Brian Sewell, art critic and professional anachronism, is deeply unimpressed by my wife's exhibition at the V&A. (I would offer a link but his column appears to be held back from the website in a bid to make you buy the Evening Standard.) A savaging from Sewell is something of a badge of honour. He is, after all, a misanthrope ("I couldn't bear to sell paintings to the undeserving," he said of his time of auctioneer) and a misogynist (Women are "no good at squeezing cars through spaces [and] if you have someone who is unable to relate space to volume, they won't make a good artist").
His reaction to contemporary art, and indeed contemporary life, is famously antagonistic. Previously Sewell has dismissed Tate St Ives as "hideous", Banksy as "a clown" and the Turner Prize as "tedious".
Clearly, asking Sewell for an opinion on contemporary art is like asking a duck for its views on space travel: even if it could understand the concepts at play, it would lack the vocabulary with which to discuss them.