send another letter to your house informing you that as they could not contact you at your house (where you are currently sitting, reading the letter), they have cut off your payments and you will now starve. The only solution to this was to call them up and cry. This worked quite well.

Finally, it is important to dress appropriately when going in for a crying session appointment at the Centrelink office. Your attire needs to say ‘I’m a responsible young adult who is taking care of themselves’, but also ‘I am so poor I’ve stopped using electricity to save on my electricity bills’. I would recommend jeans and a slightly too big tshirt, maybe with a few holes in them. Wear shoes, but only the ones where the soles are sort of flapping off when you walk.

Working – depending on what you study, it may be near impossible for you to maintain regular employment while at uni. Even if your contact hours are minimal, there’s still all the essays, exam prep, group meetings for stupid group assignments, and all the socialising you have to do. If you can manage it though, working while you’re at uni provides that little bit of extra cash Centrelink fails to give you, so that you are actually over the poverty line. Find something with about 10-15 hours a week. Never tell them when uni holidays are… they’ll give you way too many hours and it’ll dock your Centrelink and you’ll end up with less. See if there are any jobs at uni. One of the best jobs I had at uni was with the Support Services there. My job was to go to classes with students with a disability, take notes for them, help them to get to and from class, maybe get some books for them at the library, a bit of photocopying. It’s really easy and you end up going to classes that either you’ve already taken, or you were considering taking or are just generally interesting. Also you end up making a friend or two. And you get paid to hang out with them in the library. It’s win-win really.

Food – Undoubtedly, after you’ve fought with Centrelink and your job, you’re going to be hungry, and despite your best efforts, you’re not going to have much money for food. Here are a few tips to help you fill that studenty tum –

Gnocchi – it’s this pasta made from potatoes that you can buy in packets for about $3. There’s 2 – 3 meals there and once the water is boiling it cooks in literally a minute.

Mi Goreng – It’s like 2 minute noodles but better and it’s regularly on sale for very cheap. 2 minute noodles make you feel ill after a while, and Mi Goreng has fun flavourings in packets. Get someone whose made it before to show you how they do it, everyone has their own way. It’s like a special cult just for poor people, it’s awesome. Actually Mi Goreng makes you feel ill after a while too, if that’s all you’re eating. Maybe alternate?

Frozen veges – I know what you’re thinking… you’ve just moved out of home, you don’t have to eat veges anymore right? WRONG. I have one word for you: scurvy. Do you want your teeth to fall out because your gums have receded into your brain? No. So eat some goddamn vegetables. It’s unlikely that you’ll be able to afford fresh veg, so buy big packets of frozen veg and add to pasta/gnocchi/anything.

Red Meat – it is very difficult to be a vegetarian on a student budget, and you need iron for all that sleeping you’re going to do. You’re not going to be able to afford fancy steaks, but you can buy chopped up stir-fry meat for pretty cheap. Invest in a wok, home-brand soy sauce and some honey. Add in the frozen veges and bam! You’re a stir-fry wizard. Vermicilli rice noodles are very cheap and can be added to your stir-fry to add carbs. Or you can go with every student’s old faithful…

Rice – Rice can be bought in large quantities for not many dollars. Home-brand is definitely the way on this one. Rice is rice. You are literally paying for packaging on any other brand. Sunrice? Are you kidding me? There is no sun in that rice, not even a little speck of sunshiney happiness. Rice can be added to anything, and if you’re really poor, it can be eaten by itself if need be. It’s not glamorous, but it’ll get you through till that next Centrelink pay.

Also, learn to bake. Just a few simple things like scones, cupcakes, biscuits etc. Flour and other basics are all quite cheap and last for ages, and if you’re ever craving something sweet that you just can’t afford, you’ll have an endless supply of delicious baked goods. Baked goods are also an excellent way to make friends.

Furniture – beg, borrow and steal as much furniture as you can from family, friends and neighbours. After that, wait for the kerbside collections. These are a cut-throat business in suburbs with high densities of students. So you need to go out at about 10pm and do the rounds. People throw out all sorts of stuff – bookshelves, armchairs, milk crates… all useful in a shared student house.

Sleeping at Uni – this is one of the great pastimes of our generation. Got four hours to kill between classes? What better way is there to spend them except having a sneaky nap? Scope out the best spots, these may include the Z row in the library, an out of the way garden bed or an empty lecture theatre. I can only speak from my own experience at UQ but may I heartily recommend that amphitheatre type area near the lakes, the upper levels of the SS & H library and anywhere in the Great Court.

Your Social Life – making friends at uni can be difficult. The people in your classes one week may have all pissed off by the next. Just because you sat together in the lecture doesn’t mean you’ll ever find each other again. It took me a while, actually, to sort out how to do this but here are some of the things I worked out.

1.     Give it a bit of time. It’s not like school, you may only see people once a week or less.

2.     Be friendly to as many people as possible. All hierarchies you’ve ever known have just been thrown out the window, it is impossible to ascertain what kind of people are sitting in a tute room with you or whether or not they are ‘cool’ (in the popularity sense) or cool (in the actual sense). So just be nice, to everyone, and you’ll eventually work out who you actually want to be friends with.

3.     Be yourself (GROAN). I know how fucking irritating that is (who else are you meant to be, right?) but seriously, I made about 20x more friends when I stopped caring all the time and started just enjoying my classes, my lecturers and the people around me.

4.     Learn to bake. See earlier point.

5.     Join a society of some kind. Do you like something? A sport? Politics? The environment? Music? Dancing? Pokemon? Medieval re-enactments? Chances are someone else at uni does too and they’ve already started a group. On market day, sign up to as many things that interest you as possible and then, when they send you the first email ACTUALLY GO TO THE THING. Yes, it will be scary, yes, you may actually realise the whole thing was a terrible idea but probably at least one of the things you signed up for will be actually good. They will seem cliquey, they will all seem to know each other, they will forget your name but this is because they were just like you a year ago, and now they’ve found their niche and they’re so happy about it they sort of forgot what that was like. They will be your friends, they will remember your name, and you guys are going to have the best time doing whatever it is you do for the next 3-4 years. Just stick at it for a couple more weeks. Be yourself, be friendly, give it time, bake them a cake… you’ll be best friends by second semester.

I joined the Student Theatre Company, Underground, where I learned about 300 life skills, had some of the best times of my life, and made lots of friends, many of whom will be life-long. The other advantage was that eventually I got a key to the theatre, which really helped in the whole “sleeping at uni” thing.