Missed Opportunity

This afternoon, Moonface & I walked over to Clifton to look at an exhibition of Beryl Cook prints.
I'd been in a strop and a sulk, for various reasons, but the pictured cheered me up: they're all good-humoured, lively scenes of ordinary life. Perhaps she IS Britain's best-loved painter, certainly her postcards sell very well.

I've always liked her pictures, especially the fat girls in bright colours. Is her style realistic or faux-naif? Why worry: they're fun.

One of my greater regrets is that i didn't buy an original picture of hers when I was young and rich. When the Alexander Gallery first showed her work, there was a particular painting that appealed to me. I can't remember the title; only that it included parts of an egg-carton to represent a woman's breasts. I wanted to buy it, and dithered for a couple of weeks before deciding that half a month's wages was too much to pay. I could have afforded it. I should have afforded it, as her prints are now fetching almost that much, and that articular painting is probably worth tens of thousands. At least I now trust my own eye for art. I'm a pleb. If i like something, thousands of others will, as well.