In Front of the Camera
My father hated having his photograph taken. He said the flash made him go temporarily blind. In the past, he was known to have occasionally attacked any fool that tried it on. Then he discovered a more off putting method of making a hideous face when someone raised a camera, not that he was often in those kinds of
situations. This photograph was taken by my father’s great friend Bruce Bernard. Bruce was the editor of some of the best books of photographs, including the remarkable ‘Century: One Hundred Years of Human Progress, Suffering and Hope’ published by Phaidon in 1999 to worldwide acclaim. Bruce was also a picture editor, one of the best, and a photographer in his own right - mostly taking pictures of his friends the artists Francis Bacon, Frank Auerbach, Michael Andrews, and my father Lucian Freud. I remember meeting Bruce when I was 19 outside the French pub (as it was known then) in Soho. Bruce was giving a dinner for his friends
at The Gay Hussar, a Hungarian restaurant in Greek Street. Dad had asked me to come along as a kind of accomplice. Bruce was not a rich man. He was ferociously proud and principled. This was a generous invitation to his friends, to which everyone responded with an unhesitant yes. I was the youngest person there by some decades and I was incredibly shy. I remember what I was wearing: a 60’s cream silk vintage shift dress and a pale gold sparkly clutch bag. I felt rather embarrassed about it and when I was introduced to Bruce I said ‘I’m sorry about my hideous bag.’ ‘I think your bag is great,’ he responded gruffly. This was over 40 years ago and it is still so clear because it was the forging of a bond between us. Bruce was an exacting person who expected a certain standard from his relationships. From his approval of my handbag, I understood this was an approval of me. It was the start of our lifelong friendship. Back to the photograph... I was preparing to move to Rome and go to fashion school (really to move in with my much older Italian boyfriend). In a rare moment of going against the grain, I asked dad if he liked the idea of Bruce coming over to the studio and taking some pictures during a break from sitting. For some reason, he said yes. Because it was Bruce, my father started to enjoy himself - and play around. He stood on his head, balancing easily and elegantly with his hand lightly touching the metal bed frame. He posed on a low plywood box as though he was a Henry Moore sculpture. Then when his girlfriend the artist Celia Paul came over, he insisted on draping Celia’s amazingly long, heavy blonde hair over both of our heads. I could scarcely believe it was happening - it was so funny and blissful. In this picture we are both doing
whatever Bruce must have asked us to. Looking into the camera is one of the most self conscious acts, yet we seem completely natural. We are standing in front of his painting ‘Large Interior (after Watteau)’, you can see my painted head behind me. This photograph captures all the intensity of devotion and loyalty I felt as a
daughter and a sitter.
situations. This photograph was taken by my father’s great friend Bruce Bernard. Bruce was the editor of some of the best books of photographs, including the remarkable ‘Century: One Hundred Years of Human Progress, Suffering and Hope’ published by Phaidon in 1999 to worldwide acclaim. Bruce was also a picture editor, one of the best, and a photographer in his own right - mostly taking pictures of his friends the artists Francis Bacon, Frank Auerbach, Michael Andrews, and my father Lucian Freud. I remember meeting Bruce when I was 19 outside the French pub (as it was known then) in Soho. Bruce was giving a dinner for his friends
at The Gay Hussar, a Hungarian restaurant in Greek Street. Dad had asked me to come along as a kind of accomplice. Bruce was not a rich man. He was ferociously proud and principled. This was a generous invitation to his friends, to which everyone responded with an unhesitant yes. I was the youngest person there by some decades and I was incredibly shy. I remember what I was wearing: a 60’s cream silk vintage shift dress and a pale gold sparkly clutch bag. I felt rather embarrassed about it and when I was introduced to Bruce I said ‘I’m sorry about my hideous bag.’ ‘I think your bag is great,’ he responded gruffly. This was over 40 years ago and it is still so clear because it was the forging of a bond between us. Bruce was an exacting person who expected a certain standard from his relationships. From his approval of my handbag, I understood this was an approval of me. It was the start of our lifelong friendship. Back to the photograph... I was preparing to move to Rome and go to fashion school (really to move in with my much older Italian boyfriend). In a rare moment of going against the grain, I asked dad if he liked the idea of Bruce coming over to the studio and taking some pictures during a break from sitting. For some reason, he said yes. Because it was Bruce, my father started to enjoy himself - and play around. He stood on his head, balancing easily and elegantly with his hand lightly touching the metal bed frame. He posed on a low plywood box as though he was a Henry Moore sculpture. Then when his girlfriend the artist Celia Paul came over, he insisted on draping Celia’s amazingly long, heavy blonde hair over both of our heads. I could scarcely believe it was happening - it was so funny and blissful. In this picture we are both doing
whatever Bruce must have asked us to. Looking into the camera is one of the most self conscious acts, yet we seem completely natural. We are standing in front of his painting ‘Large Interior (after Watteau)’, you can see my painted head behind me. This photograph captures all the intensity of devotion and loyalty I felt as a
daughter and a sitter.
