Lucian Freud: Girl In Bed, 1952
She always looked like she was thinking about something. As if the world puzzled her and she couldn’t work out why. I could see it in the way her eyes danced around the room and the sunlight sparkled off them. Her freckles were her thoughts that couldn’t be contained - so complex that they pigmented her skin. The long golden locks, that she insisted be tied up during the day, were only let down at night when her mind rested. But her subconscious was still wandering and wondering. She became Medusa as each length of hair became a snake, seeking out the secrets of its surroundings. Each moment and object and person had its own story. Why were the bedsheets frayed in one corner? Where did the stain on the floorboards come from? I knew she wanted to know. The questions haunted her, she’d wake up in cold sweats, her head spinning with questions but never any answers. I want to get inside her head and stop this madness, because I know it never stops. Even when she closes her eyes, she never sleeps.