Walking into Summerhall, you never really know if you’re in the right place. The old bronze door handle doesn’t completely turn. No matter how many times you’ve been, you have to have a millisecond of doubt (is it still open? have I come to the right entrance?) before you manage to get in. Once you’re inside, you can feel you’re somewhere that good things are happening, but it’s not always clear where, or how to get there. Most times I’ve been there, I’ve wandered in a circle, disorientated, and stumbled on something new, or I’ve followed others into the place I was looking for.
Summerhall is many things. It’s a rambling old veterinary school transformed into a multimedia arts venue which is home to over 100 businesses, including several artists’ studios. It’s also for sale. Like lots of Edinburgh residents, I’d experienced a wave of disappointment when I heard the place was on the market. But it wasn’t until last night, in the Dissection Room lit up by fairy lights, listening to Jalen Ngonda’s soaring falsetto that I realised how much I’d miss it.
I stood there with lots of Six Music Dads soaking up the music and the atmosphere. No one had checked my ridiculously large and cumbersome cycling bag, no one had searched me. It has the lovely feeling of a slightly ramshackle, informal space (with the same sort of energy as Hidden Door festival) where no one asks what you’re doing. You could probably get lost wandering around in there for several hours and no one would bat an eyelid.
Even before I moved to Edinburgh six years ago, I’d seen theatre there during the Fringe. Summerhall is known for being home to some of the more experimental shows, and two stick out in my mind. First, Salt., a haunting one-woman show where Selina Thompson recounted her experience of retracing the route of the transatlantic slave trade. We were given science-lesson style safety goggles (the ones where the ends were always chewed on or slightly melted by bunsen burners at school) to protect us, while Thompson smashed out her anger and grief on a chunk of Himalayan pink rock salt on stage.
More recently, with some trepidation given I was only recently bereaved, I saw The Last Show Before We Die. It was an apocalyptic cabaret of sorts, interweaving verbatim interviews and naked writhing on the floor, which questioned the meanings of endings, death, life and relationships. I cried (I always cry) and laughed and hoped no one would ask me to get involved in the audience participation bits. It’s that type of show that keeps the Fringe weird, and keeps people coming back to the Fringe.
Work has brought me to Summerhall too. When I worked at the Book Festival, EHFM, the online radio station based in Summerhall welcomed a group of young writers I worked with, encouraging them to share their beautiful, tender and teenage words with the world. I felt like a proud auntie. I’ve done an escape room at Summerhall too, as part of a teambuilding outing in my current role at Edinburgh College. As an old veterinary school, it has just the right amount of a creepy vibe to be perfect for an escape room. I am terrible at escape rooms, I contributed nothing but telling everyone else “oh well done!”, but we had fun.
After covid, Summerhall was one of the first places we could tentatively meet with friends again, exchanging pandemic stories over pints. Edinburgh is seriously lacking in beer gardens (there is quite an obvious a reason for that, as demonstrated this week) but the courtyard at Summerhall is one of the finest. Perhaps it seems shallow to mourn the lack of a drinking spot just as much as the gallery spaces, but the social spaces are where the good stuff happens. That’s where the connections are made, plans are hatched, friendships formed.
Summerhall is a beautiful hub of creativity in so many ways.
We don’t know for sure what’s going to happen with the sale of the space yet. There may still be scope for an arts venue to continue there, but whether it’ll retain the rickety, casual beauty of the current Summerhall is another question entirely. So, while we still have it, I’m going to try and get there, get lost, and soak up the atmosphere for just a little longer. Experimental naked cabaret, anyone?
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