Anthony Freeman
Born in Englefield Green in Surrey, Anthony Freeman was living in nearby Egham, when Ruth first wrote to him in a letter dated 'Tuesday April 12th 1959'. Ruth had seen his work in the annual 'Young Contemporaries' exhibition in London – where, in 1960, he showed two oil paintings Trees and Water and White Landscape, at £20 and £35 respectively. She also notes that she bought his self-portrait in November 1960. 'Young Contemporaries 1960' also contained works by other artists whose self-portraits Ruth collected – Kenneth Brazier, Dennis Creffield, Mario Dubsky, Peter Freeth, Anthony Green, Gerald (Ben) Levene, Peter Phillips, Patrick Procktor. Other artists then shown included David Hockney and R.B. Kitaj.
Freeman's 1960 self-portrait, with its predominant palette of black, white, earthy browns and pink and puce, is a tautly focussed, close-up view of a lean, handsome young painter. The left side of his face is in shadow, the right illumined, yet each of the rather narrow black eyes (the whites of the eyes painted with a bluish tinge) is seen equally to probe the viewer with an unswerving immediacy. It is a penetratingly intelligent look, serious but not grim, with a sceptical edge. The sharp, black sweeping lines for the pronounced winged-shaped eyebrows, the dark shadowing of one side of the rather aqualine-seeming nose and the well-defined dark curving contour of the side of face and chin, all add to an impression of sensitive self-determination, resolutely self-enquiring presence. The overall ingenious interplay of dark and light tones contribute to the dramatic air of irony and ambiguity which haunts the picture. Freeman is known to have loved the art of Gauguin, Picasso and Nicolas de Staël.
The self-portrait combines a traditional academic approach in its modelling and determination to obtain a fair physical likeness, with what must have been a liberating and refreshing interest in more avant-garde earlier twentieth century art. It brings to mind early portraits by Picasso and Derain. Picasso's well-known 1907 self-portrait, though far more self-consciously 'primitive' and abstractly handled, has a similar format within the picture frame, and also a comparable palette of dusty pinks, browns and puce.
Reviewing the first edition of Face to Face in The Spectator (10th July 2004), Bevis Hillier noted that the author had 'gone to endless trouble to trace the careers represented, admitting defeat... in the case of Anthony Freeman, whose confident painting is one of the best in the book'. In fact, it was only after the artist's wife Carol contacted the author some time after publication, that more biographical details of Anthony's life could be filled in.
After two years National Service and despite strong parental opposition, Anthony Freeman studied at Kingston School of Art from 1956-60 (where the Principal was the painter Reginald Brill, and his teachers included Lionel Bulmer). There he met a fellow student Carol Chapman whom he married in 1962; his portrait of Carol was exhibited in the 1960 Royal Academy Summer Exhibition. Their daughter Amanda was born in 1963; aged four, she was the subject of a sensitive sculpture by Freeman.
For a couple of years in the mid-sixties, Anthony and Carol lived in a room in the Chelsea flat of the painter William Thomson (also represented in Ruth’s collection). He frequented the Chelsea Arts Club and several pubs in the area – such as the Queen’s Elm and the Finch’s – where artists (such as Elisabeth Frink, whose sculptures he much admired) and writers gathered. He worked as a painter from a studio he shared in Putney, and also assisted the sculptor Leon Underwood in the latter’s Hammersmith studio.
In 1976, he started working at Pinewood Studios, where he made impressive sculptures for films such as Star Wars and Greystoke. Anthony Freeman has been described by Carol as ‘a sensitive, honest person, lovable, charismatic and amusing but troubled. He was completely wrapped up in his work but was sadly unable to promote himself as a painter.’
In June 2014, Amanda Freeman wrote the following memoir of her father for the www.myoldman.org – a website (headed 'My Old Man: Tales of Our Fathers') for which Ted Kessler 'decided to try to collect [people's ]paternal experiences and collate them'.
'“Mean, moody and magnificent” was a phrase often used to describe my Dad Tony. He met my Mum on the bus to Kingston art school. She was 16, straight out of a stuffy girls school and from the posh end of town. He grew up in a two up, two down with no bathroom in the same village and had recently finished his national service. Dashingly handsome and enigmatic, he swept her off her feet.
'They married in 1962 by which time Dad was a lecturer in Fine Art at Kingston College of Art and they moved to the suburbs from London. Our home was bohemian compared to my friends – hessian on the walls and Dad’s large abstracts along with a sculpture of John Lennon and Yoko Ono in the nude (modeled by my Dad and commissioned by the couple).
'Dad was the life and soul of the party, funny, charming – but complicated. Despite his obvious talent, he shied away from exhibiting his work claiming it “prostituted his art.” He was a loving dad but often absent.
'Cine-film from that era paints an accurate picture of family holidays with my Mum’s parents – Dad standing on a distant sand dune gazing out to sea, the rest of us having a picnic. My Mum’s parents were supportive of his work – a huge portrait of Mum painted by Dad hung in their house which my grandfather bought when it was exhibited in the Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition. To his own parents he was an enigma – he hadn’t followed a conventional career path, he’d married above his station and they struggled to understand him.
'I was 12 when my parents separated – it hadn’t been a happy home for some time so for me it was a relief. Dad hadn’t wanted the break-up, but it did mean he could leave the art school and its regular income and start what turned out to be a successful career in films.
'After years of thrifty living my Dad was finally making good money – and enjoyed spending it. There were meals out in fancy restaurants, generous presents – he bought me my first car. But visits were infrequent. I meanwhile was in my late teens and starting to understand – and sympathise – with the sort of character my Dad was. Someone for whom life was challenging and conflicting, and that sometimes it was easier to retreat to the pub then ring his daughter.
'Then changes in the film industry meant that work dried up. Never one to prepare for hard times, things spiraled downhill quickly. He lost his flat and moved back in with his elderly mother. The requests for financial help started. The odd £30 now and then became more frequent. Then the bailiffs and the police turned up at my door looking for him. Things reached crisis point with a very troubling phone call where I thought he was going to commit suicide. He didn’t – but I felt for my own sake I had to stop contact. At least for a while anyway.
'Time passed. One year turned into two. There was a letter, but no apology which was what I’d hoped for. I should have responded but I didn’t. And when I did try to find him, attempts to do so resulted in dead ends.
'Five years later, around midnight, I answered the door to a policeman and woman. “Is it about my Dad?” “Yes”. He’d died the previous night, peacefully in his sleep. After years of thinking he must be homeless, I found out that he did at least have a roof over his head. He was in a hostel. He was popular amongst the residents, helping the older ladies with their gardening. The woman that ran it was lovely, it felt like she really understood him. His room was full of photos of me. “I tried to get him to contact you many times, but he was a very proud man and obviously didn’t want you to know his circumstances.”
'We gave him one hell of a send-off. A service full of his favourite songs, an epitaph to which my Mum and I contributed. All his old friends came. It was a celebration of all the good things about him. And I was reunited with my uncle – his brother – and cousins who I hadn’t seen in years.
'I wish things hadn’t turned out as they did. I wish I’d got in touch sooner. But I also know he was trying to protect me, didn’t want to be a burden and thought about me always. These days I’ve got memories of him in every room of my house. The head he sculpted of me aged 3, that portrait of my Mum and other art works I’m reminded of him every day and in the best way possible.'
(Amanda Freeman runs Freeman PR – an independent music, arts and entertainment PR agency – and lives in London.)
