Pointing out the obvious

Having eventually negotiated Poynton’s all-inclusive roundabouts - that little oasis of former road which is now a shared space and where everyone is suddenly exceedingly polite to all other space-users, I got to the venue without cricking my neck, having looked every which way to make sure there was no-one else I could be nice to. “You first.” “After you,” “No, after you – I insist.” It is so futuristic, even surreal. I half expected to hear the music from the Prisoner on the community PA wafting in through the open window, and I was on the look-out for large balloons with minds of their own.

No sooner had I made a fuss about Murray Secretan’s painting after my most recent visit to Pershore, than Great Northern Railwayana Auctions had sent me their catalogue for October. There was a fine array of thirteen paintings up for auction - the work of no fewer than nine different railway artists. For the first time that I could remember, they were arranged to appear consecutively in a discrete batch, as the posters also do at GNRA.

Bizarrely, though, it seemed to me, original artwork was the only section of entries to be omitted from the catalogue index. Also, Barry Price’s name was missing from two of his paintings [coincidentally, both failed to sell at the auction]. Though his splendid work is very distinctive, and is probably easily recognisable to most regular auction goers, as are the sturdy and attractive frames he uses, I’m sure he would have liked it to be formally attributed to him, if only that he might be more widely appreciated by relative newcomers before the auction took place.

I had flagged up Murray Secretan previously, as being an earlier and generally less well known, but very competent painter. I had shared my disappointment at missing out on the GWRA example at Pershore. Imagine my surprise, then, when he crops up again at almost the first subsequent opportunity.

I came with the intention of putting my money where my mouth is, but, as it turned out, it was with exactly the same result. With my piggy bank already in shards from the hammering it was receiving, I was soon overtaken by a determined phone bidder. From 100 quid upwards, it was just him and me, but I knew where it was leading. Disappointment. During the bidding, the observation came from the chair that, “There are two people who know what they’re doing.” I think he meant me and the resolute and anonymous phone bidder, as no one else in the hall had moved a muscle, throughout. Maybe it is more likely that for most punters, railway art is not at the top of their “must have” list.

As I slunk off to sulk in my car, I thought about how stupid I had been to publicly praise the work of someone whose works of art I might eventually want to buy for myself. I had quite possibly contributed to my own downfall, assuming for a moment that anyone actually reads and takes note of what I’m writing, either in Railway Antiques Gazette or on my blog.

Ruminating over my disappointment, I wondered if I could persuade people not to go for some of the acknowledged big names in the business, so that I could access them more readily myself in future. My propaganda war of fake news and disinformation might start off something like this:

“That Root bloke, for example, I’m not sure that he’s not all he’s cracked up to be, you know, and that Austin fellow keeps on winning the Railart annual prize, well that can’t be right, can it?......

I headed for the centre of the Village. Now remember, just because you have missed out doesn’t mean you can take it out on other space users. “I am not just bidder number 326. I am a free man.”   As it turned out, I escaped to bid another day.