Naked Portrait: A Memoir of Lucian Freud
R550Cleaning 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.
