East End derelict house, London

with Paul McCarthy and Paul Burwell

Paul McCarthy, Paul Burwell and I decided to treat a derelict house as a sculptural edifice to reform. We started in separate rooms ‘within’ our own performances and then digging, sawing, pounding and hammering our way through into each other’s spaces, we became a part of both the building and each other’s works. I used tubes to send my voice into other rooms as well as physically breaking through the floor ending up in the space below.

“An excited audience crowded into the six rooms of the wet, empty, old house in London’s East End. Each performer began in a separate room for a piece of art-cum-mayhem that sent half the audience back into the street fleeing the flying glass and small fires.

Bean, an island of elegance in the grime of the upstairs room, had created a mural of paint and neon beneath which she had crouched amongst clusters of white glass balls. Her hair was wired to the ceiling on long fuses. She spoke softly of her search for ideas with which to spark the night, while fire crept along the fuses to ignite scraps of flash paper.

In the room below her Burwell had installed a nightmare jumble of drums and mannequins. As he was preparing to assault them with various instruments, loud blows rained from above and he erected an umbrella to protect him from the falling plaster as a hole appeared in the ceiling. Then, politely a paper tube was pushed through the hole and down to his ear and a small voice emanated from it in intimate song.

McCarthy, meanwhile menaced on the dark stairwell, spreading ketchup beneath the watchers’ feet.

Burwell and McCarthy began to circle each other suspiciously until all hell broke loose and Burwell was chasing McCarthy in and out of the windows flailing a machete and yelling ‘ I know there’s a Californian performance artist in here somewhere!”

Several things were set on fire or exploded. When the smoke had finally cleared, every window and door had been demolished and Burwell looked the worse for wear, with a number of bloody gashes on his arms and legs.

Finally, the performer settled into a long party with those giddy audience members who had not run away in fright. It was the most wonderful performance I saw on the whole trip”
High Performance magazine