Paeon with Paul
February 2017
A decade after Paul Burwell’s death, Yol and I made a work with him in the burnt out ruins of his boat club and boatshed, Kingston Rowing Club
Should a journey be undertaken by boat north-easterly, negotiating the waterways of Britain at an unaccustomed pace, falling into a pulsation of rhythms slower and more studied than the customs of the age, then at a certain bend in the river, a compound might be encountered, an informal cluster of buildings, containers and shelters, indecipherable constructions, monstrous sounds, firelight and other anomalies. The place would be largely silent now, because Paul Burwell (inventor and overseer, if those are sufficiently descriptive terms for his pivotal role in the site) fell victim to the spell of this place in cold Hull, his life coming to an end on the 4th of February, 2007. If there are intimations of Joseph Conrad in this preface to a tale, they would have been welcomed by Burwell, who never wished to detach himself from the adventurous spirit of Conrad, in which journeys undertaken invariably end in some disaster or, at the least, unexpected turn. As for the silence of the compound, better known as Kingston Rowing Club, this asks difficult questions of how to make sense of what remains in that compound, and in the documents, archival traces, strange objects, texts, scatter and ashes of an artist’s life. With no disrespect to Hull, there is something perverse in setting up camp so far from all centres of power, not the familiar move of occupying a sylvan cottage to produce works protesting their detachment from the metropolis, but to dig out a home and public workspace in a city unloved, then build lines of connections patiently outward with little thought of their relevance to the world that believes it matters……………………………
David Toop obituary Guardian
Numerous people wrote warmly and longingly about Paul and his impact, his legacy, his effect.
Rob Gawthrop, in the WIRE wrote: ‘Perhaps the most important aspect was Paul’s generosity, both socially and creatively. He made no distinction between the internationally famous and the local amateur— providing they had honesty and integrity…. His impact on the city and on many individuals cannot be underestimated, not just as an artist, performer and innovator but also through his commitment to collectivism and participation ‘
Ansuman Biswas writes about ‘a long relationship which has been the single biggest influence on the way I think of myself as an artist – even the fact that I think of myself as an artist.’
Brian Catling wrote a poem for Paul beginning and ending
The world is becoming empty and unnervingly quiet.
‘Paul was like a force of nature. He had this escalating energy that was ecstatic.’ Evan Parker said ‘ A more true-to-self individual I never met.’
Paeon with Paul
February 2017
A decade after Paul Burwell’s death, Yol and I made a work with him in the burnt out ruins of his boat club and boatshed, Kingston Rowing Club
Should a journey be undertaken by boat north-easterly, negotiating the waterways of Britain at an unaccustomed pace, falling into a pulsation of rhythms slower and more studied than the customs of the age, then at a certain bend in the river, a compound might be encountered, an informal cluster of buildings, containers and shelters, indecipherable constructions, monstrous sounds, firelight and other anomalies. The place would be largely silent now, because Paul Burwell (inventor and overseer, if those are sufficiently descriptive terms for his pivotal role in the site) fell victim to the spell of this place in cold Hull, his life coming to an end on the 4th of February, 2007. If there are intimations of Joseph Conrad in this preface to a tale, they would have been welcomed by Burwell, who never wished to detach himself from the adventurous spirit of Conrad, in which journeys undertaken invariably end in some disaster or, at the least, unexpected turn. As for the silence of the compound, better known as Kingston Rowing Club, this asks difficult questions of how to make sense of what remains in that compound, and in the documents, archival traces, strange objects, texts, scatter and ashes of an artist’s life. With no disrespect to Hull, there is something perverse in setting up camp so far from all centres of power, not the familiar move of occupying a sylvan cottage to produce works protesting their detachment from the metropolis, but to dig out a home and public workspace in a city unloved, then build lines of connections patiently outward with little thought of their relevance to the world that believes it matters……………………………
David Toop obituary Guardian
Numerous people wrote warmly and longingly about Paul and his impact, his legacy, his effect.
Rob Gawthrop, in the WIRE wrote: ‘Perhaps the most important aspect was Paul’s generosity, both socially and creatively. He made no distinction between the internationally famous and the local amateur— providing they had honesty and integrity…. His impact on the city and on many individuals cannot be underestimated, not just as an artist, performer and innovator but also through his commitment to collectivism and participation ‘
Ansuman Biswas writes about ‘a long relationship which has been the single biggest influence on the way I think of myself as an artist – even the fact that I think of myself as an artist.’
Brian Catling wrote a poem for Paul beginning and ending
The world is becoming empty and unnervingly quiet.
‘Paul was like a force of nature. He had this escalating energy that was ecstatic.’ Evan Parker said ‘ A more true-to-self individual I never met.’