Down in Albion

October 8th, 2025

It's a monochrome day. A memorable day, in monochrome. London is quiet. London is grey.  I walk from Islington to Trafalgar. From Trafalgar to Norfolk. All things connect. But nothing connects..... The Albion is closed. Apparently it is a wonderful building. But it is run by idiots - or so I am told.  Is that a metaphor?

There are solid, beautiful houses here. And there are houses that were once shops:

And streets where Dick van Dyke would practise his terrible cockney accent:

I pass a 45 seater theatre where a recent hit was Why I Stuck A Flare Up My Arse For England. A blistering solo show, written and performed by Alex Hill and directed by Sean Turner. ‘Flare’ asks what it means to be a "die-hard" football fan and explores themes of belonging, tribalism, and toxic masculinity.

Meanwhile at nearby Sadler's Wells Carlos Acosta is responsible for Black Sabbath - The Ballet.....

You could get married in the art deco 225 seater upstairs venue at Finsbury Town Hall (though it is currently unavailable....)

So instead I take myself to the National Gallery to try and make sense of Neo-impressionism (popularly known as Pointillism):

Just to be contrary, I try and see these works in black and white, to focus on the design, to let light and dark play with my retinas....

One picture in particular arrests me. Maximilien Luce's The Iron Foundry (1899) takes me back to Sheffield in 1973, where I worked for Brown Bayley Steels forging axles in what I always think of as being as near Dante's Inferno as you could get without being dead....

Another picture that fascinates me is Georges Seurat's Chahut (1889-90), completed just before his death at the age of 31.  It is an extraordinarily ambivalent painting.  Where are the legs of the man behind the first dancer?  Are they in tights and high heels, despite his elegantly masculine jacket and moustache?

I am also interested in his Poseuses, where he portrays the same model in three different poses, against a backdrop of his A Sunday on La Grande Jatte.  The multiple portrayal of the same girl flew in the face of the convention that a painting should convey a single moment in time.

But B & W doesn't do these pics justice and I have to wander into the pastel-shaded orchard (where the separate dots of opposing colours cause the canvas to shimmer) to enjoy this one, Théo van Rysselberghe's In July, Before Noon (1890) where the figures (including the one behind the tree) express silence and introspection, a lack of interaction, which nowadays is emphasised by the obsessive use of the mobile phone:

Théo van Rysselberghe also painted this Coastal Scene (about 1892) which was obviously inspired by my picture of the Lago di Massaciuccoli, where Puccini used to live, in Tuscany this September (see below)..... 

As the National Gallery will have it the elements of this view are reduced to their barest minimum.... with posts within a glowing patch of water the only signs of a human presence in an otherwise deserted landscape.....

Of course, nothing is straightforward, and here we find Vincent (van the man) muscling in on the pointillists with a blaze of glory. The Sower (1888) shows how the artist had sympathy with the Neo-impressionists but also how Helene Kröller-Müller (from whose collection many of these pictures come) identified the contrast between van Gogh's dramatic and heavy effects with the light and delicate, spiritual qualities of Seurat, Signac et al.....

So....  Back into monochrome, and the outside world, to practise what I may have picked up.....

First off, a series of individuals who may or may not be lost in their own world, or in introspection, or in some dream-like contact with another....

And then, to relate back to Théo van Rysselberghe's In July, Before Noon, here are some images of pairs of people who still demonstrate some detachment:

Though in some cases there are outside forces at work:

And in others it is hard to know exactly what is going on.....

And so, dear reader, as the kissing couple in the phone booth ignore the ringtone of reversed charges, I notice it is the end of the show, and I must make my way back to find myself in the arms of Norfolk, another aspect of my love for Albion, if ever there was one....

Good day!  Good night!  I shall see you when the turkey's done.....

If you're looking for a cheap sort

Set in false anticipation

I'll be waiting in the Photo Booth

At the underground station

So come away, won't you come away?

We could go to

Deptford, Catford, Watford, Digberth, Mansfield, [Snettisham?]

Anywhere in Albion

Anywhere in Albion

Anywhere in Albion

Pete Doherty

Albion

[For transAtlantic relations]