I must confess that I feel like a bit of an imposter writing this piece. My relationship with art is mainly confined to the walls of my mother's drawing room. Growing up, this was a fractious relationship because every new painting meant less wall space for me to bounce a ball off.
On the odd occasion, when I do find myself inside an art gallery, the appreciation of the work is without any understanding of the context or the form or the brush stroke. It is often a simple, personal connection.