In Hatchards for the launch of Andrea Rose’s catalogue raisonné of Leon Kossoff’s oil paintings. It’s bad for the morale of writers to frequent bookshops: too many shelves without their books on them. But I’m here to talk about Kossoff, not me. Whether he shunned galleries that showed him scant respect — one of the country’s greatest painters, yet for many years one of the least-known — I have no idea. But he was a modest, principled man who put the making of art before making a name or a fortune, so I choose to believe he didn’t care. He reminds me, in his quiet refusal of flamboyance, of Wordsworth. Like Wordsworth, he found his inspiration in ‘everyday appearances’ and the fleetingness of things. Nobody ever made a diesel train appear so touching, or a demolition site so exhilarating.
I almost didn’t get to Hatchards, having come close to being turned into a demolition site myself by an out-of-control e-scooter — not that there is such a thing as an in-control e-scooter — mounting the pavement at the speed of light, as much to the surprise of its rider as anyone else. E-scooter riders invariably wear an insolent ‘Who, me?’ expression. My expression is a simple question mark. ‘Why?’ To what end or to whose advantage has the e-scooter been legalised? Some inventions justify the dangers they pose. The aeroplane. The motor car. Maybe — I only say ‘maybe’ — the television. But how is humanity served by the e-scooter when we have buses? Next you’ll be telling me that Facebook is a good thing because it fosters informed debate.
Fans of BBC One’s Fake or Fortune? have learnt to dread the verdicts of authors of catalogues raisonnés, those jealously possessive gatekeepers of artists’ reputations who, at the 11th hour, dash any hope that the painting found in a cardboard box outside an Oxfam shop might just be a Titian.
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