ABSTRACT
Francis Bacon himself claimed that he walked miles every day, ceaselessly going up to the canvas to paint then retreating to judge the effect; and even in old age he rarely seemed to tire when sauntering through a city or being obliged to stand for hours. For a couple of decades thereafter Bacon was credited with a sense of outrage at the war and its aftermath before it became apparent that the origins of his outrage were both more private and more metaphysical. Like everybody who lived through it Bacon had been affected by the war, but unlike most people he actually drew strength from it. Uncompromisingly modern, Bacon had emptied the cavernous space and put in only the things essential to his work and a couple of worn velvet sofas. Bacon loved the faded grandeur the studio, which more than any of his subsequent spaces, reflected his own neurotic version of his father's love of grand old country houses.
