Remembering Robert Hughes, 1938-2012

'What Hughes brought to the page was, yes, his smarts and a painter’s eye but also a vivid and slangy muscularity'

It’s normal, I suppose, not to remember the first meeting with a friend. And always to remember the last. I got to know Bob Hughes in the London of the later ’60s—O.K., “Swinging London,” a term that began slipping into ironic usage as soon as it was coined—this being a city in which Australians, not being burdened by Brit passive-aggression, stood out. Martin Sharp of Oz magazine was at the front of my building, Germaine Greer was across the corridor, and Bob and Danne Hughes were around the corner in a Chelsea square.
Read More