Having grown up with an artist in the family – my late father, Alex – I have always been surrounded by works of art that have inspired me. My dad’s watercolours remain some of the finest I have ever seen – particularly his skies.

Rien Poortvliet on the other hand, if I were lucky enough to own one of his magnificent paintings, would have centre stage.

His works are the ones which most successfully take me to the field, canal or forest. I can smell the feral fetid breath of a wild boar bearing down on an aggressor. I can hear the dogs barking. I’m transported into the world of that creeping hunter, kneeling, waiting, poised with hushed and jangling nervous energy.

I marvel at Poorvliet’s flair in conveying a filagree of wet branches, freshly fallen snow, sunlight. Nobody does rain like Rien… sweeping curtains of the stuff that fall from the sky in torrents. All woven onto canvas or paper with such apparent ease, be it with line, watercolour or oil.

Art is just about the most subjective thing on this planet – possibly never more so than sporting art, which is aimed at a discerning audience that knows their subject… intimately!
What is genius to someone, is an abomination to others. Many artists follow a rather figurative route, partly because it’s safe ground. Rien Poortvliet utterly challenges that.

I first came across the Dutchman’s work over 30 years ago. It was his book, Hunting Drawings, which altered my view of what sporting art could be. There was a looseness, yet undeniable art structure, and complete mastery of technique that transported me into the world of his subjects.

There are a number of painters and sculptors who I would happily eulogise over: Ogden Minton Pleissner, Simon Gudgeon, Roger McPhail, Stanley Miller, Terence Lambert – and that master of marine, Stanley Meltzoff. Gosh! So many to pay homage to.

But, to my eye, Rien Poortvliet shaves it.