I heard about David Hockney’s passing a few minutes before a friend arrived to grab breakfast and hang out yesterday.
I’m glad I had the distraction because if I’d had time to sit with the news, I might have slipped into a deep depression.
Hockney was my favorite living artist. Was. Living.
But he will always and forever be my favorite artist.
The strange thing about losing someone you’ve never met is how personal it can feel. David Hockney didn’t know I existed, but his work has been part of my life for decades. That’s what great artists do. They become companions and tour guides.
For me, Hockney wasn’t just a painter. He was proof that art could be intelligent without being pretentious, serious without being gloomy, and beautiful without apology.
His California swimming pools may be his most famous images, but they were never just paintings of pools. They were paintings of light, memory, desire, and possibility.
As a photographer and visual storyteller, I found myself returning to his work again and again. His photo collages fascinated me. His landscapes fascinated me. His portraits fascinated me. Most of all, his endless curiosity fascinated me.
While many artists spend their later years repeating themselves, Hockney never stopped experimenting. He embraced photography, fax machines, iPhones, iPads, and whatever new tool caught his attention next. He saw technology as another paintbrush.
He was also a queer pioneer.
Hockney lived openly as a gay man during a time when doing so carried real risks. He painted queer life as everyday life, helping create space for generations of artists who followed.
What I admired most, though, wasn’t just his talent.
It was his joy.
Even into his eighties, he seemed genuinely excited to wake up and make something. Curious. Playful. Entirely himself.
We live in a culture that often mistakes cynicism for wisdom. Hockney never seemed interested in cynicism. He was interested in seeing.
Really seeing.
A splash in a pool.
A winding road.
A friend sitting in a chair.
A field in bloom.
He transformed the ordinary into something extraordinary by paying attention.
The tributes pouring in have called him a giant, an innovator, and an icon. All of that is true. But today I’m thinking less about art history and more about influence.
I’m thinking about a young artist discovering a Hockney painting for the first time.
A queer kid seeing themselves reflected in his art.
A photographer realizing there are countless ways to look at the same subject.
I’m thinking about the millions of us whose lives became a little richer because David Hockney spent his life paying attention and sharing what he saw.
Thank you, Mr. Hockney.
For the color.
For the curiosity.
For the courage.
For helping us see.
For helping us love ourselves.
Thank you for being a friend!
Clint 🌈✌️
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FROM THE ARCHIVES
BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY
06-13 = Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935) = Portuguese writer and philosopher 🌈
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MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY
“My table seats eight, so that’s my maximum. Having a small number of guests is the only way to generate good conversation. Besides, your whole house doesn’t get wrecked that way.”
Paul Lynde
What a lovely tribute to Mr. Hockney. Death can be a celebration but often it is so very sad when such a large life is extinguished. Fondly, Michael