On this fateful day, when Margaret Thatcher would have been 100 years old, many are taking a moment to replay their favourite memories: that time when she said there was no such thing as society; that time when she snatched milk from primary-schoolchildren; that amazing pro-EU jumper she had; all those times when she wasn’t for turning. It’s one of those days when you’re supposed to stick to the stuff we can all agree on, such as: whatever you think of her policies, she was a one-off. You didn’t get many Margaret Thatchers to the yard.
No amount of positivity, however, can paper over the alarming gulf in Thatcher-appreciation between regular people and members of the Conservative party. Last week, I went to the opening of The Iron Lady: The Legacy Paintings, an exhibition by the artist Lorna May Wadsworth, who, although I don’t know her, I’m medium sure is not a Thatcher superfan. She was the last artist to paint Thatcher before she died, but she has also painted Tony Blair, David Blunkett and Rowan Williams. She’s a portraitist. They rise above petty stuff like “what people said” and “what people did”, the better to immortalise them.
