SOTHEBYS INTERLUDE (recycled)

I am the kind of person who sneers quite a lot, who speaks of obscene displays of wealth and who disapproves, loudly, of privilege in all its forms. I have always felt especially cross about places like Sotheby’s. I see them as a great waste of space and think that the entire emporium should be given over to a nice hostel for the homeless or an alternative music venue, something for ‘the people’, whoever they are. However I am fervently pro culture and pro arts.

So, while I was somewhat surprised to hear myself saying ‘can I come too?’ in tones of great eagerness as I bounced up and down in excitement, when I had the chance to go to a viewing there. I felt it was excusable I am, as I said before, pro culture in most of its forms and there was to be a preview of Russian Contemporary Art followed by an auction the week after.

My friend was playing host to one of the artists and goes to such places regularly. I take a highly sanctimonious attitude and feel morally superior. Not for me rubbing shoulders with the ‘haves’. I am determined in my attitude to ally myself with the ‘have nots‘. I have not consulted with the ‘have nots on this’ and in fact I have accumulated a few of the accoutrements of the ‘haves’. I am not sure how you judge these things.

This does not stop me from issuing judgements; nothing stops me from issuing judgements.

On our way down Bond Street we saw an elderly man preparing for the night by spreading cardboard boxes on the ground in a shop doorway. I drew my friend’s attention to this as proof of my increased awareness of the poor.


Sotheby’s lived up, or down, to all my expectations and more. The amount of couth is incredible; the cloakroom staff are graceful and charming. The flunkeys, mostly good looking young guys, of all races and sizes who keep their expressions of disinterest in place under all provocation. The catering staff is of a superior type altogether, (I hope they are paid top dollar) The cocktails are exotic and perfectly presented.

My friend assures me the Champagne is the best and lovely young guys trot about the place filling glasses obsessively so I felt obliged to drink obsessively. Delicious young females in sequined mini dresses dart quickly like so many elegant fish among us with gorgeous snacks of unparalleled quality and miniscule size, not nearly often enough for my champagne enhanced appetite and at one stage I was tempted to mug a child who trotted past with a small bucket of snacks in her hand.

Nearly everybody there was Russian and all the art was from Russian artists. Most was not to my taste and I got the distinct feeling that few of the punters had a primary interest in the art work. They met and chatted, flaunted and flirted. One particular woman clearly had newly enhanced lips and was running them in with a slight discomfort and self consciousness that reminded me of my first time in high heels. Voices were loud and eager and there were more shades of blonde than I ever saw before. I sat and watched and enjoyed myself enormously. I think my ideal role in life is as watcher and critic; I enjoy the action best second hand.

Altogether a jolly evening was had by all and I was vastly relieved to realise that I hadn’t been missing a thing. I had had this sneaking feeling that there was a secret ingredient, a je ne sais quoi if you will. That ‘they’ had something that I could never have and after several glasses of champagne and very little food I had this revelation: no mystique is involved. Sotheby’s is exactly what it says on the label: a salesroom. And that this event had very little to do with art and less to do with culture. I am not sure why I thought it would be a cultural event. Some silly stereotypical idea of art no doubt.

It was a jolly and probably the most accomplished jolly I ever enjoyed. The person we knew sold some paintings in the auction a few days later though I believe that many went unsold. The catering staff got paid and the ocean of champagne that could have kept the Titanic afloat was imbibed.

We left fairly early and on our way back to the tube we saw the elderly man asleep in the shop doorway, hunched under his overcoat. I voiced the hope that he would be allowed by compassionate policemen to stay there all night. On the train back home I was glad to see a young woman reading a book of vivid pink and a dreadful blue and I made a judgement, ‘better they read rubbish than nothing’, then I saw that it was Slaughterhouse Five in this amazing cover, and I felt that culture is not dead but alive and well on the Jubilee line.

So what do I think of Sotheby’s now? Primarily I see it as a great job opportunity for unemployed actors and catering staff in general. An example of how catering should be done and also as great fun. Come the revolution of course it will all be quite different, but until such time …it is gorgeous, flamboyant, outrageous and, I imagine, somebody is making a few bob out of it, if only the caterers. We left with a bag of goodies that the advertising industry had produced at great expense and that we dumped in a bin near Bermondsey tube station.

I don’t think that I have changed my view of the rich and I am not sure that this group was typical of the rich anyway. But I think I realised that I don’t envy them at all and as I walked up the escalator with my friend I felt happy with my lot, a first.
So thank you Sotheby’s that was one of the best opportunities for moral superiority I ever encountered and I topped up with Champagne too!