This was the Ashes Modern Art Series. It was as interesting as it was confusing

In the middle is a long zigzag: Steve Smith incarnate. It’s a recurring Ashes theme. There are a lot of slashes elsewhere because there were a lot of slashes.

Really, it’s hard to know where to look next, it’s such a mess and yet you can’t turn away. One thing is for sure, there is no red ink. It’s not in fashion anymore.

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In the middle of the strip, where England mostly bowled, there are grooves and an X marking Boland’s place. There are scratches, weeping like sores, representing the English victims. There is a stylized red cross for the Australian Department of Convalescence. Or is it a facility for the elderly? There are also hastily sketched figures in place of the wounded and they look just as good.

There is a lot of white space, a disproportionate amount, for a few players on both sides who have done little, more for many lost days and a crossbones skull for spin bowling.

There are some nice but unfinished lines for Zak Crawley and Harry Brook. There’s Ben Stokes, the perennial winner, his face showing effort, pain and mental strain. There’s Joe Root, but he always is. There are also plenty of ghostly figures, shadows of their Northern Hemisphere selves.

In one corner there is a stain for spilled England catches. There are gold stars for many Australians. Carey, Smith and Marnus Labuschagne took half of England’s wickets.

In the next corner is a beer splash stain, the Noosa craft number of course.

Next to it is another blank canvas that represents England’s minimalist preparation. He is not expected to be seen again.

For all the slaps and dashes and slaps, when you step back a bit, the big picture looks good for Australia. In matters of audacity and discipline they were masters. These are less praised arts, but arts nonetheless. Bazball seems to despise them. While Bazball can often be spectacular, it doesn’t lend itself well to clutch moments.

The motif of the image of England that is created is the harlequin. And that bloody flying ear at the bottom of the frame could be van Gogh’s, but it could be Jamie Smith’s shot to get to Labuschagne. It was the worst of the series, in a strong field of contenders.

This means that despite all the inverted cricket in the exhibition, there was also an aesthetically pleasing thread running through the pieces, since even the avant-garde artists are mostly classically educated. There was even a slight feeling that some Englishmen would be glad to be allowed to play the old way. Orthodoxy? How radical that would be.

Maybe it will come. The latest in this collection of curiosities, exotics, rubbish and treasures was the twist, a delicately drawn mini-masterpiece of the Test match bat full of strokes worthy of any paintbrush – created by a novice. Jacob Bethell couldn’t have made a better first impression if he was the Mona Lisa. He even had that inscrutable half-smile.

Whatever it was, it played to packed galleries, the third largest overall. Of course they were captives of the advance ticket sales, but you felt they would have come anyway. This pop art may not please the critics, but it won the people’s prize.

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Australia can laugh now, but it’s back to the drawing board for England. The stand was useless.

Was it a one-off Bazball-flavored flight of fancy in which Australia got swept and creditably kept their heads (and their Old Man) or is that how it’s supposed to be from now on? Was it torn from the nursery walls or is it the new black? Was it a precursor or a fad, a moment or a movement?

In less than 18 months, the show goes on. In the meantime, we can always go back to the revival of 1948 or 1989 or 2006-07.

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