London Calling.
London Walks connecting.
This is London.
This is London Walks.
Streets Ahead.
Story time.
History time.
It’s July 17th. We don’t put a red circle around July 17th on the calendar. We put a black circle around it.
This day, July 17th, is the anniversary of the death of James McNeill Whistler.
So here’s a question.
What did James McNeill Whistler ever do for London?
Quite a lot, as it happens.
He changed the way we see it.
Especially after dark.
The next time you’re beside the Thames on a summer evening, don’t hurry home.
Pause.
Watch what happens.
The hard edges begin to soften. The river catches the last of the light. Lamps come on. Bridges become silhouettes. Reflections tremble in the water.
The city becomes… well… almost magical.
Whistler saw that before anybody else did.
And then he showed the rest of us.
He wasn’t English. He was born in Massachusetts in 1834. He trained in Paris. But London, especially Chelsea and the Thames, became the great subject of his art.
He arrived here in 1859.
Fortunately for us.
He cut quite a figure. Small, dapper, impeccably dressed. White forelock. Monocle. Cane. A butterfly of a man, which is rather fitting because his signature was a butterfly. Not a fluttery butterfly, mind you. Look closely and it has a sting in its tail. Just like the man himself. Elegant. Witty. Charming when he wanted to be. Ferociously sharp when crossed.
His clothes were always just a little different from everybody else’s. Carefully chosen. Carefully worn. Nothing accidental about him.
Even his walk, his gestures, the way he held himself seemed composed.
Whistler didn’t merely make art.
Whistler made an artwork of Whistler.
And here’s another surprise.
The great painter of London nightscapes very nearly wasn’t a painter at all.
As a boy he was sent to West Point, America’s famous military academy. It didn’t work out. His drawing was admired. His discipline wasn’t. He was eventually shown the door.
So he tried something else.
Chemistry.
That didn’t work either.
Which turned out to be excellent news for London.
Because if James McNeill Whistler had become a soldier…
or a chemist…
he’d never have shown us how beautiful London could be after dark.
His pitching up here, yes, it was fortunate for us.
Because Victorian London wasn’t thought of as beautiful.
It was smoky. Industrial. Crowded. Dirty.
Whistler looked at exactly the same city everybody else was looking at.
And saw something entirely different.
He saw poetry.
He lived in Chelsea, overlooking the Thames.
Cue our Wednesday afternoon Chelsea Walk. His house figures on that walk. It’s a quiet thrill, standing outside 96 Cheyne Walk. The thought, so James Macneill Whistler lived there. Went through that front door. It gets better. English Heritage reminds us that when you stand outside No. 96 today, you’re looking at essentially the same stretch of river Whistler looked at. Battersea Church is still across the Thames. Battersea Bridge is still nearby – though not the old wooden bridge he painted. The geography of his inspiration is remarkably intact. And that’s just the main Chelsea House. Earlier on in that walk we go to Tite Street to see Oscar Wilde’s house. For a time the great playwright and the great painter were neighbours. Whistler lived in the White House in Tite Street. It’s now demolished but we can stand where Whistler stood. And see what he saw, see his neighbour Oscar Wilde swanning in and out of his his. And at the end of Whistler’s life of course, it was back to 74 Cheyne Walk. Where he died. On this day. It still stands.
Both of those Cheyne Walk houses, their Thameside position is sheer magic.
Whistler wandered those banks, just as we do today.
He crossed old Battersea Bridge.
He watched dusk settle over the river.
And he realised something.
Evening transformed London.
The warehouses became palaces.
The chimneys became campanili, elegant Italian bell towers.
The river seemed to hang in the heavens.
Those aren’t my words.
They’re Whistler’s.
He wrote that when evening mist drew its veil across the Thames, the commonplace disappeared. London became dreamlike.
That was his great gift.
Not painting what everybody could see.
Painting what almost nobody had noticed.
He even gave his paintings musical titles.
Not “View of Battersea Bridge.”
Not “Chelsea at Night.”
Instead…
“Nocturne.”
“Symphony.”
“Harmony.”
“Arrangement.”
He wanted us to think of paintings the way we think of music.
Not as stories.
As moods.
Now, if you want to understand Whistler, there’s one painting you simply must spend some time with.
It’s at Tate Britain.
Nocturne: Blue and Gold – Old Battersea Bridge.
When you first stand in front of it you may think…
“Is that it?”
It’s dark.
Very dark.
There’s the bridge, climbing steeply across the picture.
A tiny boat.
A few lights.
Golden sparks drifting down through the night.
Fireworks, probably from Cremorne Gardens.
Nothing much seems to be happening.
Don’t move on.
Stay with it.
Give it a minute.
Your eyes begin to adjust.
The darkness isn’t empty.
It’s full of colour.
Deep blues.
Soft greens.
Hints of silver.
The lights become brighter.
The bridge becomes grander.
The river begins to breathe.
And then you realise something extraordinary.
Whistler isn’t painting Battersea Bridge.
He’s painting what it feels like to stand beside the Thames at night.
That was new.
Victorian audiences expected paintings packed with incident and detail.
Heroes.
Villains.
Historical dramas.
Everything carefully explained.
Whistler stripped almost all of that away.
He trusted atmosphere.
Suggestion.
Silence.
He understood that what you leave out can be every bit as powerful as what you put in.
Not everybody approved.
Far from it.
The great Victorian critic John Ruskin looked at one of Whistler’s Nocturnes and exploded.
He accused the artist of asking two hundred guineas for, and I’m quoting him here, “flinging a pot of paint in the public’s face.”
Whistler sued him for libel.
The trial became one of the most famous in the history of art.
The Attorney General tried to make Whistler look ridiculous.
He asked him whether he really expected two hundred guineas for what had taken him only a couple of days to paint.
Whistler’s reply deserves to be framed.
“No,” he said.
“I ask it for the knowledge of a lifetime.”
There it is.
One of the greatest answers ever given in a courtroom.
The jury found in Whistler’s favour.
But awarded him damages of just one farthing.
A moral victory.
A financial disaster.
The legal costs helped bankrupt him.
Today, thankfully, we can simply enjoy the paintings.
And London is one of the very best places in the world to do that.
Go to Tate Britain.
Stand in front of Old Battersea Bridge.
Don’t rush.
Look.
Really look.
Let your eyes do what they would do if you were standing beside the Thames at dusk.
You’ll begin to see what Whistler saw.
And once you’ve seen it…
You’ll never quite look at London in the same way again.
If you’d like company on that journey, London Walks has a splendid Tate Britain walk, guided by the distinguished arts critic Rick Jones.
Rick will help you see not just Whistler, but the whole remarkable story that hangs on those gallery walls.
And perhaps that’s Whistler’s greatest legacy.
He taught us that London isn’t merely a city to be looked at.
It’s a city to be seen.
James McNeill Whistler died on this day in 1903.
His paintings are still teaching us how to look.
Art happens.
James McNeill Whistler.
Ave atque vale.
Hail and farewell.
You’ve been listening to the London Walks podcast.
The best way to see London is on foot.
And the best way to see it on foot is with London Walks.
Streets Ahead.
See you tomorrow.