This little exhibition at the Tate Britain gives a strange insight into the personal relationship between two of the recent greats of the British art scene. Lucien Freud’s private collection of Auerbach’s work hung in his London home until his death three years ago and now (to avoid inheritance tax) the works are being displayed together for the last time before being distributed across UK galleries.
Even superficially, the two artists have a lot in common. Both were born to Jewish families in Berlin, only escaping the rise of Nazism by moving to Britain. Auerbach was sent to England by his parents in 1939 under the Kindertransport scheme. They were unable to follow, and died a few years later in concentration camps. As with so many other Jewish artists, such as Mark Rothko, the experience of the Holocaust left a lasting impression and a lingering influence upon his art.
From 1948, Auerbach’s interest in art became obsessive as he studied at St. Martin’s and the Royal College of Art. Less prestigious, but undoubtedly more formative, were the additional classes he took at the Borough Polytechnic where he was taught by David Bomberg, a cult figure, despite his inability to get a job at one of the larger London art schools after the Second World War. It was around this time that Auerbach became close to Freud, as both began to work under the rough guise of the subsequently named ‘School of London’ group — a collection of figurative artists including the likes of Francis Bacon and Leon Kossoff. Up until his death a few years ago, Freud was hailed as the greatest living British artist, the last bohemian, the creator of such fantastic art that his appalling treatment of women was kept in the background.
Auerbach’s connection to London spanned his whole life and, unsurprisingly, it is his local neighbourhood of Camden that recurs the most in his work. In the Tate exhibition, the London canvases fill the room — far larger and brighter than any of the portraits displayed. Indeed, this quality has not escaped the notice of the Tate Britain curator Elena Crippa who has highlighted the extent to which “his work does not reproduce — there is something so wonderfully tactile and you truly need to experience it”. Auerbach’s work is similarly defined by its unique focus upon texture, a component of the work that assumes almost equal importance to the subjects he painted. ‘Mornington Crescent’ in particular stands out. Auerbach’s thick paint and roughly hewn lines avoid total abstraction and show the early morning confusion of a city waking up. The sultry colours are more effective than the mid-day, mid-commute luridness of some of his other London scenes.
I personally found the best (and most moving) part of the exhibition to be the series of hand drawn postcards and birthday cards sent from Auerbach over many years — all of which Freud had framed in testament to the strength of their friendship. They have little messages and portraits, penned in Auerbach’s rough style, and give a clear insight into the affection that the two felt for each other. One card even depicts the famous photograph of the two having breakfast in Smithfield, sitting jovially side by side.
But the cards also show an amusing, and endearing, amount of disorganisation on Auerbach’s part. One reads; “Dear Lucian, This very ill-timed Birthday present. I have just been in to Paxton & W [Whitfield] and wanted to get a ham before they SOLD OUT. Love Frank. PS Many Happy Returns of the 8th.” This is certainly not the aloof image of the artist that we are used to seeing.
Crippa argues, “There is so much affection in them and they give the lie to the common portrayal of Auerbach and Freud as rather austere artists.” It is certainly true that we rarely get such a personal insight into the interactions of our most famous artists, and this is the real strength of the exhibition. It humanises both Auerbach and Freud and, through their interactions, one learns a great deal about them as individuals and the undoubted impact and influence each exerted upon the other.
The Tate is using this exhibition as a taster for their major retrospective of Auerbach’s work in 2015, but in many ways this single room of his works is definitive. It seems pretty sad that art galleries all over the UK are currently bidding and vying for one work or another from this 40-work strong collection. Of course, it would be impractical to keep all of the paintings and cards together — after all which gallery would get custody over such an important bequest? But splitting up Freud’s collection — each component part going to the highest bidder — seems a shame. It is fairly unlikely that it will ever be seen in this complete unity again, adding a touch of pathos to the exhibition.
