How the National Gallery changed my life
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This changed my life. When I was young and spotty and impecunious, every weekend I would dart in and out of the National Gallery. Mostly it would be for less than half an hour and often just to look at a single picture – the great Leonardo cartoon, or the Seurat bathers, or a show-off, bravura Veronese. I’d always liked painting, but the Old Masters became a passion. Just down from Scotland, London felt cold, hard and unwelcoming. Except for the dear old National Gallery. In and out, I went, out
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