We hope to create a memorial event for Neil in the not-too-distant future. If you would like to know more please email: ufhcontact at gmail.com
Neil in his archive in 2013 when we interviewed him for Unfinished Histories – see also Spring Update 2025 newsletter in our Newsletter Archive for UH’s tribute
David Gale writes:
Neil was an important figure in my life and in the life of experimental performance in this country. He asked me to join Phantom Captain, along with Cindy Oswin and Ian Johnson, in the early 70s when performance was beginning to review its conventional limitations and promptly took us out into the streets where we learned to improvise and follow a plan at the same time, perplexing and amusing innocent passersby. With his constant encouragement and jovial support I was able to find skills that I draw on to this day. He was always cheerful, anecdotal, wise and rarely flustered. Like much of the emerging new work from that time it was not properly attended by critics but now, looking back, we can say that he was an indefatigable, mischievous, cerebral and inventive pioneer.
Neil’s Norbert Kozma, who works in construction and lived with his partner in the flat below the Hornicks for several years wrote to Neil’s son Wangdak:
Your dad was truly a special person, and he left a lasting impression on everyone who knew him. He shared so many stories with me, and I learned a great deal from him—about life, words, and creativity. I fondly remember the many interesting tales he told, always adding his unique twist.
He was a writer and a director, and his vibrant personality shone through in everything he did. One of my funniest memories is from when I worked opposite the Old Bull & Bush pub, and he told me a story and a song about that pub. His spirit and humor are still very much alive in my mind, and I will always remember him fondly, especially with the song about the Old Bull & Bush. …
Neil was a wonderful person, and I hold him in deep respect.
Anna Chen wrote this blog post in tribute to Neil
Kelsang Wangdak, Neil’s son emailed me:
Incidentally, Neil did have some indirect dealings with the Maritime Museum a few months ago, when we were attempting to dispose of his nautical-themed collection of books and other items. I’d delivered a few things they’d picked out and submitted a couple of others anyway, that they’d simply wanted more info about before deciding they could be interested. In the end – after some considerable time – they returned one item, an ‘Order of Release from Naval Service’ (from the 1940s) which we received on the first working day after Neil died; this seemed kind of poignant…
Lino Hellings wrote:
Neil Hornick was a source of inspiration and first mentor in my future career and life. In the group with which we made a happening for the Stutofes 1971 under his leadership, I met not only three people with whom I later built theatergroup Dogtroep but also the love of my life. And I was only 20 years old.
Here some pictures of Neil and The Leiden Group. I have informed all the people from this group. They send you their you their condolences as well. Neil has played an important role for quite some members of this group. Happily we had a reunion with Neil en Wiebe Hogendoorn in 2015. 45 years later. I’ll include pictures here too. Rob, the love of my life wrote a short recollection of Conditions of Entry, the happening we made.
Rob and I visited Neil and Savka several times at Finchely road. I do still remember you Savka quite clearly. Lovely visits.
Love Lino
Rob van Maanen wrote this in 2015
Looking back at the Conditions of Entry, Stutofes 1971
You took me into a state of play, Neil, both fysically and mentally.
“If you follow the path, you will certainly get lost”, you said, so I left the path and ventured into the jungle of unknowing and reinvention.
I was 21, a fresh student. Half a year earlier I had looked into the mirror and decided that I had to break myself down, stone by stone, to make place for a new self. I felt lonely and insecure, yearning for new steps that would lead me into the realm of a true self.
You showed me these steps, Neil. With improvisation (sound and movement), trustgames, doublebinds and infiltrations into everyday streetlife. Hors concours, out of bounds, tasting the anomalous – we were not proving anything, we were opening up possibilities.
It worked for me because I trusted you. In all your weirdness you remained a gentle man, respecting my and others limits. You didn’t force anybody into anything, you just seduced us into joining your dadapsychobuddhist yellow matter custard – no drugs needed, you were the drug. So I went on this trip with you.
Our doings turned out to be too radical for the participants of the Stutofes. Of course there were all kinds of reasons why it wasn’t easy to like us, but why was there so little tendency to join the game? Why so much anger?
When others were abhorred by your ‘dictatorial behavior’ (“Leiden group to bed please!!”), I was all the more enjoying our conditions of entry, which were, to me, the conditions of entering an open space in which only the game is real.
I can imagine that it wasn’t easy for you to be confronted with the reactions to our behavior. These reactionary mobsters seriously demanded you to explain yourself, to ‘tell the truth’ – as if you can ever tell the truth of a trip! And if it were today.. but it was ’71, for gods sake!!
It still is as if it all happened yesterday, I still agree with it, the experience is still valid. Thank you, Phantom Captain, thank you Neil Hornick, I am deeply grateful for the life changing experience that you offered me.
Amsterdam, 1 september 2015