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To start off, I was going to ask about Auerbach’s tendency to rework canvases for years. How did you decide which specific versions of his paintings to include? I’m interested to know if any particular works stood out as a definitive representation of his view of London.

It’s actually a fairly long-winded answer, but it’s an interesting one. Francis and I have probably been working on this project for about four or five years; when we first decided to do it, we realised that – while going through back catalogues and everything else – nobody’s done a proper survey of just the landscapes. So for us to try and work out what we wanted to do at the beginning, we were sort of driven by date first: covering the 1950s, 60s and 70s, trying to get a sense of how his view of London evolved during that time. But once Alice came up with the title ‘Portraits of London’, it became clear that we needed to look at his entire environment – his life, where he painted and what drove him to keep coming back to the same scenes.

When we were doing the research, we discovered that around 25% of his 1,200 works were landscapes. We were surprised to see so many since exhibitions tend to highlight his portraits. But the more we looked, the more we realised that his landscapes and portraits go hand in hand – they’re both rooted in Camden, the area that’s been his home for decades.

Auerbach and Lucian Freud had this shared idea of painting the familiar, but for Auerbach, it seemed to be more about finding stability, maybe because of his experience coming over from Berlin as a child during the war. He’s incredibly disciplined in his work, keeping a nine-to-five routine in his studio; he’s rarely left London since he arrived in 1935. His landscapes came together almost as an extension of his daily life, always painting the places he knew, which allowed him to capture the subtle changes over time. This repetition wasn’t boring for him – it was a way of getting to know his surroundings with a kind of romantic familiarity.

Initially, we planned to focus on his earlier works, but Auerbach was keen for us to include his more recent pieces as well, even though it was a bit tricky to track them down. In the end, though, it really felt right. His more recent landscapes are much more colourful and confident, showing how his style has evolved but still with that same sense of vivacity. The exhibition isn’t just about his landscapes or his version of London – it’s really about his lifelong relationship with his surroundings, and how he’s never stopped looking, never stopped painting what he knows.

Auerbach is generally considered more private compared to his contemporaries, like Lucian Freud or Francis Bacon. I was wondering if you think that this exhibition will reshape public perception of him as a key figure in the School of London, although I feel like it’s something you’ve touched on already. But do you think there are any aspects of his work that have been overlooked?

It’s a very interesting question. I’ve given a little bit of thought. Personally, I don’t think it’s about Frank’s work being overlooked, but rather that certain aspects, especially his landscapes, haven’t received the same level of exposure as his portraits. I think there’s been a lot of focus on the people that have been familiar to Frank over the years. So, we’re used to seeing Catherine Lampert and Stella West, figures that people feel they know intimately. We can almost touch these people, almost like we know who they are. But with the landscapes, I don’t think they’ve been overlooked as such. I just don’t think they’ve been given the exposure that the other type of painting that Frank has done has received and I think that’s the issue.

Comparatively, the landscapes are incredibly rare and often take longer to create compared to portraits, as they involve plein air sketches and meticulous layering. Auerbach might have spent around half his time on landscapes, which are more time-consuming due to their scale and complexity. This exhibition offers a rare chance for viewers to take in Auerbach’s landscapes altogether; capturing more than just scenery, they carry a sense of place with a depth that often goes unnoticed.

Interestingly, though, these landscapes aren’t as desolate as they might initially seem. When you look closely, they reveal figures within them, something far more dynamic than you can get in a reproduction. One example is the Venice Biennale painting of Primrose Hill, which includes several figures in the park. Incorporating people, even subtly, shows Auerbach’s connection to London, depicting it as both a lived-in place and a subject in itself.

Exploring Auerbach within the context of the School of London, then, is intriguing. When you think of that group, you think of the likes of Freud and Bacon, who focus on the human figure. But Auerbach’s landscapes push back against this idea. I think these paintings speak to today in many ways, more than the portraits do. In effect, the compositional ambiguity and abstraction of what he does compared to the ‘school’ was really all about the physical presence of the human being, and this is much more about putting yourself into those landscapes. So I think the viewer becomes far more important here.

As for their friendships with each other, these bonds were not just professional but deeply personal. With Freud, their connection was shaped by their shared experiences – particularly their Jewish heritage and the impact of WWII. These relationships were, of course, genuine, but the idea of the School of London as a cohesive group feels more like a convenient label than an accurate portrayal. Auerbach likely saw himself as an individual artist, with meaningful connections to others, rather than a member of any specific ‘school’.

I’ve been wondering what role Auerbach played in shaping the structure of the exhibition.

It’s interesting to think about Auerbach’s role in shaping the exhibition. We never had direct contact with him, but we did communicate with Geoffrey Parton, who has always been his agent. I had frequent lunches with Geoffrey, and he mentioned that the main influence Frank had on the curation was wanting a full representation across the decades. Then, about eight weeks ago, Geoffrey told me that Frank loved the essay and everything you’re doing, but he had one concern: he didn’t want the pictures to feel too cramped. We need to give each piece plenty of space, although we were already committed to certain arrangements.

When it came to the catalogue, Frank was very specific. He wanted to avoid using a traditional critic, so we found an American writer, Lee Hallman, who’d done her PhD on Auerbach’s landscapes about seven years ago. Her essay was a perfect fit because she’d dedicated years of research to this topic, and there’s a nice symbiosis in getting to see and write about his work like this.

You see, Frank prefers writers who create novels and fiction and literature and history rather than just art historians, which made it challenging for us to find someone. Colm Tóibín, for instance, wrote the catalogue for the Charcoal Heads show at the Courtauld earlier this year, and it’s that kind of literary engagement Frank values. It’s fascinating because his work is more about the emotions and feelings evoked by the paintings than literal portrayals. His portraits might not look like exact likenesses, but they capture the spirit of the subjects. That’s what makes them so compelling.

I’m going to tie two questions into one, but I was going to ask what were the most revelatory aspects of his work that emerged during the preparation of this exhibition? And are there any previously unseen works that’ll be on display?

Throughout this process, I’ve spent a lot of time with these paintings, and I discovered aspects of the artist’s subject matter that I hadn’t realised before. Reading old articles and essays about Frank has been particularly enlightening, especially pieces that demonstrate how his work has evolved over time with London itself.

In that sense, one standout is a painting of St. Pancras, created in 1978. It’s one of only two or three paintings he ever made of this site. It shows figures descending a staircase and looking up toward the light. Anything about the history of St Pancras and what it represents to London, and how much it’s changed in the last 20 years in particular is, again, a very nice addition to the show.

Another painting I’m particularly excited about is Footballers, Regent’s Park from 1969. It’s a stunning piece, 60 inches wide, that hasn’t been seen in public for nearly 50 years. It was previously held in a private collection and took quite a bit of persuasion to bring it to the show. Pieces like this, which have remained out of the public eye, will almost be more interesting in a way than the museum pieces because people are probably familiar with them.

Interestingly, while our exhibition focuses on the artist’s depiction of London, it also coincides with a show of Monet’s London paintings across the river. The timing of this means we’ll have two extraordinary perspectives on the city: Monet capturing views of the river in the late 1800s and our artist, exploring everything north of the river, a full 60 years later. And, you know, really, he was the greatest painter of London, prior to Frank. I think we are going to be very lucky to have in London at the same time, two shows that are the greatest depictions of London ever committed to canvas.

Just as a last question, something touched on a little bit as well: how have you chosen to present the evolution of his style over his seven-decade career, and how do you see that tied into London’s regeneration as well?

It’s funny when you step back from a career and look at it. He’s 93 years old now, and we have the benefit of being able to reflect on this career. In a world where a lot of contemporary art is consumed at the point of making and many artists are very young, we have an artist who is still with us – at 93 years old – with seven decades behind him, still drawing.

We can really appreciate that breadth and see how he’s transformed over the decades. I think it’s important to be able to do this. I wouldn’t always say you should approach things quite logically, but here it specifically makes sense. What comes through is not just the way his style has changed, but also how the landscapes have shifted and how his interests have evolved over time.

For instance, his early works, created during London’s post-war regeneration, often featured dark ochres and browns, largely because of limited access to brighter pigments. But as his confidence grew, so did his palette, showcasing a broader spectrum of colours in his later pieces. This evolution might shift how people perceive him as an artist, especially in relation to the School of London.

While we have all the pieces ready for this exhibition, we can’t be entirely sure how it will be received until it’s hung. We’re also trying to work out how, you know when you go into Tate and there’s room one, and then you go into room two, we’re going to have to try and create a passage around the show so that people navigate it in a way that makes sense for them. Obviously, we know it intimately well. But I think it’ll be very exciting.

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Offer Waterman & Francis Outred present: Frank Auerbach: Portraits of London. 17 St George Street, Mayfair. 4 October to 7 December 2024.

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