Michael Horovitz & the children of Albion


Liverpool Muse by Alan Ginsberg

Albion, Albion, your children dance again 
Jerusalem’s rock established in the basements of satanic mills 

In the Sink , stone basement of City 
Vibrations of Vox electronic shudder thru brick & flesh, 
Children beautifully collared and sleeved, with tapered 
silk dungarees, 

each pubescent body thin & handsome shaking his hips, 
each darling daughter alone on the concrete snapping 
her fingers — 

The longhair guitarist snarls into a silver microphone 
& builds the drum beat to a heavy charge 
and screams on the high note — a circle 
of flesh is formed 

he screams claps and shudders, a circle of 
flesh dances round, 
six boys and two girls, shuffling left 
shuffling right hey hey, 
shuffling left shuffling right the Yoruba 
dance step come back to Mersey’s Shores — 

I stop writing and move my hips — 

the Circle is 


— England, ca. May- June 1965 

Published in: Pete Morgan ed., C’Mon Everybody (Corgi Books, 1971), p. 39.

I have written here previously about William Blake and his vision of Albion, about the myth of Albion in British culture and about the power of the concept in the art and writings of the neo-romantics such as Paul Nash and Graham Sutherland.

I want to focus on a more recent exemplar of this fascination with the meaning and perpetuation of William Blake’s ideas.  Michael Horovitz is a performance poet known for social protest in his verse: in 1969 he edited and published the collection Children of Albion- poetry of the underground in Britain (Penguin).  This was at the height of the sixties counter culture and at a time of great hope for change.

In 1969 Horovitz predicted “the return of Albion’s golden age” which would be a movement following the “Blakean way.”  He saw the confirmation of this prediction all round him on swinging London of the late 60s:

“Albion’s children are strongly in evidence all over the country and- most colourfully and plentifully- all over London, at work and at play in their gardens of love, where only ‘Thou shalt not’ is taboo.- in an atmosphere of their awareness, radiating a sense of community and a more open, humane and practical way of life.”

NPG 2146; William Blake replica by John Linnell
replica by John Linnell, watercolour, 1861 (1821)

Those hopes were soon to be disappointed, but Horovitz continues to keep the dreams alive.  Interviewed in 2010 by Dazed magazine, he explained that “Albion is William Blake’s name for the soul of England.”  It represented, Horovitz went on, “England as internationalist; England as a joining of all nations, as the spiritual Jerusalem.”  His various anthologies published since 1969 (the grandchildren and great grandchildren of Albion) have all shared this Blakean impetus for internationalism.  This is perhaps well represented by his work with such artists as Damon Albarn, known for his own cross cultural musical experiments.

Horovitz regards Blake as “great grandfather William.” His thought is as urgent and relevant now as it ever was.  Albion remains an inspirational concept- politically as well as artistically– and it is a theme to which I will return in posts in the near future.


The totem pole on Forest Hill


hm-totem-poleOn my recent visit to the Horniman Museum, I was delighted to see a totem pole facing the main road outside the building.  For decades I have admired the art of many of the Native American peoples but, living in Britain, have largely had to rely upon pictures in books and online, as well as the odd museum exhibit.  House posts and the like in particular are rare (given their size) so it was good to be able to examine one up close.


This particular pole was carved by Nathan Jackson, a Tlingit from Alaska, in summer 1985. It’s twenty feet high and made of red cedar.  At the very top is an eagle, Nathan Jackson’s main clan crest; below that are a girl with a bag and a grizzly bear, illustrating a North West coast legend.  The bear is identifiable by his short snout, open mouth and small ears. Often they are shown with their tongues sticking out, but not in this case.

So-called ‘totem poles’ are amongst the most impressive examples of native American art, because of their size,  striking imagery and bold colours.  Luckily there are a few others in the UK that can also be studied in person.

Although these sculptures are conventionally known as ‘totem’ poles this is a misnomer.  A totem is, strictly, an animal spirit guide of an individual person and it will be associated with a number of special taboos for that person.  The preferred term for this Northwest Coast art now is crest poles.  Northwest Coast society was extremely hierarchical and concerned with status.  Each family fiercely protected its position and its property.  The symbols shown on the poles represented valuable property; the family displaying them had to have a legal right to do so and the erection of a pole partly advertised these rights. The symbols referred to episodes in the lineage or clan history or to the myths and stories of the tribe.  Culture heroes and ancestors are therefore represented in the carvings.

The poles were used for heraldic and for mortuary purposes.  They were raised to commemorate important mythical, historical or family events and to assert social links and status.  For example, the defeat or humiliation of a rival might be recorded in a monumental pole for all to see.  Five different purposes for poles have been identified:

  • memorial poles for deceased tribal leaders;
  • house poles that formed structural elements in timber houses and also bore family crests;
  • mortuary poles, that were both memorials for the dead and their tombs- the dead person would be placed in a hollow at the rear of the pole or in a box at the top;
  • freestanding heraldic poles that were erected separate from houses announcing their social messages of rights and status; and,
  • house portals– very large poles would be attached to the front of a house, incorporating an entrance hollowed through them.

Other poles that can be seen in Britain include:

  • two Haida poles dating from about 1850 at the British Museum in the central court. The Kayung totem pole is 12 metres (39 ft) high and was carved and originally located in the village of Kayung , Graham Island, in British Columbia, Canada. Kayung had been an important village for the Haida before European contact. After the population was decimated by successive smallpox epidemics in the late 1800s, Henry Wiah, the town chief, encouraged the remaining population to move to nearby Masset and the village was slowly abandoned.  Weathering on the pole means that there is no remaining paint on the surface, but the explanation of what the carvings represented is available.  The second pole was almost identical to the first one. The figure at the top represents yetl, and the design also incorporates Haida crests.  The story carved into the pole, which involves a man who tricks his wicked mother-in-law.


  • a pole by the Grand Union Canal in Berkhamsted.  This pole may seem unexpected  in Berkhamsted, so far from where it originated in British Columbia. It was commissioned by a director of the J Alsford Ltd, timber merchants and importers in 1968 and stands on the site of one of the company’s wood-yards, now the gardens of some flats. The red cedar wood pole was carved and designed by the Kwaguilth (Kwakiutl) artist Chief Henry Hunt.  This pole possible depicts how the Raven brought light to the world.  The figures shown on the pole are:Bottom: Sisiutl- a mythical two-headed sea serpent. He is a source of good fortune and a protector and as such is often depicted on house fronts;Hawkman Sun- can easily be identified by the rays protruding from his face. The figure is the essence of light;

    Top- Raven- who is many things, including the creator and also known as the trickster. He is a powerful figure who brought light to the world.



  • at the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford.  This Haida  totem pole is from Star House in Massett village on the Queen Charlotte Islands, Canada.  It is carved from red cedar and is  11.36m high.  The house was built around 1882 and belonged to chief Anetlas (c.1816 – 1893).  The pole was originally raised at a ‘potlatch’ marking Anetlas’ adoption of a young girl. A potlatch is a ceremony held by peoples of the Northwest Coast at which a person is given traditional family rights; it involves reciting family lineages and rights in front of witnesses from other families. The guests are given gifts and a feast, and their acceptance of these marks their agreement to uphold the rights transferred to the person in that potlatch.  The figures depicted on this pole include: a bear holding a man.;  three seated figures or watchmen- these figures are typical of Haida poles.  They sit with their knees up  at the top of the pole providing supernatural protection.  Their hats are composed of rings marking previous potlatches; bear with a frog in its mouth and a bear cub between its legs; bear holding a human with two bear cubs at its feet; and, raven with a human between its wings- raven is identifiable by its long beak and its wings at its side.


pr pole

As will be seen, three separate tribes’work are represented in Britain.  There are stylistic differences between them:

  • Haida– they are renowned for the number and scale of their poles.  Their work tends to emphasise the animal characters to the exclusion of people.  A wide range of creatures are used;
  • Tlingit– their poles are smaller, seldom over 30′ high.  They tend to be memorial or mortuary poles and are often very simple with a single bird or animals;
  • Kwakiutl– these are often the most colourful and animated of poles.


I will also mention that this trip was preceded by lunch at Persepolis cafe in Peckham.  Chef and food writer Sally Butcher runs this tiny shop and restaurant; if you overlook the cheery chaos of the heaped up shelves and the dire need for a refurbishment (I loved the ceiling held up with sellotape) you will enjoy excellent vegetarian Persian food.


A Navajo sandpainting in South London


On a recent visit to South London I visited the Horniman Museum and was excited to find a Navajo sand-painting in the main foyer.  I have a longstanding interest in the culture, art, history and language of the Dine (the Navajo) so I was particularity thrilled to discover this large example of their art.  I own a few very small sand-paintings of my own, but they are partial representations of only a few figures.  This was an authentic, full scale example of the form. The particular design at the Horniman is called Whirling log and was made at the museum by Navajo singer Fred Stevens in 1966.  This design was deliberately left incomplete so that it has no religious power or significance.

In 2004, after ten years in storage, the painting underwent extensive conservation and was restored to prominent display.  It is made from powdered sandstone, root and charcoal and is nearly six feet square, so it is a very impressive and striking.  It is an excellent example of Navajo iconography and of their complex religious and ceremonial ideas and practices.  The paintings represent elements from the creation myths of the people and are employed by healers to help restore hozho- that is, good balance, harmony and order.

Sand-paintings are iikaah- ‘places where the gods come and go.’  Once the healer (hataali) has diagnosed the cause of the patient’s malady, the aim is to summon supernatural forces to help restore hozho.  The Navajo universe is composed of good and evil elements, of aspects that are under control and those that are not.  The purpose of hozho is to bridge the gap between the two and to re-establish an equilibrium.

The root of much illness is seen as  psychological and the healing chants, which involve, as well as the sand-paintings, long recitations over two, five or even nine nights and various other ritual practices, are aimed at enabling the sufferer to ‘walk in beauty’ again. The patient will sit on the sand-painting facing east and the Holy People summoned by the images in the particular painting being used will arrive to view the representations of themselves. In so doing they infuse the picture with their healing power.  This is then transferred manually to the sick person, who temporarily is united with the supernatural.


As the images are used in traditional religious ceremonies, the displayed picture is not actually complete: this means that it is suitable to be used for permanent display.  Usually the pictures are destroyed as soon as they have been used in a healing ceremony.  Normally it would have been swept away at the end of the ceremony and dumped to the north of the patient’s home, blocking the return of the evil in the future.

The whirling log (tsil’ol-ni) story occurs in two of the Navajo’s healing chants (Night way and Feather way).  The hero of the story, Self teacher, sets out on a long journey after he falls out with his family over gambling losses.  At first the gods try to dissuade him from going, but once they see that he is determined, they help him hollow out a log to float downstream along the river.  He sets off with his pet turkey and has various adventures on the way, such as being captured by the Water Monster and carried to the home of the Water People.  Self teacher is only released after one of the gods threatens to burn down Water Monster’s house. All the same, during his captivity Self teacher acquires ceremonial knowledge, such as how to cure the illnesses caused by the Water People.  When he finally arrives at the lake that is his destination, the gods help the hero ashore by catching and holding his spinning log.

The final surprise comes when Self teacher is reunited with his pet turkey, which shakes its wings, releasing the seeds put there by the gods. Self teacher then plants a field of crops that quickly ripen for harvest. He returns home to share the knowledge of farming that he has gained and the cures that he has learned from Frog.

Whirling log represents a lake in the centre with logs floating to the shore, pointing north, south, east and west (the sacred directions in Navajo cosmography). Male and female deities (yei) stand on the logs holding evergreen branches and with ribbons hanging from their elbows.  Radiating are the four sacred plants (white corn, yellow pumpkin, grey bean, and black tobacco) brought as gifts.  Around the logs stand the four gods who assist the hero- Talking god, Hastye-o-gahn and two Biighaa’ask’idii  (with the hump shaped deerskin bag on his back and the weasel medicine bag in his hand).  All these deities are male and so are depicted with round heads; they wear mountain sheep horns on their heads.  They are enclosed and protected by a female deity, Rainbow girl.  The picture is open to the east, from which direction it is hard for evil to enter according to Navajo belief.

Here is an excerpt from the Navajo Night chant:

“House made of dawn.
House made of evening light.
House made of the dark cloud.
House made of male rain.
House made of dark mist.
House made of female rain.
House made of pollen.
House made of grasshoppers.

Dark cloud is at the door.
The trail out of it is dark cloud.
The zigzag lightning stands high upon it.
An offering I make.
Restore my feet for me.
Restore my legs for me.
Restore my body for me.
Restore my mind for me.
Restore my voice for me.
This very day take out your spell for me.

Happily I recover.
Happily my interior becomes cool.
Happily I go forth.
My interior feeling cool, may I walk.
No longer sore, may I walk.
Impervious to pain, may I walk.
With lively feelings may I walk.
As it used to be long ago, may I walk.

Happily may I walk.
Happily, with abundant dark clouds, may I walk.
Happily, with abundant showers, may I walk.
Happily, with abundant plants, may I walk.
Happily on a trail of pollen, may I walk.
Happily may I walk.
Being as it used to be long ago, may I walk.

May it be beautiful before me.
May it be beautiful behind me.
May it be beautiful below me.
May it be beautiful above me.
May it be beautiful all around me.
In beauty it is finished.
In beauty it is finished.”

The Horniman museum also has a display of world musical instruments, showing in particular how the classical instruments of the West evolved.  Although I learned the flute at school and play the guitar, this room was a bit dull for me: it is just racks of oboes and bassoons, really.  There’s also a display of stuffed animals, which passes a few entertaining moments.  The ethnographic gallery was shut’ til next year sadly.  We visited on a Saturday- the place was overrun with small children, as it probably always is.  I’ll visit again in 2018 on a weekday, I think (!).  There’s a park outside which, as the site is at the crest of the Dulwich Hills, has stunning views north and west over central London. The fantastic panorama alone might justify the visit.

Lastly I must mention that this trip began in Peckham with a visit to Persepolis cafe, the very excellent Iranian restaurant and shop run by cookery writer Sally Butcher.  It’s highly recommended as a place to eat; if you like the cuisine, have a look at her books Persepolis and Veggiestan (amongst others).

“Sous les pavés, la plage!”-revealing the real Britain


Sous les pavés, le plage!” ‘Under the paving stones, the beach!’ was one of the Situationist slogans of the Parisian students during les evenments of 1968.  It was a literal reference to the fact that, in lifting the street cobbles for use as missiles against the police, the bedding layer of sand beneath was exposed, but simultaneously it fitted well with the more surreal slogans that were being adopted by the protesters at the time: ‘Be realistic, demand the impossible!’; ‘It is forbidden to forbid.’

In this posting I want to adapt this slogan and instead to declare “Under the streets, the fields!” (Sous les rues, les champs!)  I want us to remind ourselves that, in contemporary Britain, an older, more natural world is not far away.  Under the motorway is the Roman road; beneath the tarmac runs the green lane.  Our deep history is not far below the surface: modern concrete and glass sit on foundations of Tudor brick, medieval stone, Roman tiles and the traces of the timber frames of British huts.  Britain is a long-inhabited land and we are surrounded by the traces of the former occupiers- not just the obvious castles and churches, but a farmhouse marooned by encroaching suburbs or an old inn on a high street.  The relics may be more subtle still- the marks of old ploughing in fields, the way that old hedge lines shape modern street plans.

Geoffrey Household captured this sense of age and long usage when he described the green lanes between Bridport and Axminster.  Depicting Marshwood Vale in his novel Rogue male he described “a ridge of a half moon of low rabbit cropped hills, the horns of which rested upon the sea, enclosing between them a small lush valley.”  The outer and northern slopes of this crescent look down on Marshwood Vale.  Within the crescent were lanes worn down by generations of pack horses that ran fifteen feet deep or more below the level of the fields.  “The trade-worn contours of red and green upon the flanks of the hills are very dear to me.”  He described “an ancient little high road” deep and dark, with thick hedges grown together over the top, hidden to all but the most observant.


The tendency of the English to seek solace from their land and from the traces of former residents is a very old one.  Bede, as a very early example, often referred to British forts, Roman earthworks, ruined tombs and so on; Peter Ackroyd notes that, like Aubrey and Stukeley a thousand years later, Bede “was already possessed by a vision of English antiquity among old stones and broken monuments…”

We all need the reassurance of a sense of constancy.  Poet and artist David Jones, writing In parenthesis (1939), evoked “the creaturely world inherited from our remote past.”  As T. S. Eliot realised, “whatever happens began in the past and presses on the future:” “the past is about to happen and the future was long since settled.”  Our past informs our present and our future: this is true in cultural as well as material terms.  For the neo-romantic artists of the 1940s, British history provided “a projected past which found its origins in the land of Britain itself.”  Linking together Blake, King Arthur and other visionary legends, they created “an organic myth of rocks, hills and Arcadia: a myth of origins to be drawn out by artists like Sutherland and Craxton …  Some other Eden was mapped upon the country … a national fantasy of Britain-as-Eden … turned into a blitzed ruin by the Second World War.” (David Mellor, A paradise lost, 1987)

We can respond broadly in two ways to our landscape.  One is a response to its mystical meaning, the other is the feeling of profound age and inheritance that I have described. The two are not separate, of course, as the sense of the physical past can conjure up in our imaginations a Britain as ahistorical as the legendary realms of King Arthur.

The searchers for the (imagined) past include painter John Piper, who responded to the English landscape by searching out old buildings and sites; for him these relics embodied the core of the ‘real’ England.  Peter Ackroyd expresses similar sentiments in his novel First light.  One character remarks “This landscape looks so deep.  It looks as if it’s been inhabited for thousands and thousands of years.”  The landscape in question is the Devon/ Dorset border, with which another character is ‘obsessed.’  “He believed that this place had its own sound- he had always heard a peculiarly soft quality in its bird song- and its own smells.  And when he saw the cattle and sheep peacefully grazing in the fields he could feel the pressure of its beneficence, its curves and folds cradling the life which seemed to have issued from it.  It possessed an almost human presence, as if the generations of those who had dwelt upon its surface had left some faint echo…”  In his history of Albion Ackroyd draws upon W. G. Hoskins’ Making of the English landscape when he states that “Much of [the English] landscape still rises and declines in ancient patterns, which hold their own stories of lives laboriously led.  The lines of ditches and hedgerows represent an ancient order; even densely built urban areas can reflect an older reality. Nineteenth century Nottingham, for example, was ‘largely determined by the medieval footpaths and furlongs of the open fields.'”  The echoes of the past reverberate around us, then; the very landscape is a palimpsest.  In the same history, Ackroyd remarks that “it has been argued that, if antiquity is deeply embedded in place and time, the extant physical memorials are not necessary.”  He does not, however, appear to be wholly convinced by this: later he contends that “the power and forces of past time … are not easily destroyed; they remain visible beneath the surface of the earth.”  He suggests rather that “the whole of Anglo-Saxondom [is not] a matter of race but one, quite simply, of place- of place and of spirit, the spirit being born of the environment.”

For English artists landscape can portray allegorical images that conjure up another dimension, an unseen reality beyond everyday appearances .  Mystical ideas of a hidden landscape and ‘psychogeography’ have become woven into our culture, so that the evocation of past habitations and past inhabitants can elicit deeper reverberations of old myths- old gods and old heroes- the ‘magical and spiritual realm of Britain” (Peter Woodcock, This enchanted isle, pp.1, 3 & 4)- as well as the mere imaginings of a material past that has passed away.  Paul Nash sought for ‘the things behind’ the landscape, the dweller in the inner-most, the concealed significance of Albion.


Wildlife writer Richard Jefferies is just one author who experienced the intersection of the mystical and the antiquarian.  Living just outside Swindon, he loved the ancient Ridgeway route, lovingly describing how a “broad green track runs for many a long, long mile across the downs, now following the ridges, now winding past at the foot of a grassy slope…” (Wildlife in a southern county, 1879).  For Jefferies, as many for many of us I suspect, contact with nature had something of communion about it.  “To me, everything is supernatural,” he said, even to the degree that walking over London Bridge he could be conscious of “the sun, the sky, the limitless space and was in the midst of eternity, in the midst of the supernatural.”  (The story of my heart, c.3)

Being in a landscape (urban or rural) can transport us: we can be carried through time and we can travel in the imagination.  In his history of Albion Peter Ackroyd asked “Can dwelling become a form of indwelling or imaginative life?”  This posting argues that it can- and that it has.  A sense of the past can give a sensation of security, of continuity and of solidarity.  We are part of a material and narrative texture, a fabric of history and inheritance that we can use to give meaning and form to our present and to shape our future.  To revert to Eliot: “Time present and time past/ Are both perhaps present in time future/ And time future contained in time past.”

Peter Ackroyd concludes his history of ‘Albion’ with an epilogue meditating upon the ‘territorial imperative,’ as he terms it.  He thinks it is the most powerful impulse in British culture, “by means of which a local area can influence or guide all those who inhabit it.” This ‘local area’ can include the entire nation.  “English writers and artists, English composers and folk-singers have been haunted by this sense of place, in which the echoic simplicities of past use or past tradition sanctify a certain spot of ground … in England the reverence for the past and the affinity for the natural landscape join together in a mutual embrace.  So, we owe much to the ground on which we dwell.  It is the landscape and the dreamscape.  It encourages a sense of longing and belonging.  It is Albion.”

‘Sussex modernism’- a review of Two Temple Place



Edward Burra, Landscape near Rye, 1943-45

Previously I visited a very good exhibition of Newlyn School painting at this impressive Thames-side gallery, so I was keen to see the latest show, Sussex modernism- retreat and rebellion, which runs until April 23rd  (see website for full details).

I have written elsewhere on this blog about such artists as Paul Nash, Eric Ravilious, John Piper and Graham Sutherland and in this small three rooms show samples of their work are conveniently collected together.


Eric Ravilious, Interior at Furlongs, 1939

It is a free exhibition and the venue itself is a very grand panelled mansion with beamed ceilings and stained glass windows.  In itself it is worth the visit but the opportunity to see so many works together and to discover artists  (David Jones, Eric Gill and Pavel Tchelitchew) and new links between them was unmissable.

Members of the Bloomsbury Group- Vanessa Bell, Virginia Woolfe and others- settled in Sussex seeking inspiration away from London.  They attracted others to them and an astonishing roll call of artists forged links with the Sussex coast.

Paul Nash based himself in Rye during the early 1920s when painting the sea at Dymchurch; his friend Edward Burra was also present, along with Nash’s alter lover Eileen Agar.  Burra did not appreciate Rye, which he described as a “ducky little TinkerBell towne … like an itsy bitsy morgue, quayte dead.”

Bronze Ballet 1940 by Edward Wadsworth 1889-1949

Edward Wadsworth, Bronze ballet, 1940

Wadsworth’s picture above reminds us that war encroached twice upon this apparent idyll.  Wadsworth recalled hearing the guns in France from the Downs during 1914-18 and the view of Le Havre painted above was made within earshot of the German assault upon Calias and Abbeville.   Burra too has war art displayed.

My favourite painting I cannot reproduce presently; it is from the Edward James Collection at West Dean College, outside Chichester, and is  ‘Hide and seek’ by Pavel Tchelitchew (1934).  It is a splendid gothic image of girls climbing a strange, contorted tree, whilst a ghostly white moth hovers near.  The message is mysterious and unsettling and for m (perversely perhaps) it was star of the show.  If you are near the strand between now and late April, I strongly recommend a visit, if only to enjoy this picture!



“War in the sunshine”- a review of the Estorick Collection exhibition

Carline, Sydney William, 1888-1929; Among the Anti-Aircraft Bursts at 20,000 Feet above the Alps: A British Air Squadron Crossing the Anglo-Austrian Line along the River Piave, Italy

I have lived a short tube ride away form the Estorick Collection in Highbury for 22 years.  I am ashamed to say I had not visited before yesterday.  Part of the reason, I confess, is that ‘modern Italian art’ didn’t sound so thrilling to me.  Fra Angelico, Botticelli, Cima da Conegliano and the like all excite me- but these early twentieth century pictures all sounded about 500 years too late.  I was mistaken.

The current special exhibition, War in the sunshine, is subtitled The British in Italy 1917-1918. As it was a centenary exhibition of First World War painting from a very poorly known front, I was interested to go- not least because it was so convenient a venue for me.  It’s a small show, just two modestly sized rooms.  One is given over to the paintings of Sydney Carline, the other to photographs by Ernest Brooks and William Brunell.  These are images of Italy, but not created by Italians- a bit of a cheat by the Estorick, perhaps, but we’ll forgive them.  The photos are interesting as reportage; they are mainly taken behind the lines and feature Italian women working for the British expeditionary force, flirting with the Tommies and feeding them in their homes.


The real interest for me was Carline.  I was aware of him as a friend of Paul Nash, and realised I had seen some of his work before.  He had flown in the RFC defending London from Zeppelin and Gotha raids before being transferred as a war artist to the Italian front.  There are not very many paintings in the exhibition, but the ones they have are little jewels.  The show is called War in the sunshine and undoubtedly Carline captures the amazing light high above the Alps brilliantly.  It always looks like early morning or late evening, with deep shadows and contrasts.  Amazingly, being a pilot, he would take his initial sketches whilst airborne and then complete the pictures later.  He also depicted the conflict on the ground.  I had not known that the Austrians bombed Venice and other cities- the image below shows the population fleeing Padua during an air-raid.  The moonlight and searchlight beams are especially effective in the original.  After the armistice, Carline was transferred to the Middle East and there produced some equally striking aerial pictures of Mesopotamia and Kurdistan.

Although Carline was an English artist working only briefly in the north of Italy, there is an important link to Italian Futurism, which displayed a particular interest in flight and aerial warfare.  Following a manifesto, Perspectives of flight, issued in 1929, the ‘second wave’ of Futurist art was particularly fascinated by the new realities and new perspectives offered by the fast developing technology.  Amongst the aeropittura artists Gerardo Dottori, Tullio Crali, Fortunato Depero and Enrico Prampolini are most notable.  This exhibition is therefore especially apt, given that the First World War was the first truly mechanised war, on land as well as in the air.

Carline, Sydney William, 1888-1929; Italians Leaving Padua on Account of the Raids

Having paid for entry, I then took the chance to explore the rest of the collection.  There were another four galleries to explore.  I had expected to see Modigliani, and was pleased to see his famous portrait of Francois Brabander.  I had been aware of the Futurists, but I had never really examined their work.  A minor conversion may have taken place yesterday afternoon and I now want to know more about and see more of Dottori,  Crali and others…


I’ll conclude with an image by Carlo Carra.  Its title is Atmospheric swirls- a bursting shell. If you study the cartoonish text, you’ll see the words Zang Tumb Tumb.  This phrase is the title of a 1912 poem by Futurist movement leader, Filippo Marinetti.  For those of us of a certain age, you may also recognise it as the name of Paul Morley’s record label which released (most notoriously) ‘Relax’ by Frankie goes to Hollywood.  It was an added pleasure to make this link to my early twenties!

War in the sunshine runs until March 19th, to be followed in April by a show featuring Futurist Giacomo Balla.  If you find yourself in the vicinity of Highbury and Islington tube station, you should definitely make the effort and visit!


“This enchanted isle”-visions of Albion


On a recent trip to Glastonbury, I visited Gothic Image bookshop in the High Street and picked up a reprinted edition of their publication, This enchanted isle by Peter Woodcock. Originally published in 2000, the book describes itself as a study of ‘the neo-romantic vision from William Blake to the new visionaries.’ Woodcock has written on art and literature and has an interest in the ‘shamanic’ tradition; in this book he traces the influence of William Blake and Samuel Palmer on later writers, artists and film-makers.

I discuss some of the supernatural connections in This enchanted isle in a posting on one of my other blogs, britishfairies.wordpress.com. Here, I want to discuss the how visual art and literature have drawn on the thoughts and imagery of Blake and Palmer.

Woodcock presents his book as a survey of the ‘lost tribe’ of British artists, writers and film-makers who worked between the two world wars and into the 1950s, who were known as the neo-romantics.  They were greatly influenced by the work of William Blake and Samuel Palmer and were concerned with depicting the qualities of English landscape and culture.  They embraced nature as a source, but not in a benign, sentimentalised way.  Their landscapes often portrayed allegorical images conjuring up another dimension, an unseen reality which lies beyond everyday appearances (p.1).  Woodcock explained that “What distinguishes neo-romanticism from traditional Romanticism is the feeling of danger, the juxtaposition of the urban with the countryside, the element of darkness, dissolution, an almost pagan reverie breaking through the ruins of post-industrialism”  (p.55).  The Neo-Romantics wanted to restore the magic and mystery to the world and to create a ‘visionary’ genealogy of British culture.

The book discusses over two dozen artists and writers in separate, short chapters.  It is offered by Woodcock only as a taste of a vast and complex world of creativity which depicts the magical and spiritual realm of Britain.  At 192 pages in length, it is not intended to be an exhaustive survey but instead aims to encourage further investigation.  I found it very inspiring and I hope this posting will inspire you to explore more too.

For Woodcock, a line from the introduction to William Blake’s Jerusalem sums up the poet’s mystical conception of the British landscape: he declared that “All Things begin and end in Albion’s ancient Druid Rocky Shore.”  The isle of Britain is therefore the centre of myth for Blake with layers of meaning accrued over the millennia.  Indeed, throughout his poems, otherwise prosaic place names are imbued with spiritual and dramatic significance by Blake, making Albion a truly enchanted isle: he envisages “Jerusalem’s inner court, Lambeth”, Los directing his force “Along the Valleys of Middlesex from Hounslow to Blackheath” and Hand’s furnace “on Highgate’s heights and it reached to Brockley Hills across the Thames.”

For Woodcock, Blake was above all prophetic, having insights which are still of relevance today.  Not only did he foresee the rise of materialism, he created his own spiritual universe in opposition to this based upon a mystical and (some would say) heretical version of Christianity which incorporated elements of alchemy and British mythology. In the preface to his Milton Blake called on other artists to unite with him:

“Painters! On you I call! Sculptors! Architects! Suffer not the fashionable fools to depress your powers by the prices they pretend to give for contemptible works  or the expensive advertising boasts they make.”

Artists of the day were not inclined to reject commercialism and fashionability nor to strike out on some independent visionary quest, but some painters of the twentieth century did pay attention to the rallying cry.  Moreover, in the 1960s, many of Blake’s ideas resurfaced with renewed vigour in popular culture.  As Woodcock recounts, there was an explosion of interest in such beliefs as the Western Mystery tradition, paganism, druidism, divination, sacred geometry and the whole concept of the landscape of Britain as laid out in magical tradition.

If Blake portrayed an island called Albion in which angelic and demonic forces were drawn from the imagination rather than reality, then Samuel Palmer caught “an idyllic, Arcadian mood” (p.8).  This especially true of his early pictures, created in the Shoreham valley in west Kent.  Palmer, like Blake, was heavily influenced by Milton, but also by Virgil, Bunyan, Shakespeare and Spenser.  He combined his love of the English rural landscape with a dreamlike style that emphasised foliage, hills, clouds and the moon and stars, resulting in images that are at once mysterious and inviting (see his Early morning below).


Twentieth century painter Paul Nash is, for Woodcock, a “key artist in the neo-romantic tradition.  He explored aspects of the English countryside that evoked a strange, otherworldly atmosphere.  He called this genius loci.”(p.2)  This was what Nash saw as the ‘imprisoned spirit’ in English art.  In 1934 Nash wrote that “If I were asked to describe this spirit I would say it is of the land; genius loci is indeed almost its conception.  If its expression could be designated, I would say that it is almost entirely lyrical.”  He elaborated on this in 1946, explaining that the spirit of a place is “something more than its natural features seem to contain.”  The phrase did not “suggest that the place was haunted or inhabited by a genie in any sense  … its magic lay within itself, implicated in its own design and its relationship to its surroundings…”  As a result, then, “There are places …whose relationship of parts creates a mystery, an enchantment, which cannot be analysed.”  He told Gordon Bottomley in a letter that he “turned to the landscape not for the landscape’s sake but for the ‘things behind’- the dweller in the innermost.”

Nash acknowledged his links and debts to Blake and to Palmer.  Of the latter Nash said that he shared his “appetite for monstrous moons, exuberance of stars.”  Nash found in Palmer something magical and unreal.  Of Blake, he said that he was “then, and often now, called a madman, [but he] perceived among many things the hidden significance of the land he always called Albion.  For him, Albion possessed great spiritual personality and he constantly inveighed against Nature, the appearance of which he mistrusted as a false reality.  At the same time, his poetry was immensely influenced by the country he lived in.  His poetry literally came out of England.” Paul Nash’s Second World War picture ‘The defence of Albion‘ may be a nod to the poet (see below) whilst his late sunflower paintings perhaps echo Blake’s  ‘Ah! Sunflower’ as well as Nash’s readings on mythology in The Golden Bough.  


As Woodcock observes, “throughout his life Nash was drawn to natural sites that were imbued with folklore and mystical associations.”  Nash discovered Avebury in 1933. He was fascinated by all the “signs of ancient habitation by man,” the “hallowed remains of an almost unknown civilisation.” These dramatic symbols of antiquity had a profound effect upon the artist, as he explained in 1934.  “Last summer, I walked in a field near Avebury where two rough monoliths stood up sixteen feet high, miraculously patterned with black and orange lichen, remnants of the avenue of stones that leads to the Great Circle.  A mile away, a green pyramid casts its gigantic shadow.  In the hedge, at hand, the white trumpet of the convolvulus turns from its spiral stem, following the sun.  In my art, I would solve such an equation.”


Paul Nash, ‘Equivalents for the megaliths’, 1935

Nash responded to other ancient landscapes as well.  These included the Vale of the White Horse and the Uffington White Horse (“more of a dragon than a horse” but with “the lineaments of a work of art), Badbury Rings, Silbury Hill, Maiden Castle and Boar’s Hill and  Wittenham Clumps. About Wittenham Nash enthused that they were “part of the Berkshire Downs, an early British stronghold, once called Sinodun.  Under the trees are long barrows.  Below the clumps is the remains of an ancient forest.  In the painter’s mind this place has a compelling magic…”  He described his late landscape paintings of this latter location  as ‘transcendental.’   At the time he painted them he was researching the cycles of nature in Frazer’s Golden Bough and his pictures became increasingly mythic, occult and metaphysical.  In the early 1940s Nash also renewed his enthusiasm for Palmer and Calvert (he borrowed the title ‘Bright cloud’ for one of his own pictures) and he started to re-read Blake.  It may be that Blake’s sunflower, “weary of time”, infused Nash’s final sunflower series.

Woodcock describes Nash’s mission as being ‘re-enchanting the land.’  He described Ivinghoe beacon as “an enchanted place”, Wittenham Clumps as “full of strange enchantment” and remarked upon the “enchantment of the Ballard (Head)” at Swanage.  In 1937 Nash wrote how he found that “the landscape too seemed now possessed of a different animation.”  To summarise, Paul Nash’s interest was in unseen, hidden landscapes that are visibly, physically around us and yet are not perceived or are invisible, so that there is a poetic character to the discovery of the secret of a place.

Nash in his turn had a considerable influence on others working within the neo-romantic style.  Although Woodcock admits that neo-romanticism as a distinct movement petered out in the 1950s, “the imaginative doorway opened by Paul Nash still reverberates today with painters, writers and film-makers out of the mainstream, quietly pursuing the quest for ‘something beyond appearances.'”  He lists the following writers as significant:

  • John Michell, whose psycho-geography of ancient places connected by lines of energy revived and perpetuated mystical ideas of a hidden landscape and in turn inspired others, such as the writer Ian Sinclair.
  • John Cowper Powys, a Welsh writer with  a highly developed magical philosophy.  He evoked in his writing a strong spirit of place and a sense of the mythic in everyday life.  For example, he wrote that “the world behind all appearances is called, by the Welsh, Annwn.  Annwn is not only the centre of the creativeness of mythological renewal, where Merlin dwells, but is also the land of Death.”  Powys was highly sensitive to the feeling of localities and described walking in a secluded spot thus: “the spirit of the earth called out to him from the green shoots beneath his feet, so that he was filled by the genius loci and sustained by it.”  His greatest work, perhaps, is the novel A Glastonbury Romance;
  • Arthur Machen, a companion of Yeats and Crowley in the Golden Dawn, is remembered for his novels of Gothic horror and pagan mystery, such as The Great God Pan.  Woodcock notes that his “descriptions of an unknown country, which lies invisible yet within reach of those who dare to enter it, can be chilling.”  His masterpiece is The Hill of Dreams;
  • Geoffrey Household- and in particular his novel Rogue Male and its responses to the ancient Dorset countryside around Marshwood Vale; and,
  • Peter Ackroyd, most especially for First light, a novel based around the excavation of a Neolithic burial mound in Dorset.

Artists who continued the neo-romantic tradition during the 1930s and 1950s included:

  • Graham Sutherland, who was very strongly influenced by Palmer’s intimately enfolding views, especially in his earlier pictures of Pembrokeshire  (illustrated below, Cray Fields, 1925).  He praised the ‘spiritual quality’ of Blake’s designs, although he was ambivalent about the poet’s ‘theological ideography.’  All the same, by deliberately harking back to Blake and Palmer, Sutherland inspired the Neo-Romantic label;

Cray Fields 1925 by Graham Sutherland OM 1903-1980

  • John Piper, who was inspired by artists such as Palmer and Nash (although, he found Blake “a little frightening and inscrutable”) and by elements of the British scene- vernacular buildings, antiquarianism and old customs, archaeology and the ancient sites of Wiltshire .  He suggested that drawing upon imagery of prehistory might be one way for British artists to respond to the advent of Cubism (below, Stonehenge, 1981).  The work he did on the Shell Guides to England was based on Piper’s own myth of the ‘real’ England and they fed a romantic nostalgia for a pre-industrial, pre-Reformation past;


  • John Minton, another devotee of Palmer, of whom contemporary Michael Ayrton (see below) wrote that “Palmer shines through him, but his work is personal nonetheless.”  Rothenstein felt that Minton’s work was imbued with Palmer’s spirit.  Illustrated below is his Landscape with figures;


  • Michael Ayrton, who admired Palmer and argued in 1944 that it was him, “more than any other individual draughtsman, who influences the landscape drawing of the younger generation today.  He was an artist in whose best work may be found the complete expression, in landscape, of Blake’s teaching and example” (below is his Greek suite- sacred place);  michael_ayrton_the_greek_suite___sacred_place_846
  • Keith Vaughan was inspired by Palmer to produce tiny, dense landscapes of the Malton area.  Writing A view of English painting in 1944 for Penguin, Vaughan particularly praised the intensity and visionary brilliance of Blake’s work ;
  • John Craxton, another painter who drew upon the imagery and style of Palmer, as can be seen below in Llanthony Abbey, 1942.  Critic Geoffrey Grigson saw in Craxton’s early pictures “vegetables growing out of Sam Palmer’s Shoreham Garden, leafage and moons out of drawings … shepherds and poets out of Palmer’s mythology.”He was also friendly with Ruthven Todd, a Blake specialist, who even went so far as to lend Craxton a Blake original.

Llanthony Abbey 1942 by John Craxton 1922-2009

This is by no means an exhaustive list- others that could be mentioned include one of my favourites, Eric Ravilious, as well as Paul Drury, Harold Hitchcock and Richard Eurich.

Woodcock describes neo-romanticism as being finished by the 1950s, but its inspiration persists strongly, nonetheless.  Two quotations from This enchanted isle brought current musicians to mind:

  • “Like mankind, nature can be cruel and sadistic” (p.2).  Likewise, in Spirit of place critic Malcolm Yorke observes that the belief of Romantic artists like Fuseli that Nature could be either wilfully vicious or implacably indifferent contributed to the approach of the Neo-Romantics.  Polly Harvey in her recent work has recorded her strangely ambivalent love for her home country.  On the award winning album Let England Shake the song Battleship Hill comments upon the way that the battlefield of Gallipoli has recovered and how “cruel nature has won again.”  In the song The last living rose Harvey celebrates her home- “Take me back to England, and the grey damp filthiness of ages, fog rolling down behind the mountains, and on the graveyards and dead sea-captains.  Let me walk through the stinking alleys, to the music of drunken beatings, past the Thames river, glistening like gold…”;
  • “The British have always revered the land”- Julian Cope has matured from the pop of Teardrop Explodes in the early 1980s into a complex and intelligent writer of songs and books on megaliths, as well as music.  His 2007 album, YOU GOTTA PROBLEM WITH ME concludes with ‘Shame Shame Shame’, a protest song that plays out with the chant ‘Deny Your God, Revere the Land!’  He is pictured below with Silbury Hill in the background.