Lucian Freud: the Artist and His Muse
Lucian Freud’s work caught my attention when his famous portrait of Queen Elizabeth II was unveiled in 2001. The Guardian praised it as the best of royal portraits in over a century. When we take a look at it, it’s easy to see why. Compared to grand portraits at European courts in the past, this a rather underwhelming accomplishment. Most notably, Hyacinthe Rigaud’s 18th century portrait of Louis XIV is monumental both in size and details emphasizing the fact he was, truly, an embodiment of the state. The slightly dazed look in Queen’s portrait and the focus on her face isn’t that different: just like Rigaud, it displays her as the face of the monarchy, albeit in a different, contemporary light. Also, the size of the painting is smaller than one of her cherished corgis. She’s wearing her tiara firmly nestled on the cushion of grey curls, a style that became her trademark.
Her French colleague, on the other hand, pumped the glam all the way to the top and wears a wig so big that the crown is sitting on a cushion by his side. Like a rockstar, the only thing that’s lacking is black latex and heavy dark eyeliner. Elizabeth’s jewelry barely fits into the frame, while Rigaud’s scene resembles a window display of a luxury brand. The necklace, sword, crown, all the way to red heels on his shoes. It’s meticulous and mind-blowing. He’s drowning in a heavy coronation cape resembling an Ikea shag rug. While his costume might be luxurious and imposing, there’s nothing costume about the jewels. Unfortunately, many were destroyed during the French revolution. On the other side of the Channel, the new King’s jewels are safely tucked away at the Tower of London. I swear, this line didn’t sound inappropriate at all when I came up with it. They’re also on public display. Ok, this one definitely sounds inappropriate.
In spite all the differences, Freud’s has lots of what the French king is severely lacking: relatability. While the viewer is aware of the model’s royal title, her face is as close to that “we-are-not-amused” perplexity as can be. In fact, it almost leaves you with an impression Elizabeth is looking into a mirror, instead at you. The painting makes her look paradoxically fragile, soo much so that the tiara is rather a matter of reassurance instead of necessity. As if to say: I may be an old lady but like Betty Boop, I still got it. It almost makes sense: Elizabeth and Betty seem to be a nickname away from each other. Unlike the flirtatious animated hero, the Queen doesn’t wear her heart on a black garter nor the sleeve. In the country of stiff upper lips, the drinks are stiff too. Freud’s extraordinary color palette is so unique it can’t be turned into one of those Pantone hues. He makes her skin look almost translucent and has compared painting this portrait to climbing a mountain. When you focus on it a bit deeper, it definitely rings true.
What I appreciate about Freud is that he admires and celebrates imperfection of all kinds and rejects ageism. In fact, his most famous portraits show people who would be considered obese by our standards. There’s a lot of flabby fat, creases, wrinkles and everything else that’s closer to the Venus of Willendorf than the athletic Apollo of Belvedere. In particular, I’m talking about Leigh Bovery depicted in Nude With Leg Up. The two were in a long-lasting artistic relationship where Bovery posed for him on numerous occasions. You could call the portrait A Study in Greige, because he’s reclining against a background wall partially painted in its hues. The richly saturated skin also shares some of it, mixed with adjacent tones. As a result, his limbs have a dramatically plastic appearance. Judging by his face, he must be daydreaming or pondering what to wear since he’s naked. His penis is out there, but in a strangely asexual fashion.
The physique of his models is almost devoid of any kind of erotic spark, as is obvious in this case. The private parts look deflated and almost detachable. There’s no body shaming: the artist merely paints what’s in front of his easel. It’s up to the viewer to decide what kind of relationship we will have with the subject matter. It’s the antithesis of hypersexualised image of gay men elevated by the likes of Tom of Finland, whose men flex sixpacks, heavy-duty pecs and nipples as sharp as darts. In other words, an intangible beauty standard that only truly exists in the imagination of the artist. The model, Leigh Bovery, is a rather colorful bird himself. An Australian-born artist who took certain social circles in London by storm. His costumes, makeup and work were outrageous and the personality gap between him and Freud couldn’t have been bigger if he tried.
He became famous in London for his flamboyant style and performance art. While Marina Abramović’s art functions on a different level, his was focused on joy without the burden of metatextuality. Though he died in 1994, by all standards he’d be a fixture at Anna Wintour’s Met Gala nowadays. Kanye West wouldn’t be good enough to hold the train of his dress, let alone something more. As soon as he steps in front of Freud’s easel, something happens and his carefully curated persona peels off to reveal what Americans like to call “my truth”. Because this is as close to it as can be. We’re in his Holy of holies, figuratively speaking. Every speck of discoloration on his skin contrasts the melancholic gaze in his eyes. It’s visible how uncomfortable he is: spread out in the middle like a shiny drop of mercury. This work is about celebration instead of judgement.
Quite a few famous 20th century artists were equally known for their muses. Dora Maar was a Croatian painter married to Picasso and subject of many of his portraits. Andy Warhol had a whole coterie of his own, with Bianca Jagger, Debbie Harry and the rest whose portraits turned him into a household name for people who don’t know anything about art but recognize stuff they saw many times before. Maybe that was his intention all the time: commodifying visual arts to such an extent that it becomes ubiquitous even within the working class and the parts of population who don’t particularly care about him. Similar to people drinking their morning coffee from a cup with an image of Klimt’s kiss on it. You have no idea who it is but it looks fancy and you bought it in a souvenir shop in Vienna.
Leigh Bovery would have been a perfect fit for Andy Warhol’s Factory crowd and his Superstars. Luisa Casati, the controversial Italian countess, once said she’d like to be a living work of art. He came very close to it. At that time in the West, both the economy and pop culture were booming and we couldn’t have known it was a countdown to the collapse of the Soviet Union leading to a string of problems that remain unsolved to this days in Eastern Europe. Freud’s muse was regularly featured in the press of the art scene like ID Magazine. His whole life in London was a loop of Truman Capote’s ball in New York’s Plaza hotel attended by hundreds of rich Americans few of which actually had to work for their money. This was something else, the kind of glamour that rarely translated into substantial sums of money. At the time, Damien Hearst certainly wouldn’t have been able to sell a banana taped to a wall for millions of dollars.
In the 21st century, standards of beauty have changed and we’re more accepting of people whose waist isn’t as thin as a broomstick. Nude With Leg Up doesn’t objectify the model because it doesn’t sexualize them. In an age obsessed with gender identity, it’s merely a statement of fact instead of the focus. Bovery’s penis is almost invisible though it’s in the middle, as if to say: that’s not the point. Freud’s women are almost asexual. The Queen not just due to her age, but also her poise: if it weren’t for the jewelry, you could easily mistake her for a retired teacher from Peckham. There is dignity and integrity in his portraits. This is glaringly absent since the rise of social media where everyone with a smartphone camera thinks they’re the next big thing. Never has that been a bigger lie yet we still don’t see the truth.
