This Book is as Big as My Torso!

This is what I was thinking while I clutched at a book on Sir Henry Raeburn that is older than my grandparents and literally spans the width of my shoulders and the length of my body from my collarbone to my hips.

Correction: It is not a book. It is a book that means business. It's the mother of all books. It would beat up the Gutenburg Bible in a street war/gang fight amongst books...with Gandalf there as the referee.

a-hem. Yes...well, how did I get such a book? Why was I wandering around The Square Mile with such a tome?

Simple. Scottish Hart.

Today I had tea with the elusive Scottish Hart. It was a good chat with art conversation that swirled around my head like stars in a cartoon. Yes, it was a little bit like getting hit upside the head with a shovel as far as the amount of information I had to ingest. The ridiculous House Sale project turned me into an ostrich with its head in the sand. The new auctions are already up at Christeby's and there are a few interesting paintings here and there. Not to mention the plentiful art fairs that are coming up or already going on...This 'Art World' that I'm trying to crack is relentless, like a posh party planner who has been hopped up on red bull and cocaine.

But there is no danger of an Art World heart attack. Art World is not a single person.

Shame, I bet you'd earn big brownie points if you visited the Art World in hospital with nice, non-cheap flowers...

Luckily, Scottish Hart was patient and allowed me moments to elucidate on what I had been working on and to an extent gave some guidance. We had a nice football chat...

I really need to learn something about that sport.

And tennis.

Between the World Cup and Wimbledon and the art world AND coursework...There is only so much room for things in my life. Sport isn't really up there.

When our conversation was drawing to a close, mostly because I didn't know what to say about Andy Murray (who?), I volunteered to look into a Ramsay painting up for sale and asked if there was anything I could do for him while I'm researching this summer.

He told me no and not to put myself out, but that if I wanted I could borrow one of his books on Raeburn that was just across the way at his office.

Done and done!

After collecting the book that could eat toddlers for breakfast, I gave my sincerest thanks to Scottish Hart and teetered off, smiling because I knew I'd have to give the book back, meaning I'd have another opportunity to network and maybe get an introduction from someone who is best-ies with the Art World, even if it is in the contemporary sense. An 'in' from a well-connected collector is pretty damn good. I'll take it if I can get it.

Now The Raeburn Bible is safely at home. It's here, it's safe, it's sound, it wasn't harmed on public transport.

With that done, I'm off to try out some travel. Brussels tomorrow, and that's just the start. Time for a change of pace and a chance to clear my head.