I wasn't swept off my feet by this exhibition of one of my favourite contemporary artists, John Wonnacott.

'Underwhelming,' said the friend I met on his way out, as I went in.

(It didn't help that they were shown in a sterile, new gallery.)

Even these ballet paintings didn't have the energy and tension of the cityscapes of London and New York that he was painting a few years ago.

I remember lingering after the gallery closed, unable to tear myself away.

But today, I drifted in ... and drifted out again.

(The painting on the right was bought by the Tate about 15 years ago. That's what I mean.

But, heavens, was it really that long ago?)