Stories of Art· Folge 36

Seurat's Masterpiece: A Sunday on La Grande Jatte - 1884

Dienstag, 20. Oktober 2026 · 1 h 10

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What makes Georges Seurat's masterpiece 'A Sunday on La Grande Jatte -1884' so revolutionary? What does the picture mean? And why did it become so famous? Join Alastair and James as they explore the mysteries of one of the most beguiling paintings in the history of art.
If you want to see the artworks discussed in this episode you can switch on video in your podcast app at any time.

Artworks in this episode:
Georges Seurat, A Sunday on La Grand Jatte - 1884, 1884-86, Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago
Georges Seurat, Bathers at Asnières 1884, The National Gallery, London
Georges Seurat, The Diner, 1883-84, Private Collection
Georges Seurat, Embroidery; The Artist's Mother, 1882-83, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, La Grande Odalisque, 1814, Musée du Louvre, Paris
Eugène Delacroix, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel, 1854-61, Saint-Sulpice, Paris
Pierre-Cécile Puvis de Chavannes, The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist, c.1869, The National Gallery, London
Georges Seurat, Madame Seurat, the Artist's Mother, 1882-83, J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles
Georges Seurat, House at Dusk (La Cité), 1881-82, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Georges Seurat, Aman-Jean (Portrait of Edmond François Aman-Jean), 1882-83, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Georges Seurat, Seated Boy with Straw Hat, study for Bathers at Asnières, 1883-84, Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven
Georges Seurat, Bathers (Study for "Bathers at Asnières"), 1883-84, National Gallery of Art, Washington D. C.
Georges Seurat, Horse and Boats (Study for "Bathers at Asnières"), 1883-84, National Gallery of Art, Washington D. C.
Georges Seurat, Boy from Behind, c.1893, Private Collection
Arnold Böcklin, Isle of the Dead, 1880, Kunstmuseum, Basel
Georges Seurat, The Couple: Study for La Grande Jatte, 1884, The British Museum, London
Georges Seurat, La Grande Jatte, 1884, Private Collection
Georges Seurat, Monkey, 1884, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Georges Seurat, The Channel at Gravelines, Evening, 1890, Museum of Modern Art, New York
Recommended Reading:
Alastair Sooke, Seurat: Bathers at Asnieres, 2025
Robert Herbert, Seurat: 1859-1891, 1991
Karen Serres, Seurat and the Sea, 2026
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Hosts: Alastair Sooke and Dr James Fox
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Transkriptvom Podcast bereitgestellt · Zeitmarken springen hin

Welcome to Stories of Art. I'm James Fox. And I am Alastair Souk. In a sun-dappled park on an island in the River Seine, a crowd of Parisians is whiling away a Sunday afternoon. To one side, a woman is fishing, while men sitting nearby on the grass gaze across the water as a butterfly flits by. A little girl runs towards a clump of trees, the trunks of which resemble the columns on a Greek temple.

Another, dressed in white, stares back at us, the only figure who does. And to the right of this scene, in the foreground, dominating everything, there is an elegantly dressed couple who can be seen in profile. The top-hatted gentleman puffs on his cigar and his companion, dressed in an extravagant bustle, holds a monkey on a leash.

So that, James, is a rapid, my rapid, sketch of one of the 19th century's most spectacular paintings, A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. 1884, crucially the year in which it was begun, 1884 is part of the title, by the French artist Georges Surat. And since 1924, it's hung in the Art Institute of Chicago. And to use a word that's banned by the newspaper for which I write, I think it is truly, it is iconic.

I think, I'm sure you would agree. And in part, it's because of the way it's painted, right? With all of these unmixed colours that have been laid down side by side, gazillion dabs, patches, specks, flecks, spots. And I think, in fact, that's what, for many people, Surat is known for. He is the painter of dots who follows this supposedly scientific method and invented a seemingly impersonal technique known as pointillism.

So look, where do you stand on Surah's dots, James? It's true. If people know anything about Surah, they know about the dots. But the dots are a tiny part, as it were, of his overall importance. I think that Surah is one of the giants of modern art. He's one of those great figures of the 1880s, together with Cezanne, Van Gogh, Gauguin, who really takes Impressionism forward and who in doing so builds this bridge between 19th century art and 20th century art.

But the really striking thing actually about Sura Alistair is how short his career was. I mean, he was 31 years old when he died. That's, I think, six years younger even than Van Gogh. And of course it prompts the same question as with Van Gogh. What would he have done if he'd had some more years? I know there are, I think it's sort of seen as six major canvases.

We are going to be talking about in the second half today, the second, which is probably his most famous. Yes, the Grand Jatte. You see, I think he still gets a bit of a bad rep because we'll talk a lot about his interest. Well, maybe not too much because it's, I think, a little bit. boring, but about his interest in colour theory, which perhaps is part of the intellectual explanation for why he does the dots.

You see, I think he's got this reputation as being a bit of a cold fish, you know, excessively rational. He's got this method. You know, he always banged on about his method. He said, people see poetry and what I do know. I apply my method. That's all. And it's almost as though with the dots, you know, you could think of him as like he's this sort of automaton, the AI agent of...

avant-garde 19th century art. He is a very cerebral artist, though, isn't he? He's not a kind of Van Gogh. He is a methodical artist, but I find... He says there's no poetry in his work. I find those paintings immensely poetic and evocative and mysterious and weird. I mean, I think when you look at Siro's pictures, you often think, oh, lovely landscapes, seascapes, people relaxing in the sun.

They seem almost cosy, but the longer you look at them, the closer you look at them, the weirder they get. I think he's a profoundly strange artist. He is. I mean, they are quite eerie. And I actually think what's been interesting in art history generally in recent decades is that that old idea of Siro, that sort of myth, if you like, of him as being this excessively rational artist who really just...

does everything by calculation and then doggedly pursues that method that I just referred to. It's not totally true. He obviously does proceed by intuition a lot as well. And his creativity is, OK, he isn't an explosive, expansive, expressive Vincent van Gogh, but his intuition, his creativity is guided by kind of more exciting lights than just simply the colour theory that we may address.

Totally. So shall we get started? Yeah, let's do it. This is the story of Georges Surat's masterpiece, A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, 1884. OK, so let's get started, Alastair. Georges Seurat is born in Paris in 1859. He's born into a privileged, affluent, bourgeois family. His father is a very interesting figure.

His father, I think, was some kind of bailiff, but made a small fortune from property speculation. Yes. And so he retires very early. And in fact, I think he's retired before even Surat is born. He kind of disappears, doesn't he? It's very strange because what he decides to do with his retirement is he buys this villa in the suburbs and leaves his family and lives there on his own, returning only on Tuesdays for dinner with his family.

So very, very strange. Yeah. I think he's a very religious man. I think he builds an altar. in the villa, and spends a lot of time doing Catholic rituals with his elderly gardener. So it's kind of far show sketch kind of situation. Is that a euphemism? Well, possibly. The other unusual thing about Sir A's father, I shouldn't laugh because it's not funny, but the other unusual thing about Sir A's father is he has one arm.

Oh! So he's lost an arm in a hunting accident. And the reason I laugh is because one of Sir A's friends, an artist called Paul Sinyak, came round to the family house, it must have been on a Tuesday because it's the only time his father went, to have dinner with the family. And can I read what Signac said?

Please. He said, of Surah's father, at table, he would screw onto the end of this arm, knives and forks, which allowed him to cut with celerity and even passion, fillets and roasts, fowl and game. He positively juggled with these pointed and sharp-edged arms, and whenever I was seated next to him, I feared for my eyes.

George paid no attention whatsoever to these vaudeville antics. So his dad is Captain Hook. Yes. Or Edward Scissorhands. Edward Scissorhands. I mean, it's interesting. Siraz is sometimes seen as a predecessor of the Surrealists. Indeed. You wonder whether this is the source of it, this primal scene. Siraz's father is clearly a strange man, a withdrawn man.

He's leading a kind of double life. Shall we talk for a brief moment about his son, Georges himself? I mean, we should say I don't want to reveal too many secrets about this podcast. We never script our conversations, but we do send bullet points to each other. And one of your bullet points, Alastair, is... Oh, God.

I mean, this is exposing. Is Georges Seurat personality? Right, yes. Do you think he had a personality? Discuss. He... I mean, it's interesting, isn't it? Because some of the later descriptions of him... are slightly damning, and even from his friends. I mean, he clearly was quite reserved, could be quite aloof, quite silent.

Repressed. Repressed. There's this idea that there's an older Impressionist artist, Degar, very famous, of course, who supposedly, according to another friend, in a moment of quote-unquote humour, gave him the nickname Notary, the Notary. Yeah, he sort of exuded accountant vibes, didn't he, Georges Chirat?

There is this photograph of him, I think maybe only the one, and we don't know who took it or when, but he's there. He has this cravat, interestingly, it has lots of dots on it, which is maybe a little nod to the method that he pioneered. But he does look like, to me, he always reminds me of a sort of Egyptian, ancient Egyptian scribe.

There's something of the sort of priestly caste. And I think, again, this plays to this idea that he was, you know, could be a bit... sort of boring and overly obsessive in terms of that intellectual content. But on the other hand, he, you know, you haven't mentioned at all his mum. I think he does have at home, it's a sort of female household that he's at the centre of.

The dad's away in the suburban villa. His mother probably does encourage his art. I wanted to mention, we'll talk later about Cyril's astonishingly beautiful drawings. why hasn't there been a show of Suez Doreen in Britain in recent years? There really should be at somewhere like the Courtauld. But there are a pair which depict one's his dad... Edward Scissorhands.

Edward Scissorhands gobbling at the table. But he seems quite indistinct and quite remote. Yeah. And there's another drawing of his mum, Ernestine, and it's called Embroidery. And it's clearly modelled on a famous painting by Vermeer in the Louvre. And Siraz, a young artist, he's going to the Louvre.

That's part of where he's getting influences from. And it's much more intimate and gorgeous and suggests a loving relationship. So beautiful, isn't it? I mean, interestingly about the, you've brought up the sort of food theme, even later in his life, and this is a clue to his slight oddness as a personality, he ends up having this relationship with a working class woman who becomes his mistress, who has this amazingly Martin Amisian name, you know, of Madeleine Noblock.

Yes. Make of that what you will. But, I mean, that is her real name. But even when he is living with her, in total secrecy, his friends don't really know about this, most evenings he's returning to his mother's apartment to have an evening meal with her. So he's a total mummy's boy, essentially. Shall we talk a little bit about his training?

So he's into drawing Georges Hura from an early age. At the age of 15, he goes to the little municipal drawing school round the corner from his home. At the age of 18, he enrols at the École des Beaux-Arts. Yes. Which is one of the most prestigious... It's the most prestigious art school in Paris, which provides a very, very traditional training.

So he's doing life drawing, he's copying plaster casts, he's doing perspective, he's doing anatomy. By all accounts, he's not very good. No, he's not. I mean, I kind of love this fact because his drawings are actually stunning. And at this point, he really likes the French neoclassical artist, Ingres.

And who doesn't? Who doesn't? I mean, one day we will do Ang in this podcast, I'm sure. And his teacher at the École des Beaux-Arts... I'd be very angry if we don't. Oh, God, just to avoid that pun, we can never do it again. We... When he's at the École des Beaux-Arts, his teacher was a pupil of Angre, actually.

And he has a big class. I think Sirat finds this guy's teaching quite stultifying. But he is ranked, in the short time he's at the École des Beaux-Arts, I think 47th out of a class of about 70. No, lower. Is it lower? Well, by the end of the summer, he's ranked 73rd out of 80. Oh, my God. So he's really not failing.

He's really failing. But then in 1879, Alistair, he sees an exhibition. And this exhibition is a real turning point for him. And this is the fourth Impressionist exhibition. Do we need to talk a little bit about Impressionism? Do you want me to say anything about Impressionism? Or we could just refer our listeners and viewers to the very first episodes in this series where we talked about the first of these exhibitions, the Impressionist exhibitions.

But it's probably worth a recap. OK, well, towards the end of the 1860s and into the early 1870s, a new generation of French artists, people like Monet and Renoir and Pissarro, they begin to make a new kind of art in many ways. Painting modern life, often painting on plein air, outdoors, much more sketchy, spontaneous brushwork.

And in 1873, and this is what we discussed in that very first episode eons ago, they actually create their own little exhibition society, and they staged their first exhibition, Alastair, in 1874, which we now call the First Impressionist Exhibition. They have subsequent exhibitions through the 1870s.

And in the 1870s, really, the Impressionists are... they are the avant-garde, if you like, in France. If you're a progressive artist, it's Impressionism that you want to deal with. And so in 1879, they staged their fourth show and Seurat goes to see it. My understanding is he had no real understanding of Impressionism before this.

Well, there is a friend who records that his experience at the exhibition was he had an unexpected and profound shock. And there is this sense that suddenly he really is electrified by engaging with and subsequently will react against this new progressive avant-garde art that he's encountering in the capital.

Because at the end of the same year, 1879, he goes and does a stint of military service. He goes to Brittany and we have this rather wonderful sketchbook which comes from his time in Brittany on military service where he's sketching lots of the soldiers and... It provides quite a lot of evidence of his early interest in these various colour theories that had been put about in the 19th century that would influence him so much that we might return to.

But at the end of this period of military service, when he comes back to Paris... He doesn't go back to the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. And instead, there's an artist called Amon Jean, who he's met already at art school. And together, they start sharing a studio in a working class district of Paris. And it becomes clear that Surat is interested in many different art.

aspects of art history, but Impressionism is one. He's interested in the Barbizon School of painters who were slightly earlier, but also loved painting outdoors. They were very interested in naturalism, rural motifs, quite loose brushwork, quite exciting. He's fascinated too by Ingr's great antagonist in French art, Eugène Delacroix, the great romantic French painter, who...

He goes with his friends, there's a particular church in Paris, he sees Delacroix's frescoes there, there's one for example called Jacob Wrestling the Angel. And what he seems to be relishing is the fact that Delacroix is placing, he has very vibrating, vibrant brushwork and he places colours side by side.

And so maybe this is a source of that later unmixed colours side by side, the dots, the points, the flecks that Surratt creates in his own art. He's also looking at an artist who was very popular at the time, who had this supposed archaic simplicity, a Frenchman called Pierre Pouvy de Chemin. And I never quite got this.

I mean, he was important to the avant-garde at this moment and was seen as offering an alternative to the very classical tradition that the École des Beaux-Arts embodied, if you like. But in a sense, he too seems to be quite classically minded. I think there's... Do you have a sense of why he was so important to them?

No, he was revered, not just by Seurat, but by many artists in the 1870s and 1880s. And he was, yes, he was a kind of strange individual who was producing these quite, as you say, archaic pictures that to many progressives felt extremely modern. But I think the thing to summarise here with Sura is that after he returns from military service, he goes through, I've mentioned this before, he goes through this kind of laboratory phase.

And I think lots of great artists have a laboratory phase in their careers when they get their heads down and they really try to work out what kind of artists they are. And of course, it helps if you have independent wealth. And Surat is from a wealthy family. He is able to spend a couple of years in the early 1880s just working out what kind of art he wants to make.

And the real breakthroughs I think he makes, you've mentioned this already, are his drawings. Ah, yeah, they're so beautiful. Question for you, yes or no answer. Yeah, oh, right, OK. Are Surat's drawings better than his paintings? Ah, they are so good, aren't they? They're so good. You can't compare apples and oranges like that, James.

They are, I mean, it's worth saying that they are... That's not a yes or no answer. No, it isn't. I mean, I don't do yes or no. I'm far too verbose. The thing with Suraz's drawings is that he starts using a medium called Conte crayon. And it's not as crumbly as charcoal. And he creates these drawings on a...

Typically, there's a company called Michelet that produce this very textured, milky white, laid paper. And the reason I mention that texture is because he's using the texture as he's applying the Conte crayon to create these really tonal, atmospheric... beautifully suggestive, evocative pictures that barely have any line in them at all.

Drawings without lines. They're just light and dark of strange characters he's seeing and encountering in Paris, places in Paris, indeed his family members. Sometimes, supposedly, he draws, I never really understood whether this is a myth, by candlelight. Well, I'm sensing your one-word answer to this question would be a simple yes, the drawings are better than the paintings.

I think they're among the greatest drawings ever made in the history of art. They are, yeah. I love the paintings, but the drawings are just... Life-changing. The most celebrated one is a portrait he makes, someone you've mentioned already, his friend, his childhood friend, actually, Amon-Jean. He makes this in 1883.

You mentioned the Michelet paper. You can actually see in this drawing, you can see the watermark of Michelet on the left. Right. And it's just to be able to make a drawing that has no lines and that feels like a totally tonal experience. It's like looking at an old photograph or something, a grainy photograph.

He often uses this technique called irradiation in drawing, where if you have a sort of light element, say on a shoulder, he offsets that with some real darkness behind. But then where the other side of the body would be cast in shadow, you wouldn't expect the background to be different, but then he offsets the dark part of the body with lightness.

So it's not naturalistic, but it creates this wonderful atmosphere. So good. Anyway, he makes that in 1883. He submits it to the Salon, which is the Great State Exhibition, and the drawing is accepted by the Salon. It's displayed in the Salon. It's a great breakthrough moment, and I think it gives him the confidence later that year to actually make his first big painting.

Do you know how it was described by an art critic at the time? Because it was picked out at the Salon. The quote is... It's very flattering, but it's quite minor. An excellent study in light and dark, a meritorious drawing that cannot be the work of a newcomer. Well, it was the work of a newcomer, but it was also a relative.

I mean, it's a substantial, imposing, brilliant drawing, but it is nevertheless a drawing. And as you say, he's on the cusp of creating the first of these six great canvases that structure his career. His first masterpiece, which he wants and will subsequently submit to the Salon, which he probably begins the spring or summer of 1883, and it's finished by 1884.

And this is a painting which is now known as The Bathers, The Bathers at Anier. Yes. And he obviously heads into this with characteristic professionalism. He works six days a week. He works from nine till seven. I mean, we call him the notary. Degas called him the notary. But he does it in that kind of way.

He's returning home every evening to his mum's house for supper. And he spends quite a lot of time on it. He makes lots of preparatory drawings. He makes preparatory paintings as well that are called croquetons. I love the croqueton. Yeah. The croqueton, I mean, they are very interesting. They're sort of on plein air.

He's painting them probably outside on small pieces of wood, sometimes walnut. And you often see the wood bleeding through. And the point about the croqueton is they're very appealing to modernise because they have this fragmentary, basically quite impressionistic brushstroke. They feel very Impressionist, but he's using them as studies, essentially, and then he's returning to the studio.

He creates these really worked-up drawings for the motifs that are going to be in his final painting of The Bathers, some of which you know are in the studio because you can see behind the model an easel. But in the old days, people assumed, here we go, Mr Calculation, Mr Notary. He's going from sketches outside through to studio drawings.

And then finally, then he takes on the composition. And whilst, yes, there is an arc to that preparation that's clearly very Ecole des Beaux-Arts, very traditional, in fact, he probably is going back and forth a bit. He's going to Anier, which we should probably say is this suburb northwest of Paris, somewhere where the Impressionists had painted, but it's changing a lot, you know.

We spoke about this in the first Impressionist exhibition podcast miniseries that we did. But Paris is booming. It's Baron Haussmann time. It's an expanding city. The population, I think, doubles between the 1850s and the 1870s from maybe something like one million to two. And you have this bourgeois middle class that are going out of the city, often on the train.

In the background of Bathers at Asnier, you can see a railway train going along the street. a railway bridge and they go into places like Anier where they could do things like picnic, fish, boat around, if that's a verb. And the thing about Anier is it's changing. And this is where I think Surat is quite interesting because it's becoming, since the Impressionists had really been there, increasingly industrial.

And in the final painting, you see factory chimneys in the I find it fascinating that Surat is drawn not to something that is quote-unquote pretty in a sort of impressionist way, but this more in-between zone, which is semi-industrialised, still sort of semi-rural on the outskirts of the city. That's the spot that he wants to immortalise in his painting.

And not only that, but the title he gives the painting is called Bénard, that's the French word, There was a brilliant Surah scholar, American, who is called Robert L. Herbert, who curated this extraordinary Surah exhibition that was at the Met and elsewhere, I think in Paris as well, at the beginning of the 90s.

Immense scholarship. And he has pointed out that this word beinard, which Surah uses in the title... It was used on old maps at the time to signify a spot along the River Seine where you could take your dog or your horse and local boys would wash the animal. And so in some of these croquetons that you can see that Surat is creating...

you see horses. You also see rainbows. You see various things. He's playing around with the organisation of the painting before the final form. But, yeah, we should probably describe the painting itself. Let's talk about the final form. So it's ready the following year, 1884. This is called The Bathers at Anier.

We are very lucky to have it in the National Gallery in London. It's a very large picture, three metres wide, two metres high, much larger than a standard Impressionist picture, which is a very large picture. And it shows a group of, I think, seven men and one dog relaxing on the banks of the River Seine on a sunny summer's day.

We can see that there are two men or boys. They're swimming. One seems to be shouting to someone. He's holding his hands to his mouth. Another one is sitting undressed. His feet are in the water either before or after having had a dip. While others, and we can see them receding into the distance, are lounging on the grass.

So... It's really classic impressionist subject matter, modern life, modern leisure, but it doesn't feel all that impressionistic, does it? It's such an enigmatic, complex work. And the astonishing thing is that when it's shown, when he paints it, you're at 24 years old. Yeah. And you're right, on paper, it's people at leisure, it's suburbs of Paris, it's a bright, sunny day.

It feels like classic Impressionist territory. At the same time, it also feels in some ways like it's tilting at classic salon painting territory. It's composition, the male bather. I mean, we've done a series about Michelangelo. He depicted male bathers. There's a time on a tradition there. The size of it, its ambition and scale, its monumentality.

But it isn't a Salon picture. In fact, he did submit it to the Salon and it was rejected. And it isn't clearly an Impressionist picture. It's something far stranger. And art historians and scholars have spent decades since this thing came into the world trying to understand who these people are and why...

I mean, this for me is a central question about it. If it is this so-called allegory of summertime, this great sunny scene of leisure... Why does everyone in it seem so glum? Yes. You know, people just, they look, they've got this purplish corpse-like skin. They seem quite sort of depressed. The central bather's very, very slumped, round-shouldered.

He looks world-weary. If you look closely, you can barely see any of their mouths. Yes. So even the person who's shouting, that boy, he's covering his mouth. The others are either obscured by shadow or perhaps by a shoulder or they're turned away. And even the central bather appears to be, well, he's certainly not smiling or grinning.

Why that's significant is there is a sense here of a group of people, but they all seem to be isolated from one another. There's very little interaction. The only real noise is that shouting boy on the right, and he seems to be hollering at someone who's possibly on the other side, the other riverbank altogether.

So lots of people looking at this, instead of seeing this... You know, the Impressionists... A classic impressionist scene, you have a sense of bourgeois fun, pleasure, people dripping with bonhomie, dripping with money. You don't have that here. Instead, you almost have a bunch of people who are probably a working class.

There's a figure on the left who has a pink sash, loose trousers. That was a carpenter's outfit. You have that prominent factory vista in the background with the belching chimneys. It's almost a sense of, you know... They're on the clock. Yes. Are they going to have to go back to their shift in the factory quite soon?

Is that why they're so sad? But you're right. I mean, you presumably also don't really see this as an impressionist picture, right? No, I think it's a totally weird picture. And I think you don't realise how weird it is until you go to the National Gallery and you see it in the flesh. Because it's way too big for what it should be.

And you think if this were a third of the size or a quarter of the size, it'd be a delightful little impressionist picture. Right. But it's a kind of impressionist picture that's been blown up too large. And so you can totally understand why people of the 1880s just didn't really know what to make of it.

Well, the brushwork is very different, isn't it? It's very chalky, very, very flat. And generally, the mood is quite, I think, quite static and quite sombre. And the big theme of Sura and what he's moving away, his challenge to Impressionism, is that he's, instead of trying to capture the momentary and ephemeral moment that was a big Impressionist concern, he's creating something that does feel both of the moment but also quite timeless.

Yes. And I've got, I teed this up. I mean, you've already, you've let slip the WhatsApp exchange, but I teed it. I've got a theory about the painting. Oh, here he goes again. Which I'm fully anticipating you're going to nay say, because that's your way, James, and it's terribly sad. You know, just go with it.

But no, look... I know that there's a painter that's very close to your heart who is a modern British painter called Stanley Spencer. Love him. And he famously painted a picture called The Resurrection Cookham along those lines. And what do you see there? You see people who are suddenly at the end of time being resurrected, right?

They're emerging from their graves. Now, it's a little bit of a stretch, but there's something about this picture. Why does this not surprise me? That feels to me like they're all experiencing this odd little revelation. Because there's a figure who's lying down in the foreground, who art historians, and surely you'd at least humour them, compared to ancient river gods, Sirad draws an ancient river god from the Parthenon early on, Looks to me quite like tomb sculpture.

There's a sense almost of a winding sheet of these shrouds. And there's this great river, the River Seine. And over on the other side, there's this strange, mysterious island that's going to become very significant in the second half. And I just can't help look at this and feel like there may be some echo of the ancient underworld, a sense of the river Styx, the way that figure in the middle.

He seems to be almost like he's rising in this zombie-like fashion as though he's contemplating. And I can see if you're not going with this at all. And just to finish the theory, because I'll have you know that I put this theory to the National Gallery, who asked me to write a bloody book about this, James.

And I think they were slightly dubious about this theory. But the curator, very sweetly, who vetted the text, seemed to go, well, you know, maybe there's room for exploration here. How generous of them. But a little later, Surabh becomes friendly with a bunch of artists and writers, indeed, who are now known as the symbolists.

There's a really famous symbolist work of art that exists in many iterations called The Isle of the Dead by Arnold Bocklin, in which you see this boat approaching an island, which is clearly a cemetery. And I just wonder whether there's something in the ether at this moment where perhaps you could link...

these two pictures in an ingenious way with a bit more time to be a bit more eloquent about it and lay your case out. I'm not persuaded. Let me just put it there. Can I just share a little discovery of my own? Please do. Maybe I'm not the first person to discover this, but I'm very excited about this.

Do you remember a few months ago we did a series about Vincent van Gogh? Yeah. And do you remember we said that Vincent van Gogh didn't like his photograph taken and there were only two adult photographs of him in existence and one of them he's not even looking at the camera? Yes. You mentioned this.

I think we actually illustrated it in the episode. It was with Emile Bernard. He's sitting on the riverbank. Yeah. With Emile Bernard, his back is to the camera. Yeah. Now, I've looked very closely at that photograph And it is identical. The background of that photograph is identical to the background of this painting.

What a coincidence that this painting could be set in exactly the spot at which a mysterious photograph of Van Gogh was taken two years later. Or is that not a sense of, like, that does happen. There is a sense of the zeitgeist. It was interesting to artists at this moment who were progressive. They're looking for motifs, they're looking for subject matter, and they are exploring the city...

I can't remember the specifics of the photograph, but one of the interesting things is that Suat is editing out some of the suburban architecture along the riverbank to create, I think, more of a sense of like this almost classical simplified frieze. But, you know, hopefully we can put side by side this painting and the photograph because it is stunning to see that background.

I don't buy the Isle of the Dead analysis. Ingenious, though, it is. Yeah. Highly original. Highly original. Highly inventive. Brilliantly intelligent. There it is. Science fiction. But what I do think is absolutely true is you're completely right that you can see the railway bridge. You can see the chimneys and the factories of this working class area of this industrial zone of cliché behind.

And I'm sure you're right that the people in the foreground are workers from that site. So this is an attempt to describe working class people relaxing. I don't think I'd go much further than that. It is a stunningly unforgettable picture. He submits it to the Salon. The Salon rejects it. Actually, a lot of artists are rejected that year.

It's a very oversubscribed Salon exhibition that year. And lots of them come together. to create an alternative exhibition. It's a bit like the Impressionist exhibition, actually. And they stage a show in a temporary building, I think, in the Tuileries. Yes. And they form this group called the Society of Independent Artists.

It's a totally chaotic exhibition. There's financial mismanagement. There are quarrels between artists. The police are called at some point. And they do not know what to do with Siro's painting. They end up, I think, hanging it in the canteen. Yeah, in the buffet. So he doesn't get a very good billing.

On the other hand, this particular exhibition has been described by, there's a British art historian, Douglas Cooper, who called it the great artistic event in Paris in 1884. As you say, there is that chaos. There are more than 400 artists. The idea is you pay your fee. You can exhibit a couple of pictures.

Suraz's painting is hung in the canteen, the buffet, whatever you want to call it. And it doesn't really attract very much attention. There's a little bit of press. There is a writer, a French writer, who is friends with Zola and also friends with Cezanne called Paul Alexis, who mocks it. It feels like classics of, you know, shock of the new moment where he calls it ridiculous.

He calls it a fake pouvie de chevins. Ah, there you go. Which is a reference that makes more sense when you know about that sort of classicising archaic simplicity of that older artist's work. And he says that he's not so keen on its earnestness, but he finds that almost moving, I can hardly bring myself to make fun of it.

The great innovation of this picture, or at least the great aspiration of the picture... is I think Sirat is trying to cross-pollinate Impressionism with the classical tradition. Yes. He's trying to take what he's seen from Impressionist painting, the looser brushwork, the modern subject matter, but blow it up, if you like, to salon size and scale and produce this kind of very...

It's a very Frieze-like image, actually. All the figures are very composed, they're very side-on. So he's trying to bring those two things together... in the hope that he can produce a salon painting that feels modish in that sense. And he obviously, he doesn't succeed in his attempt to get it into the salon.

But by moving into the Society of Independent Artists, he makes this pivot, doesn't he, from being this aspirational academic artist to being part of what today we might call the avant-garde. Well, this is where you've already mentioned Sinyak. This is where he meets him at the Society of Independent Artists in 1884.

And, you know, it's a good moment to pause in a sense, because this is his first big picture. I accept that you haven't been... You're not buying into my theory about it as being a sort of proto-symbolist Isle of the Dead. Just you wait in decades to come, there'll be people writing about that. But we can surely agree, you know, he's 24 now.

There are not many young painters who can paint something on that scale with such aplomb, with such a sense of poetry. It's a shame, in a way, that it wasn't recognised at the time. It's in the buffet, it's being ridiculed, it's being rejected by the Salon. In a sense, things aren't looking enormously promising for this 24-year-old.

The interesting thing is that he is not deterred because within one week of the opening of the Salon des Indépendants, he was already at work on another monumental canvas which would become his most famous picture. And that is the stunning composition that we're going to be talking about after the break.

If you want to see the artworks we're discussing, you can switch to video in your podcast app at any time. And a reminder, you can find us on Instagram at storiesofart.henny. So please do follow us, comment, and by all means suggest topics for future episodes. Welcome back to Stories of Art. It is the 22nd of May, 1884.

We can be quite specific about the date because Surat recorded it. And Surat, this very talented young French painter who's pioneering a new form of art, makes a start on his next big picture, which would make his name. A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, 1884. Now, look, it's a really extraordinary painting, right?

Ostensibly recording middle classes at leisure, right? On a sunny Sunday afternoon on this island in the River Seine called La Grand Jette. Which means in French, the Great Bowl. The Great Bowl? The Great Bowl. Yes, that's what it means because of the shape of the island. But it's a long, slim island in the middle of the Seine.

And in the 1880s, it's a place where the... wealthy, well-to-do, middle-class Parisians would go to have fun. There were restaurants, there were cafes, there were a lot of waffle sellers. You would go there to hire a fishing rod and do some fishing. You would go boating. The French, the Parisians of the 1880s, really loved canoeing.

So they'd often go canoeing. So it's a place of leisure. It's a place of decadence in that sense. I think the really interesting thing is that you can see the island in the earlier painting, the bathers. And there's this wonderful... You know, we didn't say this. We've withheld this wonderful detail in the first half.

But if you look in the top right corner of the bathers, there's a load of greenery. You can see there's a tree which looks very sort of surreal or almost David Hockney-like. It seems to be sloping along like a mollusk or something. And it's echoing this white sail. And that is a glimpse... of the Grand Jacques.

And in front of it, there's a little ferry boat. This is in the bathers with some, not working class people, but someone with a top hat, a woman with a parasol, a French tricolore, which hasn't been unrolled. And they could almost be on their way... They possibly are some of these chic urbanites. And there's this theory about this, which I love, because it's possible Surat adds the detail of the ferry to the bathers later, because perhaps he's trying to make a link between the bathers and then this next painting, the one that's in Chicago, where he's flipping the viewpoint, isn't he?

Yeah. I find this relationship between the bathers, which we've discussed, and La Grande Jacques so... Oh, so interesting. One of the first scholars to really talk about this was the great Impressionist scholar John Howes. Remarkable figure. I've got a little John Howes story because I really revered John Howes as an undergrad.

And I remember 20 years ago, I went to the Met... In New York. And I was in the Impressionist room. And I was looking at some Impressionist pictures. And an old man came down and sat next to me. And we started chatting about these pictures. And he knew an enormous amount. And at the end of the conversation, he said, oh, I'm John Howes.

And I went, you're John Howes. You're my hero. Anyway, he's dead now, unfortunately. But he was the first person who started to think about the relationship between these pictures. It is so fascinating. Yeah. Because these pictures, as you suggest, are not just near each other. They are right opposite each other on the river.

A couple of days ago, I spent some time on Google Maps and I plotted their exact location. They are exactly opposite each other on either side of the river, 175 metres apart. OK. Depending on how you plot it. And... I hope that for our viewers, we're able to place these pictures side by side, because when you place them side by side, you can totally see they're kind of facing off against each other across the river.

It's not a continuous landscape. The horizon line changes. But you're right. When you're looking at the bathers on the right, you can see... the edge of La Grande Jatte. And when you're looking at La Grande Jatte, you can see Anier. You can see the white wall that runs along Anier. And I'm really pleased you mentioned this boat because in the bathers, we have this little boat going across the river with a tricolor, a French flag behind it.

If you look at La Grande Jatte, Alistair, That boat is there. Right at the back, you can see a boat with a French flag at the back of it that has reached La Grande Jatte. I think there are other ways he's stitching together these two pictures in a subtle manner. You can also see next to the ferry and the bathers, there's just the beginnings of what's a racing shell, someone rowing.

Yeah. And you see there's one figure in it. It's cut off by the edge, the right-hand edge of the canvas. You can see a full racing shell in the Grand Jatte, this time with a female cox and a crew of four. You also have other echoes. You've mentioned the boy in the bathers who has a strange... sun helmet on, like a bit of a flower pot, terracotta coloured, and he's hollering, covering his mouth with his hands.

Well, if you look in the Grand Jatte, in the middle distance, there is another boy who's facing the same way. He has a very similar shaped hat. This time, he's not shouting, but he's blowing a French horn, which seemingly there's a little joke. There are a couple of soldiers who are beyond him who seem to be standing to attention.

But, you know, so it's interesting to hear you talk about it, because in a sense, one of the big questions about the Grand Jatte is, is it a counterpart to the bathers? And I think you feel definitely, I think I feel pretty convinced that it is as well in a sophisticated way, not in a kind of literal, you know, let's look at these two.

But there is a clear relationship between them. I think so. And one of the things about it that then brings you on to is, OK, so if the people in the bathers are perhaps working class types who are working in the factory, who are the people in the Grand Jatte painting? Now, interestingly, you probably would have seen from this view factory chimneys, a sense of industrialised landscape.

This time, Seurat edits them out. And instead, you have a lot of people who seem to come from a different social milieu. Yeah, I think when you see them together, I think it seems to me quite clear that the Bavers is a picture of the working class on one side of the river and La Grand Jatte is a picture of primarily, not exclusively, but primarily the middle class on the leisure island.

and the other side. It's more complicated in terms of the cast has expanded since the bathers. I think there are three dogs, a number of boats, around about 50 figures, and you can see them moving away from the nearest part of the picture through to the distance of the park. The picture's structured by the uprights of the trunks and also the uprights of various figures.

And you have these little groupings. I mean... You know, I've mentioned there's the boy who's playing a French horn and soldiers behind him are standing to attention. In the foreground, you have a little pug dog that seems to be running at a black dog. And then in sunshine, just above the black dog, you can see a butterfly, a lovely little grace note in the painting that's fluttering about that I mentioned at the very start.

You have these people who are looking out across the water. But when you start to look, again, the difference with the bathers is things are getting a little bit stranger. One of the strange aspects of it is distortions of scale that Surat is using. So if you just look at just the foreground of the painting, I mentioned at the very start that everything's dominated by this couple on the right.

We'll come to them in a moment. But they're quite big, right? Simple point. On the left, you have another grouping of people who are seated or lying down on the grass. Interesting in the Bay, there's a reclining figure in the foreground. Here's another reclining figure in the foreground who possibly is a sort of boatman and maybe more associated with the working class.

Behind him, there's this dandyish figure with a cane silhouetted and a top hat. He's on the same plane as that couple in the foreground on the right. But if he stands up... He sort of comes up to her breasts or the man's shoulders. It's really, really strange. One of the things, just before we get stuck into it, in terms of the preparation, you have a similar process where Surat is making a series of drawings and he's making a series of probably croqueton and then even some actual canvases in preparation as he's finessing the composition and the painting.

One of the things I find interesting about it is that both with the bathers and with the Grand Jatte, he actually paints at one point just the landscape. devoid of figures. So it's like he is playing, being a theatre director. He creates his stage and then he seems to, in the case of the Grand Jatte, he seems to be auditioning different people, placing them around.

And actually, when you look at this painting... and this is where we'll get into the meat of the discussion, but there are differences with the bathers, it does have a slightly different feel. The people in it, and indeed the way the landscape has been painted, feel to me anyway much more like theatrical flats.

They feel quite flat, the people themselves. They have a slightly, I always think when I look at this, my first response is those individuals are slightly kind of almost like whirring mechanical toys. They're like vzzz. In they come and they could easily be wheeled off. They don't feel like they perhaps have a great fully fleshed human psychology to them.

And I think that's probably deliberate. It's very artificial, very synthetic. You know what it reminds me of, you know, when architects make a plan for a new city park they're going to develop and they have the photo. Photoshop figures stuck on top of the new park. That's what it feels like. He's just placing these figures like little marionettes or dolls onto his little stage set.

But that's not a criticism. I mean, lots of people have suggested that that is the thrust of the painting. And in a sense, what you have here is a slightly more ironic, satirical mode where he's lampooning bourgeois society and customs in a way that supposedly he isn't with the workers on the bank at Anieres.

There is a worker that you can see in the Grand Jatte image. If you look again in that sort of not the immediate foreground, but the sort of middle distance, there's an old woman who's very hunched over and she has a parasol that she's barely strong enough to hold aloft above her head. It's sort of descended and it's like sitting like a hat on top of her head.

And next to her is what looks like an arrangement of boulders or a cairn on a mountaintop. LAUGHTER That is the back of her attendant. And it's likely that that is the only quote unquote worker that you see within this scene. And then you have these figures, a couple of women who are by the shore, one of whom is fishing.

And perhaps here we get into a potential moment of disagreement, James, because I'm reminded why. I don't know. I'm reminded of our... I really love the episode we did about Vermeer's milkmaid. And much of that was discussing the significance of the foot warmer that Vermeer painted in this picture. We've only just made up.

We've only just made up. Whether it signified the erotic thoughts that were passing through the milkmaid's head. I was adamant that it did and could be a metaphor for all sorts of things. But you were less keen on that idea. Well, there is another ingenious interpretation of this painting, isn't there?

Which is that somehow Seurat possibly is lampooning bourgeois attitudes towards prostitution. And the woman who's fishing on the left of the picture, some people have said, well, maybe she's actually a sex worker. On this island, it was known that there were lots of sex workers who went about their business.

Is she fishing to catch sex? a man, as it were, to catch a client. There is a possible pun that's going on, the word péché or pécheur. It can mean, depending on how it's spelt, two different things in French. It can mean to fish or to sin. And then you look at the couple again on the right and some people interpret the woman as, brilliant French word, a cocotte, A kept, very elegantly dressed woman or the mistress of that man.

And part of the reason they say that is because she has on this leash, as I said at the start, this monkey. There are some wonderful drawings when he decided that he wants to add a monkey into the picture. He goes to the zoo, Sarah. There are five drawings of monkeys, stunning things. And a monkey, of course, I think monkeys have come up before in this series, time-honoured symbol of lust.

Yeah. So I'm dying to hear whether you think there's anything to this idea. I don't buy it at all. Oh, come on. This one, surely you have to buy. Look, when everyone always... I've heard it so many times when people talk about La Grande Jatte, the first thing they say is, well, the woman on the right, with great authority, they say the woman on the right with a monkey is a prostitute.

because, of course, the monkey and the woman on the left fishing is clearly also a sex worker. I just don't think there's any evidence for that. I think a lot of people also say, well, contemporaries would have immediately understood the meaning of this. Well, I don't think that's even true either. I went back to look at contemporary responses to this picture.

There were lots of them and only one contemporary, and he wasn't even French, he was Irish, the author George Moore, even tentatively suggested that a sex worker might be involved in this picture. And also when I look at that woman on the right and the man next to her, what I see is an extremely prim and proper bourgeois couple who have a posh pet.

OK, what do you think is the significance of the monkey? Well, he adds the monkey later. He adds the monkey later. I never quite get that because actually if you look at the Herbert catalogue, he's already drawing the monkey in the zoo. He dates it in the first campaign. But I know that some people say that the monkey comes later.

The thing that Shura does is he experiments with lots of different things. He's doing lots of different variations. He's moving his characters around. Sometimes in some of the preparatory sketches, she is on her own. Sometimes he is on his own. The monkey comes later. The idea that this is absolutely central to the meaning of the picture seems to me unlikely, given that process.

Bear in mind that this is Surat we're talking about, who was, as his friend, and then he got a bit irritated with him, Pissarro, who actually is the guy who invites him to exhibit this at the Impressionist Exhibition of 1886. He once said that Surat is impregnated with the traditions So he is conscious of that tradition, the idea of allegories, symbols, things that you can be used.

You know, he's not a naive. He's not including a monkey purely for that reason. I think to me, if you leave aside the cocotte question, which is a moot point, you can't really argue it one way or the other. But definitely there seems to be something here where there's a satirical component. I have a friend who I love very dearly and is a really flamboyant dresser.

And I remember his brother giving his best man speech, took him down for... He used to turn up at London Fields in Hackney in East London when he was much younger, riding a unicycle. And there's something about that monkey, which it's almost like that slightly... dare I say it, pretentious quality. And I think that Surat is aware of that.

You'd agree that he is trying to satirise that character? I think, yes. I think that we know from research that lots of wealthy people in Paris had pet monkeys and other exotic pets. And we also know, by the way, that lots of middle class women went fishing. It was a fashionable thing to do on La Grande Jatte to go fishing.

So I think that if this is anything, it is ridiculing, perhaps, the pretentiousness of the bourgeoisie. Yeah. Shall we talk about the technique a little bit? This is a really important part of the picture. And it's quite a complex story because actually Seurat makes three separate campaigns, if you like, that he makes on this picture.

So he begins it in 1884. He works on it through to 1885. His plan is to exhibit it at the second independent society exhibition, which collapses. I've said it's pretty chaotic. So then he goes away on holiday in the summer of 1885, returns and repaints it in very interesting ways. And then actually he goes at it again in 1889 when he paints this bluey purple frame around the picture.

A border, yeah, with dots. A border. So really interesting to look at what he's doing here with his technique. And people talk about dots, but it's not only dots, is it? There's an extraordinary range of brushwork going on here. Interestingly, if you look at some of the tree trunks in the background, you can see that some of the dots become a little more elongated, slightly more like, I don't know, jelly beans.

And the orientation varies as he's following. They're describing the contours, the directions, if you like, of the branches as they go off in different directions. Is this the moment where we're doing colour theory? I mean, I almost would like to not do it at all, but that's just because it leaves me incredibly cold.

Every time I'm reading about Surin, there's something about the colour wheel and complementary colours. I'm like, oh, God. Nevertheless, it is important, isn't it? We do need to address it, I think. So during the early 1880s, during that laboratory phase when the notary is reading all these books... He reads a lot of colour theory and there are a couple of people he's really inspired by.

And one of them is a chemist, French chemist called Chevreul, who's this remarkable figure. I mean, I think he's still alive when Seurat paints this, but he's about 100 years old. He was born before the French Revolution. And actually, he's one of the inventors of margarine. Oh, really? As it turns out, yes.

But he was also very interested in colour. And in the 1830s, he had written this book about colour where he had advanced this theory about what he called simultaneous contrast. Are you falling asleep as I'm saying this? I am completely glazing over. I'm so sorry. I'm back with you. I'm back in the room.

But the idea of simultaneous contrast is that essentially colours affect contrast. other colours. So if you place one colour next to another, it will change both of those colours, and particularly when it comes to complementary colours. So if you put a red next to a green, they're complementaries, the red will seem redder and the green will seem greener.

And Seurat is very interested in the possibilities of intensifying his colours by doing this. He also reads a French translation of an American physicist called Ogden Rood. And And Rude's idea is this idea of retinal mixing. He thinks that if you place two colours together, very small strokes together, and you stand at a distance, they will mix themselves on your retina.

So if you put a blue, a tiny little spot of blue next to a spot of yellow, they will become green in your eyes, not on the palette itself or on the canvas. So Surat is interested in these ideas of what he can do with colour if he changes his brushstrokes, if he places different kinds of hues together, he could create really exciting colour and light effects.

And this is where you get in art history all sorts of labels to describe this moment where essentially, you know... characterised him at the beginning as being the painter of dots. This is what he's doing, right? So he calls this new technique, he develops chromoluminarism. Yes. Some people call it, obviously, pointillism.

It becomes known as divisionism. Gradually, this is all subsumed under the banner neo-impressionism, Actually, quite soon that's coined at the moment this painting is displayed. And, I mean, look, from my point of view, the big picture thing is he is... This optical mixture idea is quite important and very easy to grasp.

Artists traditionally, they're mixing their colours on a palette. Yeah. But Siraz's not doing that, is he? He's painting, he's putting down pure pigment, and the idea is that they get, as you say, blended in the eye. My thing is that I don't think that happens. Yeah. You know, this is the great theory.

Whenever I look at a divisionist painting or a pointillist painting, this idea that you just see all of the dots. What you do have is a really vibrant sense of shimmering luminosity. I think that's what it's all about. And I think we can hopefully we can zoom in on this picture for our viewers and they can see if you zoom, for instance, to we could take any part of the picture.

But if you go to the bottom left. of the painting, we can see a shady bit of grass. And in the first campaign of the picture, it's relatively conventional. He's put some dark green on, quite broad brushstrokes. And then when he's returned to the picture in 1885, 1886, he started adding his little dots.

And you can see he's putting in little dots of yellow for the light and he's putting next to them little dots of purple and blue for the shade and then he's taking colours that are reflected off other surfaces and putting those dots in and occasionally he'll put complementaries next to each other. It's not a scientific method.

He does it in a half-hearted way actually with the bathers. He returns to particular passages and so the famous boy that we've spoken about a lot who's hollering with the hat... He has almost like glittering confetti that's suddenly cascading down his back. You know, there are lots of dots all over the helmet itself.

But he doesn't do it throughout the competition. He sort of gives up. It's a very laborious method. But he does it across the surface of this picture. And then, as I said, in 1889, he goes and he puts this frame. He paints this interior frame around the picture of blues and purples in order to set off the complementaries within, the lighter colours, the yellows and things together.

I don't think it's remotely scientific, but visually it is extremely powerful. The other thing he does actually in that second phase in 1885-86 is he moves from the earthier colours towards what we call prismatic colours. So he starts to make, for instance, his shadows, not from browns and blacks, but from violets and blues.

Right. And that means that this picture, it totally does. When you see it in the flesh, even when you see it as a reproduction, it does have this shimmering, magical, hallucinatory quality, doesn't it? I think there's something else which I find really fascinating about the dots. which is, I accept that it is my prejudice to be left a bit cold by all the discussion of the colour theory.

I guess it's partly that my instinct is a bit like you've just expressed. I'm not convinced this really is scientific, even though it's supposedly drawing upon science. I don't think, you know, this idea that, as you said, I apply my method and that's all there is to it, is actually a bit of a feint.

It's not quite true. But where you... Where I think things become very interesting thinking about the dots is that some art historians have seen them almost as like themselves, a sort of metaphor for modernity. You know, if you look forward, suddenly it's a world of mass production. You know, the dots that become very important in 20th century art, in artists like Liechtenstein or Warhol.

And pixels. And pixels today. There's a genuine trajectory that can be traced, can't there? Yes. He's anticipating, if you like, that there is a new mode of looking at the world and representation. And I think the modernity of it is broadcast by the way he's painting as much as what he's painting. It's almost quite proto-cinematic, isn't it, as well?

Especially when you see it against that shimmering, bluey-purple surround. And of course, cinema would be invented about ten years later. But there's a real sense of a different kind of image-making coming on here. And it's really, really exciting. Out of this or the bathers, I prefer this as a painting.

There's so much to see, to potentially decode, to try and understand what is going on. I think... We will not be able to crack the code of what it could mean allegorically. But the thing I find so fascinating about art history is that compare and contrast. And we've established that he's looking as a young artist.

I mean, he's still a young artist when he paints this, but he's looking at the Impressionists. Why this is exciting is that it is this great challenge against Impressionism. Yeah. And, you know, one way you can think about that is there are so many details here of this specific moment. I mean, you've mentioned a vogue for these exotic pets.

He includes the year, as I've said, in the title. He's making plain... This is 1884. I've got a theory about that year. OK, go on. OK, you can shoot this one down if you want. I'm much more open to these things. As you know, I'm going to love it. OK, I've always wondered why he includes the year. Why include the year 1884 in the title?

Now, there are a couple of potential theories. One could be that this is the moment he conceives it, and he wants to remind viewers of the moment on Ascension Day, May 1884, when he spotted this scene. The other thing is he's potentially connecting it to the bathers, which was 1884, My theory is that, of course, Surat is trying very hard in his work to connect his painting to the grand neoclassical tradition.

And the neoclassical tradition in France begins with Jacques-Louis David's painting, The Oath of the Horatiae, from 1784, exactly 100 years earlier. I'm wondering whether that date... is an attempt to connect Surat's work to a grand, academic, very ambitious, very French tradition. You see, I think that's a very interesting idea.

Original, well put. No, no, that is an interesting conceit. I suppose, to me, I see it more, and this is where I was about to go before, as it's part of, it's a bit of a joke. It's thumbing his nose at Impressionism. I mean, we've established that Impressionism is all about capturing the moment, a fleeting moment.

And here's Surat saying, this is a moment on a specific Sunday in 1884, not 1883. Not 1885, 1884. And if you look at the preparatory drawings, there's something very interesting he does. We've spoken about the potential cocotte on the right, the woman on the right, the one with the monkey. She has this enormous posterior.

She has this big bustle, huge bustle, sort of silhouette as you've seen in profile. One of his drawings is a specific study of that element of a woman's dress. And from what I've read... The vogue for the bustle was at its biggest, its most voluminous in the mid-1880s. So again, Surat is dissecting, capturing, recording a specific moment in time.

But at the same time, he's doing something else which is really different and new, which is he's trying to create, as he put it, almost like a frieze that the classical Greeks might have had, something that feels quite timeless and... and idealised and not at all of the moment in that Impressionist way.

And I think there's a bigger trend, a bigger shift that's occurring here, which is, you know, whether you call it divisionism or neo-Impressionism, a lot of these different movements are grouped together under the rubric sometimes post-Impressionism. a reaction against Impressionism. And Suzanne, who we've already mentioned in this episode, this to me is always how I think about post-Impressionism.

He said that for him, what he was trying to do was create something solid and durable, like the art of the museums. And I think that's exactly what Seurat is doing here. So it is a paradox. It's time-specific, 1884, and it's time-less, Yes, I think that's exactly right. I totally agree with you. I think that is the great achievement of Seurat and it's the great achievement of Cezanne, is this attempt to reconcile modern Impressionist painting with something that feels more historic, more classical, more composed.

But it is, nevertheless, a very strange picture. Can I read? I'm actually reminded of something you said earlier about the bathers, about the Isle of the Dead. Oh, yes. Do you know what the Marxist Ernst Bloch wrote about this painting? He said, this picture is one single mosaic of boredom. The painting depicts a middle-class Sunday morning on an island in the Seine near Paris.

And that is just the point. It depicts this merely with scorn. Empty-faced people rest in the foreground. Most of the others have been grouped into wooden verticals like dolls from the toy box, intensely involved in a stiff little walk. Behind them is the pale river with sailboats, a sculling match, sightseeing boats, a background that, despite the recreation going on there...

seems to belong more to Hades than to a Sunday. Hades! I'm telling you, I mean, the man is on to something. That is not the Seine, it's the river Styx, end of. Yes, I think Surah here is concerned with his moment. That is the greatness of the painting. It isn't one thing or the other, like a moment of its time or timeless.

He is expressing something about the alienation, isolation of modern urban life, and particularly amongst the bourgeois classes that he's depicting here. And he's creating something that has that stability, that feel of a classic picture that you might see in the museum. Let's talk a little bit about the reception of the painting, Alistair.

The picture goes on display at the eighth and final Impressionist exhibition in 1886. Lots of the Impressionists don't actually want it to be shown there. But good old Pizarro, my hero, he persuades them. And the painting goes on show. It's not that well received, is it? It's not enormously well received, but it does make his name.

It's even written about in London. And the interesting thing in an art historical sense is he then shows it a few months later at the next exhibition, the second of the Society of Independent Artists. And this is the moment where there's a writer called Félix Fénéon and he at this moment in an article deploys in print, you know I love...

bigging up those moments where a critic or someone is writing something for the first time, and he deploys the term neo-impressionist method. So it's at this moment that the movement of neo-impressionism, thanks to La Grande Jatte, is born. But this is the second of these six great canvases that Sirat creates in the course of his career.

This one probably is his best known. I mean, it does filter into popular culture in all sorts of ways. God, yeah. I mean, it's one of those pictures that really cuts through into popular culture. And there are not many pictures that actually do that, but La Grande Jatte does. In 1984, it becomes the subject of a musical.

Stephen Sondheim writes a musical, 100 years after La Grande Jatte. We see it in two years after that, in 1986. It's in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. It's such a good moment. That's when I think I first saw this picture in that movie, when I think one of the characters, Cameron, goes to the museum and is kind of completely bewildered by it.

He's mesmerised. He's mesmerised by it. And then it's in The Simpsons. I think if there is any measure of a painting's success, if it gets into The Simpsons, you know it's really cut through. There is a park in Ohio, La Grande Jatte Park, where they have recreated the characters as topiary, in topiary.

So it really does cut through, but... I mean, I think we should bring this episode to a close with really a little coda about Seurat himself, because, as you say, he goes on to make a series of other great paintings, but he doesn't have long to live. No. Because in the spring of 1891, so this is, what, five years after displaying this picture, he catches a cold...

doesn't think anything of it, but gets more and more unwell. And eventually, on the 27th of March, 1891, Good Friday, he's so unwell that he gets taken to his mother's apartment. And this is when this great secret is finally revealed, because he doesn't come alone to his mother's apartment. He comes with a working-class woman who is pregnant and a one-year-old boy.

And it transpires that this is his mistress... And this is his son, and he's never told his family. So he's living this double life, just as his father was leading a double life. And there is very little time for argument, because on the Saturday he gets even more unwell. And on the Sunday, 6am on Sunday morning, Easter Sunday, he chokes to death on his own mucus.

He has diphtheria, and poor Georges Seurat dies age 31, and... The other great tragedy of this is his son, his one-year-old son, catches the same illness and dies two weeks later. A month after that, Georges Seurat's father dies. His mistress then gives birth to the second child and that child dies. So in the space of just a few months, three generations of the Seurat family are wiped out.

And just to sort of end this, Alastair, where do you think he would have gone? It's a counterfactual. Died aged 31. Yeah. Where do you think he was heading as an artist? It's quite interesting that the responses to his work amongst his supporters were starting slightly to tail off towards the end of his life.

There was a feeling that he was moving too much into caricature that you can see in the final canvases. I think he would have continued to interrogate what it meant to be modern. I think that's a huge part of what he does. And if you like, one of the things, you know, we haven't even touched on this, but there was a wonderful show, I think it was this year, at the Courtauld Gallery, which was all about Syrah seascapes, because in the final few years of his life, he spends his summer campaigns often on the coast in Normandy.

He paints his unbelievable marines. They're my favourites, actually. They're so stunning. Yeah. They're, again, really, really poetic, but very few people. It's sort of like high days and holidays, but without the people and high drinks of being on a summer holiday. Classically Tzura, in a sense. And one of the things that people who spend time looking at those often observe is that they seem to throw forward to various traditions and movements, if you like, of modern art in the 20th century.

And if you look at Surat's oeuvre altogether, he seems to be anticipating abstract art. Bridget Riley loves Surat, op art, a sense maybe even of minimalism and pop art. I mean, I mentioned the dots before and the idea of the elimination of the artist's hand that was so important for many 20th century artists like that.

Warhol or Lichtenstein. And I think one of the things that he's doing in his pictures, presumably consciously, is he's really drawing attention to their surface as an aspect of the work. And that becomes something instead of being a picture onto a wider world, you know, in the Bathers and in the Grand Jatte, There is no clear moralising narrative, which was a hallmark of older art, 19th century art, that would have been shown at the salon.

That's all jettisoned. The way they're painted is drawing the viewer's attention to the fact that these are constructed pictorial surfaces. And that's an idea that loads of artists subsequently really run with. I think he's anticipating abstraction. I think what he's doing in these images, we can talk all we like about the middle classes and the working classes and sex workers and modern life, but I think what he's doing is he's trying to construct images on purely pictorial grounds, on colour and line and form and harmony.

And I do think that had he had, say, another 10 years, the notary might have produced the first abstract paintings, even in the 19th century, who knows? Which is a wonderful thought to end with, I think, James. Thank you very much for today and goodbye. Goodbye. Next time we have a Halloween treat in store, we'll be telling the absurdly exciting story of Edvard Munch's The Scream.

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