If evidence is needed that it’s possible to admire the art and not the artist, look no further than the first volume of William Feaver’s biography of Lucian Freud. I’ve read over the years many accounts of Freud’s life and work by those who knew him well (for example Celia Paul, David Dawson, and Martin Gayford), and I’d long suspected he wasn’t very likable. But I was still surprised to find from Feaver’s account how consistently unpleasant he seemed to be from such an early age. Egotistical, deceitful, snobbish, and unkind – these were characteristics on full display pretty much from the time he arrived in London from Berlin as a young boy in 1933. Blessed with extraordinary talent, good looks, and that famous family name, on the evidence here Freud seems to have thought from early on that other people existed to be used, seduced, or ignored.

Feaver’s approach to biography is a traditional one, with Freud’s work interwoven carefully with the life. The style is light and slightly gossipy and that seems entirely appropriate given the extent and significance of Freud’s friendships and his apparent gregariousness. Those looking for close analysis of the paintings will be better off elsewhere, but this will be a rewarding and entertaining read for anyone wanting to understand the relationships that led to those extraordinary portraits. Freud was fortunate in his choice of biographer. Feaver is perceptive about the paintings and is very tolerant of his subject’s often horrible behavior.

The book, all 600+ pages of it, follows Freud from his childhood years in Berlin, his arrival in London in 1933, his education and early days as a painter, and ends in the late 1960s at a time when he was an established figure in the London art scene. A second volume is underway.

The Rockefeller State Park Preserve was a popular spot for dog walkers and runners long before the pandemic gripped the Hudson Valley and almost everywhere else, but the crowds really started to arrive, especially at weekends, when strict limits were imposed on New Yorkers and others in the wake of the public health crisis. On Saturdays and Sundays, long lines of cars can be seen parked close to the entrances to the Preserve as people discover and explore the beauty spot on their doorstep.

If, like me, you crave a little solitude when you walk, it’s easy enough to avoid the crowds, not least because most visitors seem unaware of the prettiest spot of all just a mile or two away: Rockwood Hall. It’s a beautiful park, a place that offers a number of undemanding trails, some of which offer lovely views of the Hudson River. It’s also something of a palimpsest and walkers who pay attention to such things will see signs of what Rockwood Hall used to be. From the mid-1880s it was the site of one of the largest private homes in the United States, a 204-room mansion built by William Rockefeller with grounds landscaped by Olmsted. Nothing of the house remains today except a section of the foundations and some of the brick carriageways. The Rockefeller family donated the site to New York State in 1999, an act of generosity that allows people like me to enjoy some of the loveliest walks in the Hudson Valley.