Closely guarded secret

Andrew Lambirth on how the cult of youth can lead to the neglect of distinguished older artists

One of the least endearing traits of our age is youth worship. I can understand that advertisers might need to target a large and gullible audience suddenly and unaccountably blessed with disposable income (or should that be credit?), but to attribute wisdom or originality to youth is a rash act indeed. The attention paid to young artists in recent decades has grown increasingly disproportionate, for no good reason apart from the follow-my-leader media circus which keeps their antics before an increasingly bored and bewildered (if not downright cynical) public. Meanwhile, the invariably more substantial achievements of mature artists are ignored because they are not considered ‘newsworthy’. Thus is the serious and rewarding disparaged, and the immature and meretricious lauded to the telegraph poles, if not quite the rooftops.

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This is doubly disturbing because it is rare for a young artist to have much to say, or the ability to say it interestingly. Experience counts for far more, both in terms of content and the acquired skills with which to communicate it, as anyone with direct knowledge of the art world will readily admit. There are scores of mid-career artists out there, working away with very little encouragement or reward, some of whom were once the Bright Young Things of their generation. Fashion takes up and then it discards, and the blight of post-war British art has been the obsessive hunt for the next youthful star, while the richness and diversity of our artistic achievement across all age groups goes largely unrecognised.

However, beside the fascination for youth lies an ingrained public enjoyment of the Grand Old Man. A reverence for age is altogether more understandable: speaking personally, the friendship of older artists has taught me an immeasurable amount about both art and life, and I am deeply grateful for it.