If I were ever to come by £1million I should spend it on three things: a canal across my garden, a giant wheel of Stilton and a painting by Atkinson Grimshaw. My youthful bedroom was plastered with greetings card prints of Victorian paintings and a poster of Atkinson Grimshaw's Liverpool now hangs beside our kingsize. I have never, however, managed to make the clergy stipend stretch to an original work of art.
But recently I wandered past the masterpieces in the Tate Britain's art galleries. Among the Picassos, the Whistlers and the radiant visions of Turner were some startling contemporary wonders: an ironing board tethered to a twin-tub, for instance; an Ordnance Survey map of Dartmoor with a hand-drawn circle on it and a long, dangerously bent ladder.
On my return a revelation blinded me. I may only dream of possessing the Picassos, the Whistlers and the Turners, but my home is full of priceless artworks; I just never had the eyes to see them before.
|Barbara Hepworth: Three Forms (1935) © Tate, London 2012|
|The palliatives required for the Vicar's man flu|
|Treasure harvested from my kittens' litter tray. To think, TO THINK, I used to throw the stuff away! Now I know why our local dog walkers hang their knotted bags of proteins so reverently from trees.|
|Tracy Emin: 80%-20% Canada (1997) © Tate, London 2012|
|My directions to get myself and the Skoda to Potters Bar last weekend.|