Page 63 of The Examiner

Doodle message group MMAM(FTP), 17 January 2024:

Jem Badhuri

A big welcome home to the sourcing team. Hope you had a lovely trip.

Jonathan Danners

We did. Thank you for messaging so early, Jem.

Jem Badhuri

Can’t wait to get my hands on all those old radio components. When will you bring them to the studio?

Jonathan Danners

They’re already there. We had to pass RH on the way back. Otherwise Ludya would have to drive back in again tomorrow.

Ludya Parak

And that ain’t happening.

Cameron Wesley

It’s all minging rubbish they were binning anyway.

Jem Badhuri

Isn’t the college locked at night?

Jonathan Danners

The overnight security staff all know Alyson. We explained, they were fine. The bags are piled up under the stairs if you fancy a rummage when you get in, Jem.

Jem Badhuri’s Doodle Diary, 17 January 2024:

Gela says keeping a diary will help with the long essay, so here I am. Well, what a day! We unpacked four sacks of goodies the sourcing team collected from Somerset. The general consensus was that RD8 had taken this opportunity to get rid of every piece of junk they had – but I don’t see things like other people.

These old components will transform our fabric tunnel and, to complement them, I suggested we make papier-mâché replicas of the more interesting pieces and embed them in the walls to create depth and fill space, because even though we have a lot to upcycle, it won’t be enough for what we’re planning. Also it means we can play with texture, especially if we use resin – I’m full of ideas.

I was excited to show the sourcing team the wire base that Gela and I worked on while they were away. Gela said they wouldn’t be as impressed as we both are. I showed them anyway. She was right. They were so tired they hardly spoke to me all day.

When the rest of the class went to lunch together, I stayed in the studio to eat my sandwiches and scroll through social media, as usual. But I was still buzzing, so thought I’d explore the cupboards and storeroom for more inspiration. The tunnel needs as many surface contrasts as possible. Imagine walking down it, stretching both hands out to either side, above you even, and feeling that texture as you go, stopping to examine anything that feels particularly interesting. Papier-mâché, resin, clay – what else can we use? I rummaged around to see what might be hiding at the backs of shelves and cupboards.

Then, stuffed behind a box of books on the very bottom shelf, my fingers touched something that hadn’t been there before: an old radio. Dials, speaker, tuner, like the old Murphy from my childhood. I can’t explain it, but some things are so old they have an aura around them. When I was monitoring Alyson’s use of art supplies, I knew every item in this cupboard, and that old radio wasn’t there then. It wasn’t there yesterday, when Gela and I were searching for the rolls of modelling mesh Griff hid away (we eventually tracked them down to the top of the tall cupboard). No, this radio may be old, but it’s new to us.

The bags from RD8 are full of bits and pieces. If the sourcing team got a whole radio, why didn’t they mention it? But more than that: does it work? Authentic sound from a genuine old wireless set would make my soundscape complete.

My imagination was racing ahead when I heard Patrick asking if I was OK. He was probably wondering what I was doing on the floor of the cupboard. When I showed him what I found, he was silent for ages.

Patrick Bright’s Doodle Diary, 17 January 2024:

Logged on to this diary part of Doodle. Maybe it’ll help. Why did I go to Somerset? It never felt right. Must’ve had a premonition.

We spent the first bit of the journey chatting about the course and all that’s wrong with it. Then we fell silent, as everyone but Ludya dropped off. We were woken up by her swearing the people-carrier through a flock of sheep, then a leafy gauntlet of winding country lanes that got ever narrower, with passing-points of frozen mud and terrifying blind corners. No signs and nothing that looked like the RD8 facility. Finally we rounded a bend and there it was, perfectly disguised by the landscape. A grey, oblong building. No windows.

We knocked on the only door and waited. It was quiet as the grave. Like there weren’t even any birds around. Finally there was movement behind the door and a woman unlocked it, as if she was reluctantly letting us into a secret. She was friendly enough, but as soon as I got inside, it felt strange. It was muffled and quiet, a controlled atmosphere.

‘So you’re art students?’ The woman looked us up and down. ‘Only, you seem quite old.’ Jonathan explained it’s a Masters course, so we’re mature students. The woman smiled as if thinking: ‘You can say that again.’