THE NEW CHELSEA.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 155, 6 August 1914, Page 5

THE NEW CHELSEA.

BUSY DAYS AND JOLLY EVENINGS Chelsea is the only part of London where one can see and enjoy something of that happy comradeship and sparkling gaiety that once existed in the Latin Quarter of Paris, wrote James Dunn in the <' Daily Mail.'' While the rest of London is playing at what people call Bohemianism* in the cheap extravagances of Soho cafes and the mock excitements of night clubs, the clever young men and girls of the Chelsea studios are working and playing, not like tired actors on a stage, but like happy children in a garden. This new generation of artists and the friends of artists which has succeeded to the rare traditions and memories of Chelsea has lost none of the glamour of the art life; but it has learned new eadences in the music of laughter and found new charms in the romance of youth. A merry, talented crowd it is, a crowd of jolly comrades who share their smiles with their friends, and their tears —well, their tears-are too precious to share. Let me show you a studio in Chelsea on a soft June night, when the perfume of roses mingles with the raw earth scent after rain. From the King's road comes the rude drone of motor horns, blatant noises of-heedless haste. Our studio is a modest spot in a quiet street; so quiet that one can hear the wind whispering secrets to the trees. Five rings on the electric bell is the "open sesame"J;o the home of people who appreciate the difference between friends and acquaintances. A white palm limned against the glass panel, a merry laugh from the open door, and a study in green and gold gives you welcome. Red hair and green costumes are a fascinating combination not uncommon among the girl artists of Chelsea. The' studio is "reached by a short flight of stone steps, and there is the warmth of hearty greeting, the genial clamonr of a glad company. Surely these are not grown-up people, say you; they are children playing at make-believe. And these are the people who count in the scheme of things. That man near the piano, his face whitened, his eyes red-lined, his lips scarlet, his expression one of animal

ferocity and callous cruelty in keeping with his clothes of a Parisian apache, is one of the most successful artists in London. That handsome woman who is singing a sentimental song of the music hall with an exaggerated pathos that brings roars of laughter is an actress who has won a name in tragic parts; that pianist with a reddened nose and an ill-fitting, impossible wig that shows up his own sleek, black hair, is a musical critic and composer. That wellformed girl who is inventing an eccentric dance to the actress's singing-is a famous model. There are others, a dozen of them, all distinguished 4n his or her calling—artists, writers, actors, singers—and they are all playing at makeTbelieve, all behaving like children romping in a garden. Bright colours, freak costumes; the garb of Comedy clothing the soul of Wit.

Dressed as mummers at a masquerade, these men and women were playing without posing. Their costumes were toys, their manners a game. So we talked and sang and danced and played charades through the heart of the June night. Playing the game for the sake of the game, there was nothing of the studied lures of the night clubs, nothing of the automatic pleasures of the cafes. Our supper had all' the excitement of a picnic, with none of its disadvantages, and the Futurist omelette of our tragic actress might have been the joint effort of Escoffier and Bakst.

But all is not play in Chelsea's art life to-day. Ambition fights against the lure of lazy hours, for ambition is deep and strong in the Chelsea studios, big and little. Long-haired men and shorthaired girls pose in the cafes and the night clubs, but these are not the real Chelsea artists, not the men and girls who make poverty a joke because they are rich in . their work. Eccentricity does not pass for talent off the King's Eoad. These artists mingling in, a common brotherhood come from many parts. Some have been students at the Kensington schools, medallists of promise; many have drifted from pro-, vinces, not a few from the schools of France -and Italy; while there is a social brotherhood, there are different cults—the uninitiated might call them crazes. The young, men and women have their artistic gods whom they < worship, names they whisper with reverence. Perhaps the most popular, certainly it is the most conspicuous, cult is the school of Mr Augustus John, he of the big black hat. Even black and

white men who make funny jokes and design biting cartoons speak with awe of the colour work of Mr Augustus John.

None knew better than the artists themselves the necessity for originality in the art of to-day. The old gods have gone, and some of the new ones are either too sane for a mad world or too mad for a sane one. If there is one phrase that drives a Chelsea artist to distraction it is, "I don't know much about art, but I know what I like." Should you deliver yourself of this sentiment you will be contemptuously styled a "bromide," a description that may possibly puzzle you, but it will give great joy to the elect. Among the chief delights of the new Chelsea art life are the occasional "rags," which have developed during the last two or three years, and ' l rag'' is a fancy dress ball —with extra trimmings. Fancy'dress balls have been common enough in London of late, but the difference between a Chels*a '' rag'' and the big public masquerades is the, difference between a staged play and a merry romp. They have quaint names for these ""rags" in Chelsea. One particularly enjoyable evening was known as "a gorgonzola." In "rag" the dancers do not merely wear fancy costumes, they live up to the characters they repiesent, and this acting demands, considerable wit and versatility. Some of the most charming girls in London are to be. met at these "rags," and their costumes are not only picturesque triumphs but economic miracles. The art girls cannot afford to spend large sums on bought or hired costumes, but give an art girl a couple of shillings and then let her rummage round her studio and the studios of one or two i friwids, and she will appear in any character you name, from Cleopatra to j Christabel Pankhurst. i

Brave days and jolly nights keep the Chelsea artists young; for these merry nights are not merely madcap frivolity. Just as children love to play, so do these clever young men and women want to make the most of their lives and their talents, and in the company of their fellows, in the exchange of ideas, in the clashing and testing of temperaments they find that inspiration which sends them up the ladder of fame; See them trooping from studio to studio, challenging the grey dawn in their gay colours, and you might say, "These are not workers; they are butterflies living but for the moment in a flower gar-

den." But you would be wrong. See these same people, when the light is good, working in their little studios with no heed of the clock, and often no heed to the appetite, and you would see here no butterflies, but very busy bees, storing honey in the sunlight.