But You Didn't

The Long Suffering Husband is feeling better and has been able to play golf again, which means that we are back to ticking things off our FOMO list and we had a day in London, eating in nice restaurants, seeing Waitress the musical and visiting the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition.

I haven't been to the Summer Exhibition as an adult and the LSH has never been.  It's quite a middle class artsy thing to do.  My mum was an artist and I grew up thinking that I couldn't do art; that I took after my dad, who couldn't draw a stick cat.  I always enjoyed an exhibition, though and I was quite good at what Mum always called, 'Art Bollocks'.  This is where you say things about the art that is totally made up that makes it seem as though the art is more than it actually is. I'm good at making up stories and even better at taking a grain of truth and twisting it into something more.  It's what transforms three square blocks of colour on a canvas into something that represents the artist's inner angst; a juxtaposition between the primary emotions of anger and sadness with the more complex guilt.

The Summer Exhibition is quite special because there are works by great artists alongside beginners and amateurs. The work is then available to be purchased.  When you visit the exhibition you get a little book that lists all the works with their prices.

Going to this exhibition made me think of my mum.  She had something shortlisted many years ago.  It wasn't in the final selection and she was very disappointed.  I thought it was quite an achievement to be shortlisted.  She took me to see the exhibition and I was an awful, grumpy teenager.  I didn't really look at anything properly and I kept saying things like, "I could do better!"  "£9000! I could do it for you for £9!"  When I think about it now, these comments must have been heartbreaking for her.  These pieces were chosen over hers and I was dissing every one of them.  She wasn't impressed with all of them, either.  She would quietly tut and mutter something about perspective or light.

In this year's exhibition, these two small pieces reminded me of my childhood visits to galleries with Mum.

One of my favourite things about looking at modern art is other people's reactions.  I love listening to people have the conversations about how much something costs, or how they don't understand it, or their interpretations of the piece.  For example when someone touches a sculpture and says, "I just love how it feels so....elemental..." and then looks surprised at their own reaction, or a child lies on the floor to start a tantrum and then catches sight of a print of a dog high on the wall and suddenly smiles and shouts, "doggy!", or when the LSH gets upset that I made him throw away the windows that have been in our garage since they were replaced last year (and yes, the company would have taken them but he thought they might 'come in useful').

To really appreciate such a full exhibition you really need to sit and contemplate the art for a while.  Most of my favourite pieces were not actually for sale, which is lucky because I'm a cheapskate and rarely buy anything.  I'm glad people do, though.  The red dots are proof that they do.  The price reflects the time the artist has spent deciding exactly how it should be, the years they tried to have something selected and failed, the money spent on art equipment, the hours sat in a cold shed trying to muster up some form of creativity.  It's easy to look at those prices and think, "I'm in the wrong game," but that would be like looking at the CEO of Marks and Spencer and thinking, "I really should work in a shop."

Let me take you back to 1979.  There's a woman standing in the middle of the exhibition with a skinny teenage girl.  The woman is wearing a summer dress and a pair of sandals one size too small.  Her big toe is bleeding, where she tripped on the steps into the building.  The girl is wearing purple chord flares and a yellow shirt with an extra long collar, with embroidered purple flowers. Unfortunately, the two purples don't quite match.  The girl has a smirk on her face, her arms are crossed and she says, loudly, "I could have done that."
The woman looks at her and says, quietly, "Yes, but you didn't!"
The girl is stopped in her tracks.  She didn't. It's true.  She still hasn't.

Some of my favourites