Article: Cover story: Demon lover Screaming popes, tormented faces - there's a lot of unexplained anguish in Francis Bacon's paintings, says Philip Hoare. Can new revelations about his torturous relationships shed any light on the subject?

Sometime in the mid-1980s in South Kensington, I saw Francis Bacon hopping on the back of a bus. I stared in recognition, nonplussed at the apparition, in the flesh, of Britain's most famous living artist, riding on public transport. I suppose I must have gazed too long, for his eyes stared back, out of a high-coloured, slapped cherub's face. Was he angry? Or was it a come-on? I'm still not quite sure. But in retrospect, that brief encounter seems symbolic of Bacon's life: so public a figure, so private a person; as paradoxical as his art.

Francis Bacon was as recognisable as his paintings. His petulant yet impassive features, his aristocratic rough-trade dress sense and youthful figure ...

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