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A Guardian Top 50 Summer Read 'I ended up reading it in one sitting, well into the early hours of the following day.' - Observer 'I can’t think of an art book with an opening page like it. Lines land like detonation . . . The writing is hypnotic and propulsive . . . It’s so powerful, so horrible, the set-up compelling.’ - The Sunday Times Cleaning the studio made me feel special, downtrodden and loved for all the wrong reasons. The floor was marked with a brush and thinned paint to establish the position of any furniture that was in use, the painted hieroglyphics of no particular colour but indelible so that everything could be repositioned and put back between sittings, all the functional lines alive and purposeful like his handwriting. In Naked Portrait Rose Boyt explores her complicated relationship with her beloved father, Lucian Freud, through her diary and other accounts of sitting for him, naked or otherwise. Enthralled by his genius, it was only after his death that she began to question the version of events she had come to accept. The shock of the truth is profound but what emerges is her love and compassion not just for herself as a vulnerable young woman, but for the man himself, who is shown in all his brilliant complexity.
A Guardian Top 50 Summer Read
'I ended up reading it in one sitting, well into the early hours of the following day.' - Observer
'I can’t think of an art book with an opening page like it. Lines land like detonation . . . The writing is hypnotic and propulsive . . . It’s so powerful, so horrible, the set-up compelling.’ - The Sunday Times
Cleaning the studio made me feel special, downtrodden and loved for all the wrong reasons. The floor was marked with a brush and thinned paint to establish the position of any furniture that was in use, the painted hieroglyphics of no particular colour but indelible so that everything could be repositioned and put back between sittings, all the functional lines alive and purposeful like his handwriting.
In Naked Portrait Rose Boyt explores her complicated relationship with her beloved father, Lucian Freud, through her diary and other accounts of sitting for him, naked or otherwise. Enthralled by his genius, it was only after his death that she began to question the version of events she had come to accept. The shock of the truth is profound but what emerges is her love and compassion not just for herself as a vulnerable young woman, but for the man himself, who is shown in all his brilliant complexity.