James Butterwick Gallery

30/08/2026

The two people in this splendid photograph, dated, if memory serves, 1990, are your humble servant on the left, looking, if I may say so, incredibly dashing and the quite incomparable Nikolai Alexandrovich Sokolov of Kukryniksy fame.
Now this man really was a piece of Soviet history, and what a privilege it was to be his friend.
I was introduced to him by his daughter-in-law, Maria Vladimirovna Sokolova, a delightful lady whom, for whatever reason, I called Mummy, and her charming husband, Sokolov’s son.

I walked into their flat and this funny old man, he must have been about 86 or 87, came to the door. God, he had a glint in his eye. He took my hand and said, “I’ve heard about you. Come with me.”
So off I went, a callow youth, no longer with acne but still somewhere between adolescence and semi-maturity.
He led me into the sitting room, which was hung with absolutely Olympic-class Russian masterpieces: Serov, Korovin, Repin, Surikov. Breathtaking.
He turned to me and said, “Right. Who are these all painted by?”
And I got them all right.
Now, of course, I’m not blowing my own trumpet, but there is an element of self-justification here because, let us not forget, I am a narcissist. Not vain, just a narcissist. It’s a subtle difference. Take it from me.
But there was one painting I identified that genuinely surprised him - Nikolai Sapunov, the Russian Symbolist, 1880–1912, who died in a boating accident. Damn Russians die in the most bizarre ways.
Sokolov sat down and said in Russian: “Он узнал Сапунова, которого даже Грабарь не узнал.” (He recognised a Sapunov that Grabar (distinguished Soviet artist and critic) failed to recognise)

And I thought to myself - Goodness me, you really are either guilty of terrible hyperbole…
Sokolov was, of course, one of the Kukryniksy, the legendary Soviet trio responsible for some of the most famous political cartoons and wartime posters of the 20th century.
And that was the beginning of my friendship with a man who really was a piece of Soviet history.

23/08/2026

This masterpiece is in the Church of Santo Tomé in Toledo, which is a tiny little chapel - and yet it houses this enormous picture.

You walk in and, OMG, as the young are fond of saying, you see this extraordinary painting. Because basically, it is two pictures.

The base of the picture is El Greco the technician, El Greco the magnificent painter of detail. Look, for example, at the armour in The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, at the priests, at the mourners - among them, by the way, a self-portrait of El Greco. It is brilliantly painted, technically incredibly detailed.

That is section one.

And then section two is the heavenly host, with the Count himself in supplication before God.

It is mind-blowing.

The upper half seems to be painted in a completely different style. It is all dynamics, all bright colours. It swirls. It is otherworldly. The brushstrokes are far less detailed than they are below.

And yet El Greco is such a mind-blowing genius that he uses these extraordinary visual devices to join the earthly world at the base of the picture with the heavenly world above.

So it is a formal picture on the one hand, and a mad expression of dynamics and heavenly glory on the other.

It is the only picture at which I can stare for literally many, many hours, always seeing something new every time I see it.

This is futurism in the upper half of the picture. This is art way, way, way ahead of its time.

Below, you are seeing an artist showing the brilliance, precision and exactitude of his technique.

Above, you are seeing something else entirely.

And somehow, impossibly, it is one painting.

23/08/2026

20/08/2026

12/08/2026

Why is provenance important?

07/08/2026

Another fascinating story

06/08/2026

I’ve grouped these four drawings together because they are all Old Master drawings, each acquired for a different reason, but all because I was captivated by their quality.

The study of a man’s head is clearly a fine example of French Rococo drawing. The gentleman holding a purse is a beautiful seventeenth-century Dutch work that I acquired at a Christie’s auction in New York.

The drawing of the couple playing draughts is perhaps my favourite of the group, not only because of its charm but because of how I found it. I was with my daughter at a jumble sale in the south of France when it suddenly caught my eye. It cost just €100, and I still consider it an absolute masterpiece.

The village scene is the most recent addition to the group. I bought it last year from Woolley and Wallis in Salisbury. It has since been identified as the work of a sixteenth-century Dutch artist.

I have always enjoyed collecting Old Master drawings, but above all, I buy them for one reason - quality. Regardless of the name attached to them, a truly exceptional drawing always speaks for itself.

04/08/2026

30/07/2026

This drawing is something of a curate’s egg.

It is by the English artist Stanley Spencer, one of the twentieth century’s most original and distinctive painters. My admiration for Spencer began thanks to my godfather, Peregrine Pollen, former President of Sotheby’s New York, who considered him one of the great artists of the century.

This drawing is a portrait of Spencer and his wife, Hilda. Their story was a complicated and ultimately rather tragic one, which perhaps makes this work all the more poignant. I’ve always loved its quirky charm, Spencer appears in the lower right holding up a mirror, while Hilda sits knitting at the top of the composition.

At one point, I also owned an oil painting by Spencer. I bought it at auction for £95,000, fully intending to keep it, as it looked perfect above my fireplace. Eighteen months later, however, a fellow dealer offered me £250,000. School fees and an expensive lifestyle have a way of influencing one’s decisions, so I accepted.

Thankfully, this drawing remained with me.

27/07/2026

Here we have a striking pair of works by Maria Vasilieva, the Russian émigré artist who lived and worked in Paris. Both were created in 1912 and depict female nudes.

I acquired them relatively recently at an auction in Paris, at the beginning of this year. I was immediately drawn to them as a pair, they complement one another beautifully, while each retains its own sense of character and freedom. There is something bold and adventurous in both the composition and the handling of the figure.

Each work bears the stamp of the Atelier of Maria Vasilieva, providing clear and reassuring provenance.

Acquiring them was not entirely straightforward. I ended up paying rather more than I had originally intended, after some determined competition in the auction room. But that is often the reality of buying quality art: when a work is genuinely good, you are rarely the only person who recognises it. Experienced dealers tend to have sophisticated eyes, and the strongest pieces inevitably attract attention.

Still, I was delighted to secure both works and to keep them together as a pair.