One Hull Of A Story: Paul Burwell & The Boathouse
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For a short time during the early and mid-2000s The Boathouse became a avant-garde hang-out for artists, musicians and all manner of fringe weirdo in Hull. One of Hull's best kept secrets, The Boathouse was owned by the eccentric experimental artist and improvisational percussionist Paul Burwell. In 2000 Burwell had been awarded a year of the artist grant to create artworks related to the River Hull. He purchased buildings of the Kingston Rowing Club, situated in a secret little corner of the Old Oak Playing Fields, off Beresford Avenue in the city. Hidden away through some woods, and on a meandering bend on the River Hull, Burwell created a crazy little sanctuary, which soon attracted artists, musicians and performers from the art community of the city and beyond.
Burwell had found fame as an avant-garde artist and musician as a founder member of the London Musicians Collective, holding membership card no 1. In 1983 he formed the industrial performance group Bow Gamelan Ensemble with performance artist Anne Bean and sculptor Richard Wilson. Through Bow Gamelan he built surreal, monstrous percussion junk-sculptures. |
These industrial scale percussion structures were often placed and played in bizarre locations, often having Burwell up to his neck in a river or body of water, playing them. Accompanied by a dangerous spectacle of fire and explosions, which was once described by the New York Times as "an industrial strength racket". Just like his performances, Burwell was a larger than life ball of emotional energy. As fun and irreverent as he was explosive and fiery.
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I first met Paul and visited The Boathouse in around 2001 or 2002, when a friend called me up out the blue one Sunday and told me to get down there. Crossed the playing fields, ducked into the woods and was surprised to see the Kingston Rowing Club compound, and buildings. Who knew they were there? Not too many people it would turn out. How Paul and my friend had become acquainted was never explained. Stuart was an eccentric creative genius, who loved to drink, but drink didn't always love him. So with Paul Burwell there was a kindred spirit.
The garden (term is used loosely) was filled with junk, piles of wood, scrap, hand painted signs, a couple rotting old rowing boats and a swimming pool that had god knows what growing in it. Paul and Stuart sat in front of the building Burwell lived in, with a dilapidated caravan alongside, that on occasion he'd sleep off an afternoon's boozing session. It was a glorious summer's day, we drank, chatted, philosophised and talked random nonsense. |
From that day, I often spent summer Sunday's down at The Boathouse, with Paul, and a small handful of ageing artists, poets and eccentrics who were his friends. I recall one particularly crazy night in 2002. I and a friend had been out doing some covert street advertising for an anti-Jubilee party in Pearson Park we'd organised as part of Hull Direct Action. I got a call, asking me where I was, and to get to the Boathouse right away. It was late, it must have been as it was June and it was dark as we crossed the playfields and disappeared into the woods. There was a huge roaring bonfire, with some poet whose name I forget staring deep into the flames mumbling to himself. We went in, and found a half-dozen ageing drunk artists pouring out shots of absinthe.
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The night turned into one of bizarre drunken revelry, most of which is an absinthe induced blur. Except the end of the night. A friend had noticed a samurai sword hanging on the wall, and made reference to it. Paul took it down, unsheathed it and showed it off. Then proceeded to nod-off, using the handle of unsheathed sword as place to rest his head. Suddenly and unexpectedly waking up, not fully aware of who was there he swung the sword in a circle around his head, narrowly missing those of us sat chatting in the small room. Enough to say, that put paid to the mood of the night and we all staggered off home to crash in our respective beds. I didn't see Paul Burwell again after that, my life took a few twists and turns and I eventually left Hull to travel and later live overseas, only returning in 2012. By that point Burwell had unfortunately died in 2007, and despite attempts to keep The Boathouse running as a performance art venue, by 2012 it was no-more. The final indignation was the boat shed being gutted by fire in 2013.
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But for a short time, there was a free expression art space, where almost anything went. An outrageous slamming together of creative madness. Where anyone pretty much could turn-up and take part. Something that is sadly missing in our soon to be city of culture.
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