Spray Painted Bananas

Chapter 31

On my first day at the studio, I write down my plan of action. It looks simple and I'm feeling confident.

Day 1: Mould chicken wire into bananas

Day 2: Papier mâché bananas

Day 3: Paint bananas

But the chicken wire proves more stubborn than I anticipated and I end up wrestling with it on the floor. I swear at it, punch it, and even succumb to a few frustrated tears at the mercy of it. Each time I think I've finally secured it into position it springs apart, whipping the back of my hand and sending shooting pain through my fingers. When I finally get the material into some sort of shape, I step back, only to discover that 'some sort of shape' is all it is.

Who would have thought that the banana form would be so difficult to replicate? I take a lunch break and spend time sketching my chosen fruit. What I end up with is a page covered in boomerangs.

Re-fuelled after a soggy cheese and tomato sandwich, home made because I've got to keep costs down somehow, I continue the struggle. I'm not sure whether my eventual progress is down to me lowering my standard of what I think constitutes a decent banana shape or whether I've accidentally learnt a technique.

I keep at it until I realise my eyes are aching because the sun has set and I've been working in the dark. At the end of that day I leave exhausted but relieved that I have something to come back to. Only once I'm home does my head flood with thoughts of Farrell and I spend the night tossing and turning, and feeling sorry for myself.

What if Farrell's poem wasn't about me? What if it was my ego projecting? My memory is blurry. The only phrase I can be sure I heard is 'beyond a friendship'. Doubt creeps in and teases me. What happened after I left Farrell's house that day? What if Bibiana said she didn't want it to be a one-off?

What if she doesn't want to let him go?

By the time Day 2 comes around I'm grumpy from too much thinking and too little sleep, and my scratched arms are aching from writhing around on the floor in mortal combat with some chicken wire. As I failed to complete my goal of moulding five bananas on my first day, Day 2 turns out to be a repeat of Day 1. The only difference is my sandwich, which is peanut butter and so dry that I would have got more moisture from licking a desert floor.

Day 3 is when the real fun starts and I get to mix up my pot of wallpaper paste, glue and water. I google how to do it at home then write down the instructions carefully in my notebook. But when I get to the studio I start doubting myself and pour everything together hoping for the best. It's only when I'm squelching the goo between my fingers that I realise I've forgotten to bring newspapers and the only material I've got to papier mâché with is the toilet paper in the communal bathroom.

I know I shouldn't, but I take a roll to test it out.

It's that cheap stuff that feels more like wrapping paper than tissue; bad for bottoms but possibly better for bananas.

I wrap it around my mesh and spread jelly over it. The paper instantly thins like a fine membrane and does sod all to disguise the chicken wire. As I'm accepting the inevitable fact that I must go out and hunt for newspaper there's a loud bang on the studio door.

I freeze. My immediate thought is that I'm being burgled.

'Elliott, I know you're in there! I can see the light is on!' a well-spoken woman's voice shouts from the other side. 'For god's sake, open up this minute.'

I snap out of my stunned paralysis at once. It's a voice that demands obedience and I hurry to the door, feeling terrified. Whoever she is, she sounds furious.