Lou Laurin-Lam – Meeting with Albissola

we would put up visiting friends.
As was the case everywhere in this
mountainous area, we had to terrace
the land. We planted lots of trees
which soon grew very tall. Wifredo,
who collected art from Africa and
Oceania, positioned some handsome
totems from New-Guinea along one
of the terraces. The lawn featured
a huge Jon Jon, some five meters
high – a magnificent totem made
of rare wood and finely sculpted all
round. The Jon Jon dominated the
hill and watched over all of us. Near
it, we made music: Jorn on the violin,
Wifredo on his African tom-toms, the
rest of us creating inventive rhythms
on children’s toys, the whole scenario
surrounded on those warm nights
by the fireflies. You could see the sea
wherever you looked. Wifredo used
to say he had made the same journey
as Christopher Columbus, but
backwards; the constant sight of the
sea made him feel he could take off
whenever he wanted.
Why Albissola? It is not Venice. It is
not a particularly picturesque place,
it has no particular charm. Like so
many other small villages along the
Ligurian coast, various uninspiring
modern buildings have sprung
up around a small historical core.
Yes, the sea and the ceramics were
ever-present. But there was also an
extremely lively internationalism:
artists from all over the world who
would come back year after year,
the North Europeans on their way
down to Rome, Naples or Sicily, who
would sometimes stop off to spend a
few days in Albissola for the ceramics
which they could pick up and have
baked and ready for delivery on their
way back from their Italian jaunt.
Such organization: it was perfect!
However, the most important thing
was bartering, something that was
‘in’ at the time. Quite easily one
could, in return for a painting or
a piece of ceramic, rent a room or
an apartment. You could also, over
a short period, ply your wares at
any number of little restaurants in
Albissola, Savona or Ellera. The
visiting artists, often with a family in
tow, could afford a relatively cheap
holiday near the beach and, at the
same time, experiment with ceramics.
The crossroads where all the
more or less friendly debates were
carried out was Bar Testa, which,
at the time, extended almost the
whole length of the square. It was
invariably full during the summer.
Then there was the Cantinone.
No getting round the Cantinone
because there were two doors, one
on the main street, the other on Via
Aurelia. It was impossible to pass by
unnoticed without being called over
by Ansgar Elde who, at the time, had
virtually made the place his general
headquarters, along with Irene
Dominguez, Carlos Carle and his wife
Laura, Eva Sörensen, Vandercam
and so many others. It was the perfect
place for an impromptu picnic in
the shade whenever it got too hot on
the beach. Then there was Mario’s,
great for fish, or, better still, Pescetto’s
at Capo. We were often to be found
there with Jorn, who was usually in
the company of various black north-
American women singers, or with
dealers from New York and Paris.
Back then, the train used to pass right
alongside the restaurant and in the
summer the tables were outside. Every
half-hour, the noise would break up
our conversation, a matter of seconds
or minutes, depending on how many
carriages the train was pulling...
At the time, Albissola was not unlike
Montparnasse in Paris, or The Village
in New York: a toads’ chorus of
artists, croaking away, day and night.
It was at the same time amusing,
tiring, droll, boring, enriching,
nightmarish, comical, troubling,
serious and crazy. That is why we
loved and still love Albissola.
Lou Laurin-Lam
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