011 - david hockney

Last weekend my fancy friend, Meg, invited me to Hotel Bel Air. She was in town for business and when the work was finished, she moved herself from the paid-for-by-work put-up to her preferred digs and told me to meet her there Saturday morning. I replied, “Parfait” meaning perfect and thought to myself, “Where am I going to park?”

Through the Bel Air gates I drove until I saw the hotel up ahead on my left. Swarmed with security, at least a dozen government vehicles surrounding the property, whisperings of Moroccan royalty vacationing as a family. Their convoy had taken up all the parking.

I drive a sun-stained 2003 Chevy Monte Carlo I bought for $800 in Long Beach five years ago. I’m not ashamed of it, but I'm self aware enough to know everyone (including my wallet) would be appeased if I didn’t opt for using the valet.

I found a spot near UCLA, a twenty minute walk from the hotel. I headed back into the pristine and private neighborhood. A community seemingly weary of street parkers and walkers. People turned their heads to look at me as they raced their way through the hills. I didn’t have a care in the world. It was a perfect Saturday morning and I was walking in Bel Air.

I arrived at the hotel, confidently walked through the entrance, past the first round of hotel staff. The second round had their heads in their computers and didn’t see me. Judging by the sound, I took a right and saw the restaurant ahead. My friend was in a booth by herself with an almost finished french press and what looked like a drank glass of green juice. She said, “Let's go to the pool.”

I introduce to you: David Hockney

David Hockney is the first artist I learned about and could remember by name and work. In 2018, he was exhibited at The Getty and a friend of mine was eager to see it. I tagged along, and since then, I’ve been a fan of him – the art and the artist. His paintings are vibrant, beautiful, and some are quite large in scale. He’s cheeky, snappy, smart and maybe aloof to the systems in place around him. I heard he’s free to walk through museums with a cup of tea and a lit cigarette. No one says a word.

He’s known for his pool paintings and also for working in various mediums to create uniquely arranged works full of color. At LACMA, he most recently exhibited 82 portraits and 1 still-life, each completed in 2-3 days or as Hockney described the process: “A 20-hour exposure.” Nowadays, he tells us what he’s up to: “I draw flowers everyday on my iPhone and send them to my friends, so they get fresh blooms every morning.” One of these drawings made its way to my phone, passed on from my friend Joel.

As for his pool paintings, this idea came to him when flying into Los Angeles for the first time. From above the city, he looked out his window and saw a landscape peppered with pools, a scene quite different from that in London where he was living. I think about this when I’m flying into LA. Never noticing this feature of LA myself, Hockney has opened my eyes to something I can’t unsee.

So there I sat, poolside at Hotel Bel Air with Meg. They displayed fresh fruit and murky, fruit-infused water at the entrance. I enjoyed both. She asked for sunscreen and they handed it over in a small container. “There’s more if you need it. Would you like anything to drink?” She ordered a berry mojito. I declined and slipped into the pool. I thought about David Hockney and LA and money.

His painting, Pool with Two Figures, first sold in 1972 for $18,000 (equivalent to $131,000 today). In 2018, after nine minutes of bidding, it sold for $90.3 million to an unknown buyer (a record at that time for a work by a living artist, a record broken by the sale of Jasper John’s painting, Flag 1958).

I climbed out of the pool, the warm concrete took the water from my feet, and I rejoined Meg, settling into the fresh towel caste over my chair by someone other than me. Security guards appeared and took their positions around the pool. A group in the corner rose to their feet to greet members of the royal family. Smart, Meg signaled for the server and ordered another drink before the staff would be bombarded with requests. I asked how she was and she replied, “Parfait.” And me, I was glad I found a parking spot and grateful art gives me something to think about when lounging at the pool in the company of royalty. — Phillip Dillon

Here are a few quotes of david’s that made me think or smile:

“Always live in the ugliest house on the street - then you don't have to look at it.”

“I am constantly preoccupied with how to remove distance so that we can all come closer together, so that we can all begin to sense we are the same, we are one.”

“You must plan to be spontaneous.”

“Listening is a positive act: you have to put yourself out to do it.”

“Anything simple always interests me.”

“I think I’m greedy, but I’m not greedy for money – I think that can be a burden – I’m greedy for an exciting life.”

“I have always believed that art should be a deep pleasure. I think there is a contradiction in an art of total despair, because the very fact that the art is made seems to contradict despair.”

“The teaching of drawing is the teaching of looking. A lot of people don’t look very hard.”

“There is nothing wrong with photography, if you don’t mind the perspective of a paralysed Cyclops.”

“The camera can’t see space. It sees surfaces. People see space, which is much more interesting.”

“Art has to move you and design does not, unless it’s a good design for a bus.”

“Nature, never, never let’s you down, it’s not a cliché, nature isn’t a cliché, pictures might be, but you can get tired of pictures.”

“I love California; everything is so artificial.”

“I’m convinced that technology and art go together – and always have, for centuries.”

“On the iPhone I tended to draw with my thumb. Whereas the moment I got to the iPad, I found myself using every finger.”

“OH, I LIKE smoking, I do. I smoke for my health, my mental health. Tobacco gives you little pauses, a rest from life. I don’t suppose anyone smoking a pipe would have road rage, would they?”

“I’m not really antisocial, I’m just too deaf really, that’s all.”

“I have always believed that art should be a deep pleasure…there is always, everywhere, an enormous amount of suffering. But I believe my duty as an artist is to overcome and alleviate the sterility of despair…New ways of seeing mean new ways of feeling… I do believe that painting can change the world.”