Private View

Private View

I went to a private view the other evening, and it made me realize
what strange events they are. For a start they’re not private. There were at least sixty other people at the exhibition. Mostly friends of the various painters, although they seemed more intent on the free wine and canapés than the art.
And due to, some would say over crowding, you didn’t get a very good view of the works of art. Although I have to say on the couple of occasions I managed to get close to a picture, this was not necessarily a bad thing.
Perhaps if I’d have worn sunglasses as a few of my fellow guests had, things might have looked better. Of course the artists were there. Well one assumed they were artists. You would hardly have gone out in public like that if you weren’t a bohemian.
But then I suppose that’s part of the event. You think he or she don’t look as if they’ve got two pennies to rub together, I’d better buy something. That is until you see the prices. The prices. Hell, I could buy a Picasso for less than they want for a series of splodges in different colours called ‘Mother & Child Reborn’.
However people must have seen something they liked, because after about an hour, and several bottles of wine, a few red dots started appearing on the paintings, indicating they’d been sold.
Well, I assumed they’d been sold. Of course, it could have been a ploy to ‘encourage les autres’ as they say. But that’s only a private view.