A Kind of Grief by A. D. Scott Read Free Book Online

Aware of public opinion, with which he usually disagreed—he produced articles that were never less than entertaining, were often controversial, and usually resulted in irate letters from conservative art patrons and readers.
    â€œSo how can I help?” Joanne asked Sandy.
    â€œWrite me a think piece, based around what ordinary people see as art. Cite the trial. Mention the narrow-minded responses to anything modern the art galleries buy.”
    â€œLike the Salvador Dalí brouhaha.”
    â€œExactly. Given what it’s costing the taxpayers for these works, it stirs up the readers no end. Forsythe suggested Glasgow’s next buy might be one of the weirder Picasso works; that stirred up plenty of controversy.”
    â€œWhy me? No, don’t answer—I’m the ordinary person.” She was interested. An article in a major newspaper was a major coup. “Sandy, it’s a huge topic. I’ve no idea where to begin.”
    It had been Dougald Forsythe’s idea to publish contrasting opinions, just as it had been his idea that Joanne Ross write them. But Sandy couldn’t figure out how the man knew of Joanne. Always has a hidden agenda, does our Dougald , was the opinion of one of his art colleagues. Sandy Marshall would perhaps have been more cautious if he’d heard that before hiring him.
    â€œWrite in your natural style, perhaps write how modern art can offend but how tastes are changing, today’s failure is tomorrow’s masterpiece.”
    â€œLike Vincent van Gogh.”
    â€œExactly. And just so you know, the fair Dougald in his next column is writing about women artists, how they are undervalued, their passion is never taken seriously . . .”
    â€œAnd they are judged if they have an eccentric lifestyle. Whereas men . . .”
    â€œExactly. I’ll pop a brief in the post, plus Forsythe’s phone number if you want to chat. Best call him early. Later in the evening he’s . . . he’s hard to communicate with.”
    â€œDrunk?”
    â€œAye, and maudlin, and full o’ himself. So, can you knock out fifteen hundred words? There’ll be a picture to go with it.”
    â€œPromise me no Highland cows in misty glens.”
    Laughing, Sandy said, “You’ve got the gist of it already. Forsythe suggested Starry Night as an example of work no one wanted when it was painted.”
    â€œGood choice.” Joanne liked how this would tie in with an article about art and the “eye of the beholder.” They settled on a publication two weeks away, delivery in five days’ time.
    Fluctuating between excitement and anxiety, fearing she wasn’t up to the standard of national publication, Joanne began mentally composing the piece the minute she put down the phone. She wanted to ask McAllister’s advice but suspected he would be less than helpful, saying Write it your own way .
    Curious about Forsythe, she phoned Calum Mackenzie to ask about the art critic.
    â€œForsythe spoke in big words, he mentioned all sorts of artists no one up here has ever heard of, and he was wearing a strange outfit.”
    That was of no help. “Calum, do you know how, or if, he and Alice Ramsay are acquainted? And why she would have asked for him as the expert witness?”
    â€œNo idea,” he replied.
    And you, a reporter, didn’t inquire? she wanted to say.
    â€œQuite a character, though,” Calum continued. “He turned up to court wearing an Inverness cape over a blue velvet jacket, a mustard-colored waistcoat, and tartan trews.” The wonder in his voice told Joanne that if it had been Oscar Wilde himself in the witness box, it would have caused less of a stir. “And he spoke pure Glasgow. When I asked around about Forsythe for my article, I found out he’d annoyed most everyone.”
    Calum mentioned him in the golf club bar. If the speaker was a man in male company,