I recognize I am following the contemporary crowd by accepting Lucian Freud as our greatest living realist (at least). But some things seem so eminently true. I have never been enamoured of the BritArt YBAs such as Damein Hirst and Tracey Emin; they leave me cold. I am far happier with (I admit it) the older generation of Freud and Bacon and Hockney.
Lucian Freud and Francis Bacon are a fascinating pair to me. Bacon is like one too many hits off a Jamaican bong late at night, and Freud is the getting up next morning and eating a hearty breakfast. Bacon was often outrageous, and yet it is Freud who apparently has acknowledged more than 40 illegitimate children.
Anyway, this reverie was sparked by a fascinating review in the New York Review of Books of three recent publications on the artist. It’s a good read.