He had the voice, in his words, of “an Edwardian lesbian” and delighted in insulting people who, by and large, loved him for it.

Brian Sewell, who died of cancer yesterday at the age of 84, was Britain’s foremost art critic. He was also one of its greatest characters, a defiant eccentric with a caustic wit.

Sewell, who worked for the London Evening Standard for three decades, was out of step with modern life in almost every way. While others lauded the brash stars of contemporary art, he raged against what he once described as “the freakish and grotesque, the fraudulent and phony, and above all the boring and pretentious”. His ambition, unfulfilled, had been to eventually write the definitive work on Michelangelo.

His views inevitably offended some. In 1994, 35 art-world figures wrote to the Standard demanding that he should be sacked over a review many regarded as sexist.

In 2008, he claimed there had never been a “first-rank woman artist” and “only men are capable of aesthetic greatness”.

Despite such views, his wit and swiftness to laughter made it hard to hate him for long. Robert Elms, the writer and broadcaster who partnered Sewell on Radio 4’s Loose Ends, described the critic as “cantankerous, difficult, phenomenally clever and great fun.

“He was quicker to rudeness than any man I’ve ever met, often to me because he thought I was a working-class oik who knew nothing – but I also enjoyed his company.”

Max Hastings, former editor of the Standard, said Sewell was “one of the most original and impressive critics it was ever my privilege to work with...” He was, said Mr Hastings, a man with “a wonderfully deep reservoir of knowledge armed with superb judgement”.

While Sewell presented to the world a “cool face and waspish wit”, he added, there was also “kindness and warmth” behind the well-known façade, “not all of it reserved for his beloved dogs”.

“I do not think Brian was fortunate enough to own the greatest of all gifts, knowledge of how to be happy – there were too many demons in him for that.

“But he was a man of remarkable parts, including the power to make himself loved by those who appreciated his worth and understood him at least a little.”

Mr Hastings recalled a dinner at the National Gallery when the critic spoke about three of his favourite paintings. “It was a humbling experience, because he made the pictures live, explained them in a fashion that made us understand how little we saw and knew on the canvases, how much he did,” he said. “He had a ruthless eye, and a withering scorn for the countless frauds and quacks on the contemporary art scene.”

The Evening Standard said in a statement this afternoon: "All of us at the Evening Standard are so very, very sorry to hear of Brian's death. He has been at the heart of the Evening Standard and so dear to our readers for a generation. Simply, Brian was the nation's best art critic, best columnist and the most brilliant and sharpest writer in recent times. His wit was always rapier sharp but his kindness knew no limits. He was a legend in the world of journalism and the arts. Brian will be deeply missed by all of his colleagues who have thought of Brian more as family than a friend. Brian is irreplaceable. We will miss him deeply as will all of our readers."

READ MORE: DALI, DOGS AND DENUNCIATIONS: THEY'RE ALL THERE IN THE LIFE OF BRIAN SEWELL L

Sewell was born in 1931 in Market Bosworth, Leicestershire. Raised by his mother in Kensington, London, he was educated at Haberdashers’ Aske’s Boys’ School in Hampstead, a public school, but not grand enough for him. His father, the composer Philip Heseltine, took his own life shortly before Mr Sewell was born. He only learned his father’s identity as his mother lay on her deathbed in 1996. His mother, he said, “may have been something of a prostitute”, but he lived with her until she died, by which time he was 65.

After leaving school, Sewell turned down a place at Oxford to study at the Courtauld Institute of Art in London, where he became friends with his tutor, the art historian Anthony Blunt, of the Cambridge spy ring. In 1979, he helped Blunt flee to a safe house in Chiswick after Margaret Thatcher confirmed Blunt’s role as a Soviet agent.

Having worked at Christie’s, the auction house, for about 20 years, Sewell joined the Standard in 1984.

He was described as “the heart” of the Standard in a statement by the paper yesterday.

“Simply, Brian was the nation’s best art critic, best columnist and the most brilliant and sharpest writer in recent times.

“His wit was always rapier sharp but his kindness knew no limits. He was a legend in the world of journalism and the arts.”

Sewell's sayings

On Banksy: “Banksy should have been put down at birth ... His work has no virtue.”

On Damien Hirst:  “To own a Hirst is to tell the world that your bathroom taps are gilded and your Rolls-Royce is pink.”

On David Hockney: “Half these pictures are fit only for the railings of Green Park, and would never be accepted for the Summer Exhibition were they sent in under pseudonyms.”

On women in art: “Only men are capable of aesthetic greatness.”

On contemporary art: “We pee on things, we pee into things, we pee over things ... and call it art.”