David Hockney is loveable. The
politely jostling, smiling crowds lining up to bask in
the glow of his latest pictures surely agree. His
status as a National Treasure is not in doubt and even
though he's lived a large part of his life in
Los Angeles, Englishness can never be divorced from Hockney
anymore than it can be from cups of tea, Monty Python
or the Beatles. However, California did leave large thumb-prints
in the Hockney psyche and, in my
irrelevant opinion, that is a shame.
Before I launch
into my critique, I must affirm
that I am among those who love Hockney. I wish he was
my friend so that we could have stimulating conversations
about painting, buzzing with insight and discovery. I
love his mercurial enthusiasms, his analytical and perceptive
eye, his humour, impishness and no-bullshit bluntness,
his inventiveness, committment,
and the loneliness lurking behind the panache. So, with
all that loveability plus the National Treasure status
to contend with, I feel rather hesitant about airing
my view of the current exhibition. There must be many
sycophants in Hockney's entourage and I wonder if even
his friends dare express anything along the lines
of: hey, Emperor, aren't you feeling the cold?
Well, here goes. Deep breath.
Too many of the paintings in this
show are there because of their BIGNESS, because
that was the agreed gimmick, but I can't believe
that the curators, and Hockney himself in his heart of
hearts, could not see the eye-watering superficiality
of, for instance:The Arrival of Spring
in Woldgate, East Yorkshire (oil on 32 canvases
joined together). As a cheery restaurant mural or a backdrop
for a Disney frolic, okay, it could work. But the
appropriate format for it is a greeting card, ordinary
greeting card size. What is the point
of a super-gigantic painting, whether on a single canvas
or a grid of 32 canvases, if everything about it is small
and superficial, both in concept and execution?
As for
the painting inexplicably chosen for the poster and
all the advertising:Winter
Timber 2009, am I the only one who
sees limp spaghetti or McDonald fries instead of
logs laid out on the road? Is it possible that the
famously acute Hockney eye did not notice this unfortunate
ressemblance? As a brilliant draughtsman,
how could he be satisfied with this banal
image, which doesn't even have the saving grace of
being a joke? Contrary to the BIGGER PICTURE theme
of the exhibition, it is the largest works which
are the least interesting, the most contrived, whereas
it is in smaller single canvases, sketchbooks,
and some marvellous charcoal drawings of trees that
the unique Hockney talent is evident.
David Hockney Winter Timber 2009 (oil
on 15 canvases)
Van Gogh in Arles was obviously
on Hockney's mind much of the time when he was painting
en plein air in Yorkshire but Vincent's engagement
and struggle with nature is a world away from David's
in every respect. I don't mean this negatively: my favourite
landscapes in this show are those in which Hockney has
translated Van Gogh into Hockney-ish. My least favourites
are those in which he lets his California, or rather
his Hollywood, take over his Yorkshire. The iPad-ish
cleverness, laid-back speediness, ice-cream colours and
shadowless light, the cinematic showmanship - all very
L.A.
But the Hockney I
deeply admire is the terrifically original boy
of the 1960s and 70s, before California had seeped
into his Bradford psyche.
His paintings, drawings and etchings of that period
are truly inspirational to me. Now that he's back in
England (for a while?) maybe the next stage in his
work will be the fusion of those two worlds - perhaps
a Smaller Picture, but a deeper one. David
Hockney still has a lot of creating to do.
By the
way, a lot of the reviews and catalogue commentaries
mention the fact that he painted most of these landscapes
en plein air, actually standing in front
of the actual scene, outdoors in all kinds of weather,
as though this is something extraordinary that nobody
has done since the nineteenth century. Huh? What planet
do they live on? Artists, brilliant ones as well as mediocre
ones, Sunday painters and every day painters, have never
stopped painting and drawing en plein air. So
there.
I loved the 9-camera, 18-screen
films at the end of the exhibition. Eye and mind-expanding.
If you're in London, go see this
exhibition, it's absolutely worth a long, slow look.
Disregard my comments and make up your own mind. Try
to ignore the crowds and plant yourself assertively in
front of anyone blocking your view. And
it's easier to get tickets in person at the Academy rather
than online.
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