A Night Never to Forget

I had expected the Chelsea Arts Club to be grandiose and ostentatious, set in a large hall where Chelsea royalty in their finest strut about and socialise. It was surprising to turn off Kings Road onto Old Church Street, and walk through a pokey little door, almost something out of Alice in Wonderland, and into a pokey reception room. After marking us off the guest list (it’s member’s only, you see), we head in, and are transported into a world of flamboyance and flair. 

The main area resembles the combination of the Gryffindor common room and a scene from Moulin Rouge. Artwork covers every inch of the walls, and around a giant billiards table where two men in emerald green waistcoats are playing, are clusters of old leather sofas, bottle green or oxblood in colour; those ones with gold studding and tufted upholstery. 

Within five minutes of stepping foot into a world resembling a Gatsby party, I see two colleagues I know from work. When you’re in the club, you’re automatically accepted as part of the league, and can strike up a conversation with anyone - the common factor being the love of art, and that you’re ‘one of them’. Out in the giant garden, people are milling around or perched on large garden furniture, joining huge groups in conversation or smaller circles to network. Verandas with additional seating line the bottom of the stretching garden, keeping it more enclosed and exclusive - no one can so much as peep inside. The only all-seeing, all-hearing non-member is the resident cat, who spends the evening tangling itself round members’ legs. There’s a choice between al fresco dining on the patio, or fine dining in the elegant, candlelit dining room, which houses an enormous banquet table stretching down the centre, and smaller, more private tables off to the side and in the conservatory.

Once the house and studio of James Whistler, the Chelsea Arts Club was founded in 1891, and friends continued it after his death. Now a popular, bohemian, and arty hangout for networking artists, sculptors, architects, writers, actors and the like (the sort to wander around in moustaches and monocles, waistcoats and brogues), it is a club that on the outside is surrounded by mystery and eccentricity, and the desire to be part of it all. An elusive underworld unspoken of, a place where no mobile phone or electronic device is allowed, but once inside, it’s an experience you’ll never forget.