We really liked a linocut called Rough Seas, but it was £50; fortunately, there was another one called Topiary that we liked almost as much, but was only £10 pounds. After some small talk with the artist, we left slightly ashamed that we'd picked the cheaper picture, but comforted ourselves with the usual mantra of those who have been less generous than they possibly could have been, "Well, ten pounds is ten pounds".
If I were an artist, I don't think I could bear to sit in a gallery with chumps like us making snap, ill-informed judgements over my work. I don't think I could even work in a shop where I was responsible for choosing the stock; I find almost anyone - even someone who I think has no taste - making a judgement on my own taste nearly unbearable. Is there a syndrome that results in hyperfragility of the ego?
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