The Sandy Murphy paintings arrived earlier, hidden under layers of bubble wrap. All forty-four of them.
One by one I peeled, okay ripped, them open and each time my heart went poof, like love, maybe lust, no I think it's love. I don't really understand how paintings can have this effect, but these do. Some people say that Sandy is possibly the best painter in Britain and I would agree with that. His paintings reach deep down inside you, without imagery or narrative, but with feeling and beauty.
Sandy has already teased me for calling him my inspiration in a recent Glasgow Herald article (http://www.heraldscotland.com/arts-ents/stage-visual-arts/sandy-murphy-the-smithy-gallery-blanefield-glasgow-1.1120527) so I am glad that he hardly uses computers and won't see this blog . . . he would probably blush a little, and I would blush a lot.
Obviously I have seen Sandy Murphy's paintings before - I have two at home - but I've never seen so many together and not in my gallery. They are all sitting there waiting to find their niche on the walls and I can't stop looking at them.
It's going to be a beautiful exhibition and maybe I'll calm down at some point. But I'm smitten and I don't think I will be the only one.
Thanks for reading!