Prospero

Books, arts and culture

David Hockney

Shades of grey

Jan 23rd 2012, 16:16 by E.B. | LONDON

  • “Nichols Canyon” (1980)
    “Nichols Canyon” (1980)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “Pearblossom Highway” (April 1986)
    “Pearblossom Highway” (April 1986)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “The Road across the Wolds” (1997)
    “The Road across the Wolds” (1997)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “A Closer Winter Tunnel” (February–March 2006)
    “A Closer Winter Tunnel” (February–March 2006)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “Woldgate Woods” (November 2006)
    “Woldgate Woods” (November 2006)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “The Big Hawthorn” (2008)
    “The Big Hawthorn” (2008)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “Winter Timber” (2009)
    “Winter Timber” (2009)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “Woldgate Woods, 11.30 am and 9.30 am” (November 2010)
    “Woldgate Woods, 11.30 am and 9.30 am” (November 2010)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “The Arrival of Spring in Woldgate, East Yorkshire” (January 2011)
    “The Arrival of Spring in Woldgate, East Yorkshire” (January 2011)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney
  • “The Arrival of Spring in Woldgate, East Yorkshire” (April 2011)
    “The Arrival of Spring in Woldgate, East Yorkshire” (April 2011)
    Source: Courtesy Royal Academy of Arts, London © David Hockney

THE new show of David Hockney's work at the Royal Academy in London has inspired some conflicting opinions—even within our own pages. Taking in Mr Hockney's 150 works, most of them inspired by the Yorkshire countryside, our own B.K. laments that these new pieces from the "adored grandfather of British painting" lack the "raw edge of passion and urgency" of his earlier paintings. This colleague then observes that the show lumbers on like "a marathon runner not quite prepared for the full distance." Bagehot similarly found the show to be "strikingly patchy", with "some fine and thought-provoking paintings and quite a lot of disappointing mush."

In this week's Britain section, The Economist puts forth yet another view. Not only does Mr Hockney lack rivals "for the title of Britain’s greatest living artist" (with the death of Lucian Freud last year), but also he manages to perceive and capture the brilliance of an otherwise "unremarkable landscape". Unlike Bagehot, who quips that "the least successful images are precisely those with the most interesting back-story", such as Mr Hockney's iPad sketches, the paper suggests that his pictures "are enhanced by his enthusiasm for technology. Some of the most successful were drawn on an iPad: even the printouts are luminous."

Any show that can inspire this much debate within a single newspaper is surely worthy of the attention. As it happens, my own opinion is more in line with piece in the paper. It was with some scepticism that I visited the show; it is always tempting to smash idols, and I hadn't been terribly impressed with some of the reproductions of Mr Hockney's new work over the years. On a smaller scale, a few of these paintings wouldn't have seemed out of place on the walls of a well-intentioned coffee shop in Portland, Oregon. So I was surprised to find the show revelatory, or at least mood altering. What a joyful assembly of works, irrepressible and glorious. The colours feel inspired (particularly his use of purple; the most powerful works tend to be the most lurid ones) and the scale uplifting. Mr Hockney's use of the iPad does not merely feel innovative in a cheeky, gadgety way, as if we are merely applauding the novelty of an old dog learning a new e-trick. Rather, these works demonstrate Mr Hockney's sure hand; his uniquely evocative scribble, and his arresting use of colour.

But hey, that's just another voice in what is becoming a rather cacophonous chorus. Though this slideshow hardly does the works justice (really, it is best to witness them in person), it allows us to ask a dauntingly simple question: what do you think?

Readers' comments

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ashbird

. . . mood altering. What a joyful assembly of works, irrepressible and glorious. The colours feel inspired (particularly his use of purple; the most powerful works tend to be the most lurid ones) and the scale uplifting.

Sorry if I comment too much. I am back commenting again. The above quote I agree with word for word. Wish I had written those exact words myself: joyful, irrepressible, glorious, uplifting.. I can only think of adding: totally untroubled .

I want also to say if you have 10 people looking at the same thing, and supposing they all are skilled, equally skilled, painters, and they paint what they see, you will not get 10 same paintings. People see different things given the same stimulus, be the stimulus a landscape, a face, or a human body. What is seen and reported (in the painting) works like responses in a Rorschach. From the standpoint of a person looking at the painting, the person and the painter are comparing notes. So when speaking of liking or not liking a piece of work by an artist, there is no "right" or "wrong". People simply see different things and have different notes. There is, between looker and painter, either an affinity or not. When there is no affinity , the world’s biggest can of Campell soup will not make you weep (or your mouth water as the case may be).

With that out of the way, I think comparing Lucian Freud and David Hockney is totally like comparing apple and orange. Actually, a howling cougar (consider his last self-portrait) and a happily feeding panda Small wonder one painted people and the other landscape. Why would they even be seen as “rivals”? What interest them is different. What they look at is different. What is in their head is different. What they have to tell you is different.

Goes without saying if I were a muti-billionaire . . . .

ashbird

Please, for me, no further word is necessary. I love his work even just after the few scant exposures from Prospero. I want to own

ashbird in reply to ashbird

Don't know what happened. The posting cut off the rest of what I wrote. Let me try again:

Please, for me, no further word is necessary. I love his work even just after the few scant exposures from Prospero. I love his colors, among other things - for example, English countryside. But most of all, I love what he sees when he looks , the most important thing for me when I read a painting (right, I read a painting like I read a poem - they are not 2 different things for me). I want to own the painting shown in the article. Now I have to work triple time to earn some money - :), :(, :).

ashbird in reply to Doug Pascover

Thanks for comment to my comment. I should also add to what I like his way of articulating what he sees using paint. A painter's work tells so much about the person who is the painter. I like the person who paints these paintings. What can I say?!

Never drove on Pearblossom Highway. Guess I missed out.

jomiku

It looks to me that he's continuing to bring ideas into his work. The most recent material combines his own styles with modern Japanese art. I mention that because some of his pieces are clearly riffs on traditional impressionism and that was informed by the Japanese art of that day. A number of his more recent pieces could be old impressionist works filtered through the modern Japanese style. Sort of a revisiting of the old.

Another thing about Hockney is his devotion to working through a project. He doesn't do a picture. He does enough to work out all that he has in that project. But he isn't obsessive; he has the discipline to explore fully but the restlessness to move on.

willstewart

Many of them would not look out of place on my wall (or indeed iPod), either (& would be very welcome, they looked exciting to me). Whether one considers this a fault or a virtue depends upon how elitist one feels about owning (as opposed to making) art.

After all an important characteristic of digital art is easy, perfect, reproduction. So why does DH not make money by selling tens of thousands of copies at moderate prices instead of a few at high prices? Digital music by the very best artists costs £10 and sells millions - why not digital art?

About Prospero

Named after the hero of Shakespeare's "The Tempest", an expert on the power of books and the arts, this blog features literary insight and cultural commentary from our correspondents, and includes our coverage of the art market.

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