French Table

Once again, the business of making shapes and colouring them in, which ultimately is what traditional art is all about.

This drawing dates from the late 1980s, and I cannot even remember whether it was a genuine French table on one of our many family holidays in France, or quite possibly something I found in a teach-yourself-to-draw book, and copied, and then coloured in.

Art critics will insist that it has no value or legitimacy if it was the latter, but is a candidate for the label genius if the former, a distinction that I find difficult to comprehend. A drawing is a drawing, by whatever route, by whatever standard. I happen to like it, because I like the disorderly arrangement of the objects, the thinness of the colours, and the contrast between the near-neutrality of some and the over-intensity of others, making the drawing both naturalistic and abstract.

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