One of the great things about being a member of an art gallery is the chance to see people that you’ve never heard of and wouldn’t dream of paying to buy an individual ticket to see.

This year at the RA I’ve been hugely suprised and pleased by Richard Diebekorn whilst the Renoir exhibition fell a bit flat. At the Tate, I visited, revisisted and visited again the Marlene Dumas all as a precursor to the Barbara Hepworth and Ai Weiwei shows later on.

But I don’t get Agnes Martin at all. Her work just didn’t “work” for me at all. It’s supposed to be contemplative and meditative so maybe I just lack the calmness of spirit or soul. Whatever.

I found the work dull and uninteresting. There was no drama and not enough “prettiness” to compensate. It told me nothing new.

The images below are atypical in that they have enough contrast or oomph to reproduce well.

Walking around the gallery, the blind covered windows felt more exciting – they at least hinted at a view, a change in light and shadows.

A thousand lines drawn might encourage me to count them as part of meditative mind-clearing, but it was equally likely to encourage me to write a shopping list.

Clearly this works for some people very well. Not me.