Dog meets art, both survive

The Art Cologne Kunstmesse is another place where I could easily spend a lottery jackpot prize in an afternoon, I consider the price of the works that interest me to be a confirmation of my good taste. Prize of the day was a 1959 abstract painting by Jean-Paul Riopelle, which I am proud to say that I identified at twenty paces, so redolent of art-history and cultural-significance that even such a roughneck as myself could not bear to reduce it to a mere commercial transaction by asking the price. I contented myself with buying books (catalogues) by Ralph Fleck, Hans-Christian Schink, Dirk Brömmel, and Wolfgang Kessler.

Until fairly recently, I had vaguely disliked dogs and the people who lead them around in public places. I think of a little old lady in Venice, whom I watched let her lapdog take a dump in the doorway of a store; or of an idiot aunt of mine, who would sit still and murmur "Oh, Spotty, please don't do that, you know how it upsets Mummy" as her spaniel pissed copiously on your trouser leg. So you can imagine that I was not thrilled when Sally said that she would have to bring her dog with her to the Kunstmesse, because I anticipated just such a barking, leash-tugging, over-indulged little monster pissing on the art. I was wrong, and wish to apologise to dogs everywhere for my error. I have realized that bad behaviour is not entirely the dog's fault, but to a very large extent that of the owner who has neglected to train it. Meet a whippet greyhound cross named "Charly", the politest, quietest, non-trouser-leg-pissing-on'est dog you could ever hope to see.

It was quite interesting to compare this day at the Messe with a dog, to a previous day at an art gallery with a child-in-a-stroller. Most people at the art gallery had been glad to see Dennis, and nobody seemed to object; a few people were shocked and angry to see Charly on his lead. I have to say that Dennis was an annoyance to visitors and gallery staff alike: chattering and shouting, running around, trying to touch every painting (and succeeding in touching many when he outran us); yet convention says that children are welcome in galleries, nobody made faces or rude not-quite-sotto-voce comments. Charly was extremely well-behaved, I was with him for twelve hours, and I can state that he never barked once, nor did he lick a single artwork (or even his own balls); yet many people were offended by his presence, and comments were made behind our backs.

On the other hand, there were many people who were delighted to see Charly, who is a polite and very handsome dog; he surely had a month's ration of being petted by strangers that day. Several gallery owners (who were in the middle of a week away from their dogs) left their stands to walk up and pet him. At least a dozen people asked whether we had had any difficulty getting him in to the Messe, we (I include myself, by this time I had begun to enjoy having him around) replied honestly that we hadn't bothered to ask permission. I confidently expect that there will be several dogs in the audience next year.