Sunflowers (1888)

I'd been in the National Portrait Gallery in London for an hour, and so far, I had seen a lot of paintings.

Huge rooms filled with shire horses, fields of wheat, depictions of the Virgin Mary, and well-nourished Lords of Tudor courts.

But this was the first painting that had an audience.

While many rooms had been empty, and all paintings had been instantly viewable, the room housing Vincent van Gogh's Sunflowers was crowded.

A sea of people, huddled around the famous painting, camera phones raised.

Many people would snap a quick photo, turn around and walk out of the room. It felt to me like they were ticking a box.

I waited patiently, and soon a gap in the crowd appeared. For the first time in my life, I saw one of the most famous works of art in history.

"Is that it?"

I couldn't understand what the fuss was about. The colours were all the same, the vase was poorly drawn, and the sunflowers didn't look like any sunflowers that I had ever seen.

I stared at that painting for what felt like hours, transfixed by the lack of excitement and wonder it had given me.

I had looked at hundreds of paintings that day, and each one had impressed me. Ships of the line, sailing through treacherous waters, brought to life on canvas by skilled artists.

Ancient Roman Gods painted as if they were about to jump out of the frame and converse with you.

Idyllic fields dotted with tall oaks and stunning skylines. Transporting you deep into the English countryside of the 17th Century.

That was what art should be.

I turned away from the picture, not understanding what made it so popular.

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"It's overrated", I told my mother, several years later.

"I've seen it in real life, and it looks like something a College art student could knock up in 30 minutes. What makes it so special?"

And, ever the teacher, my mum patiently explained to me exactly what made it special to her.

I am unable to do her argument justice, partly because this conversation was 5 years ago, and partly because I am talking about a subject of which I clearly know very little.

But through her words, I could finally see why people loved this painting. The lack of varying colours was a strength, not a weakness. The lack of photo-realism was purposeful; he was giving an impression of how the flowers made him feel, the yellow representing the warmth of the room, and the fleeting vibrancy that picked flowers slowly dying in a vase can provide.

Her words made me realise that I didn't know enough about post-impressionism to fairly review the artwork.

I could give my own immediate reaction, and I could explain why I did or did not like it. But I could not speak for others. I could not tell a room full of people that they were wrong to give this painting more attention than a painting that spoke more to my personal tastes.

Sunflowers has sparked joy in millions of people for over 130 years; how can that possibly be overrated?

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Often, reviews say more about the reviewer than the art itself. I can't tell you how many times I've liked something, then seen a bad review for it, and started questioning my own intelligence, my own sense of humour, my ability to properly critique a film, television show, or album.

And don't get me wrong, sometimes a review can change my opinion of something that I've loved or hated. Just like my mum's review of Sunflowers changed how I thought about art.

I look back at the things that I used to say were overrated or underrated, and I think what I was actually trying to do was position myself as the wise man who goes against the crowd.

When I called something underrated or overrated, I was saying that the general public wasn't wise enough to see what I saw.

But the irony is that I was no wise man. I was talking from an uneducated position. I knew nothing about art; I could only give my immediate thoughts.

I was a pig, eating the finest caviar out of my trough and not being able to differentiate it from the apple core I'd just consumed.

Now I'm older, I think that no art is truly overrated or underrated. It is perfectly rated. People like what they like.

But good art endures.

A thousand years from now, I am sure that people will still gather to look at Sunflowers by Vincent van Gogh. And I'm also sure that there will be people just like my younger self who think it's overrated.