If Sewell hates you, you've probably got something right

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.

The green lady

From Tim at Cultural Snow comes the news that Vladimir Tretchikoff has died. Tretchikoff was hardly a household name but anyone who lived in Britain during the 1970s will have seen his most famous work.

The painting was made in 1950 but, says Wikipedia, it became world famous when it was made into a print in the 60s. According to the obit in The Times, it made him "a millionaire several times over".

In this BBC article, designer Wayne Hemingway compares Tretchikoff to Andy Warhol.

My grandparents had it on their wall when I was a kid in the Seventies. We had no idea what the painting was called or who it was by - we called her the green lady.

Back then, if furniture didn't come in orange, you bought it in brown. That painting really tied the room together.