As another predictable and uninspiring artwork wins a major prize, I am forced to question what role the voting public should really play in deciding the outcomes of creative ventures. On September 15th, I received an e-mail announcing the winner of the Threadneedle Prize. At the opening at the beginning of September I was pleasently surprised to find a show with some strong intentions and a hearty attempt to explore the huge variety of approaches to making figurative work.  I was not entirely in agreement with the shortlist, but it certainly contained some interesting work and reflected to some degree the broad spectrum of the show.

Then disaster strikes. The vote is opened to the public, and despite the best attempts by the panel to offer some interesting alternatives, they vote, as they always will, for the safest most unimaginative and prescribed work they see and the Threadneedle Prize suddenly loses all integrity and vitality. Here, despite early suggestions, is not a prize to challenge or inspire, to explore new ground or to relish the investigation of contemporary figuration. Here is another BP Portrait award, a chance for middle of the road galleries and viewing public to flog dead horses to their hearts content and pretend they really are seeing value in art.

Now if this is what appeals to so many people then fair enough. I’m not going to take them all on, but admirers of Sheila Wallis and her type can find look-a-likes in every small town gallery across the country, and a fair few here in London.  But a prize, which to quote Simon Davies in this year’s catalogue, was launched “with the aim of making people look afresh at figurative and representational painting and sculpture” has so far entirely failed to do so. It is a grand claim that the organisers make and one which carries with it certain responsibility. If they wish to “make people look afresh” at figurative work then they have to take the initiative because as it stands no-one is looking afresh at anything, and the Threadneedle Prize risks being consigned, as the BP Award has been for some time, to the bin of crowd pleasing irrelevance.