DAVID HOCKNEY ~ The Art of Seeing

The beauty of everyday moments can transform your perspective; sometimes, all it takes is a sunrise to remind you of what truly matters.

On a winter's morning in Bridlington on the Yorkshire coast, I find myself waiting like a grumpy fisherman to catch something mundane yet miraculous: the sunrise. As I stand there, I notice another man at the other end of the beach who isn’t asleep; he will be peering through his bedroom window, already at work because he always is. I could be anywhere in the world, doing anything, waiting to film, when suddenly, I receive a little ping in the inbox of my phone or iPad. It’s a present, which might be freshly cut flowers, a bottle of wine on a table, the sun coming up over the sea, or a misty mountain in California. In each case, it’s a glowing little drawing by David Hockney.

I have been drawing all my life, and recently, after Hockney's tip-off, I have been using an electronic tablet. One of the things Hockney teaches you is that there’s absolutely no way in a normal day that you would get up at 2:00 or 7:30 in the morning and just stand and stare at a completely cloudy and initially colorless sea. You just watch the sun come up, and it’s absolutely fantastic. It’s wonderful; it’s just about looking. The harder you look, the more you see, and the more you get back.

When art surged in the 60s, David Hockney was there, actually doing the twist. He has now been voted Britain's most influential living painter and has attained the status of a national treasure. Although Hockney was born in Bradford, he is best known for escaping to California and painting the swimming-pool paradise he found there in the 60s and 70s. He was the golden boy of a hedonistic art world in LA and London, openly gay and massively successful. However, he never stood still; his work embraces stage design, portraits, photo collages, prints, and even faxes.

Even so, the work that is now being hung in London is something nobody predicted. Hockney has been painting landscapes of his native East Yorkshire, a place whose quiet beauty seems to have almost escaped notice. Not anymore, though, as these places in vivid color and heroic scale on canvas and in multi-screen films have taken over all 13 galleries of the Royal Academy, marking an unprecedented honor and a spectacular climax to Hockney's career. I went to Bridlington to interview him for the radio, and during the sunrise, I was reminded of his fascination with new ways of picture-making.

Moreover, you can't destroy the drawings either, just because they aren't on a real surface. I also got more than just a fine sunrise; I received a sneak preview of the films he is now making, which seem to prove his passionate attachment to this very English landscape. First, though, I wanted to discuss the paintings that show Hockney's return to England, making part of it very much his own.

Hockney has come home. This is a picture of England, specifically a part of England, as most of these paintings depict East Yorkshire and Bridlington, where he has been painting for the past seven years. He seems to be making statements about what matters to him about England. This is not the heavily signed, overdeveloped England of the south. Hockney reflects, “Remember, I’ve lived out of England for 30 years, but I’ve always been coming here because my mother lived here. I spent 30 Christmases in Bridlington.”

He continues, “So I was always coming in and in, and in the winter, I never stayed long because I always thought it was too dark and too cold, not enough light. But it was only then that I thought I’d found a subject, and I decided, well, I’ll stay a bit longer. The subject was the surrounding countryside of the Yorkshire Wolds.”

I then ask him a little about the landscape, noting that he has known it all his life, but it’s only in the last six or seven years that he has truly lived in it full-time. Hockney responds, “Yeah, I mean I’ve known it since my early teens. Actually, I worked on a farm.”

=> 00:07:00

Embrace the beauty of your surroundings, even if it takes time to truly see it.

Here, I spent 30 Christmases in Bridlington, so I was always coming in and in. In the winter, I never stayed long because I always thought it was too dark and too cold—not enough light. But then I thought I'd found a subject that I could explore, and I decided, well, I'll stay a bit longer. The subject was the surrounding countryside of the Yorkshire Wolds.

Let me ask you a little bit about the landscape because this is a landscape you've known one way or another all your life. However, it's only in the last six or seven years that you have really lived in it full-time. Yes, I mean, I've known it since my early teens. I actually worked on a farm not that far away and cycled around here for two summers. You get to know it, and you know it's hilly; if you're cycling, you feel it. I was always attracted to it; I always thought it had a space that was attractive.

Local place names like Fixin Dale, Whould Gate, and Bug Thought have come to dominate the walls of the Royal Academy. It's all been carefully planned by Hockney, the expert set designer, who has built a model of the entire show back in his studio in Bridlington. Can you give us a little tour of the exhibition? Well, you kind of come in here, and there are four paintings: three trees near Fixin Dale in the spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Then you turn here; here's the only room with quite early work because I kept selling them—not so many old pictures. Let's have new ones. I mean, it's not a retrospective exhibition; mostly, it's very new work. I knew perfectly well they wouldn't give many artists that opportunity when they don't know what the new work is going to be like, but I think we rose to the occasion.

The scale of the work is striking. He's not just painting Yorkshire; he's painting it big. It's called A Bigger Picture, which, well, I am aware, means a few things. People need a bigger picture so they can see things—no, no, I mean those to a bigger perspective, a wider view. But let's be honest, you must also be conscious that by doing something like this in the Royal Academy, you are putting yourself up against the greatest English landscape painters ever who have done the same sort of thing. I mean, these are the rooms in which the Constables and the Turners were never offered almost a room actually on their own figures.

If it was that kind of competition, Hockney is already ahead of the game. Constable struggled all his life to gain recognition for his landscapes, and it took him years to be elected to the Royal Academy. One of the last works to be unpacked is the poster image of the entire Bigger Picture show. A strikingly colored winter timber arrives as 15 separate canvases. These are the best; always in longer for paintings, they are wonderful. I'm just going to put this up and hold up the bottom two canvases so we can kind of look at them together.

I was looking at the component canvases, and it's remarkable how many of the works stand alone as pictures. Oh yes, yes, by themselves. There's a wonderful piece of almost abstract painting. Yes, I mean, everything is abstract in a way on a flat surface. These beautifully depict the landscape. When you know the landscape, it shows that you can't do anything; it can't be true of nature and the landscape. It's only our way of looking at it that is finished—that's boring or something. So, we need to find a new way.

Well, we did with cameras, and we did here by making them bigger. You can work bigger outside. I can do that; I like doing that. I mean, not every artist wants to do that; some do, and I do. I have always liked that. You know, the thing about the big pictures is that the problems are mainly because they are big. In Bridlington, we have a wall where we just flip them off, so you can move them about, and it's a technical problem solved for painting very, very big paintings. Somehow, I think paintings should be bigger in scale. I mean, that's what I'm saying here: scale is important. You begin to be more aware.

=> 00:12:14

Art is about scale; the bigger the canvas, the deeper the experience.

The conversation begins with a reflection on the boredom that can arise from finished work, prompting the need for a new approach. This is illustrated through the use of cameras and the idea of making them bigger. The speaker expresses a personal affinity for working on a larger scale, stating, "I can do that. I like doing that." They acknowledge that not every artist shares this preference, but for them, scale is important. The larger the painting, the more one becomes aware and immersed in the artwork.

The speaker contrasts the European and Chinese perspectives on landscape painting. They explain that the Chinese view of landscape involves the viewer walking through it, while the European perspective is akin to looking through a window, offering fixed points of view. This distinction highlights the different ways in which art can engage the observer.

The speaker notes the significance of their current exhibition at the Royal Academy, stating, "you are inhabiting some of the grandest biggest rooms." They emphasize the rarity of a living artist taking up the entire Academy, recalling a quote from a recent Picasso show: "Give me a museum and I'll fill it." They humorously adapt this quote to their own situation, saying, "give me the Royal Academy now fill it yourself."

Over the past 10 to 15 years, the artist has become increasingly prolific, driven by a sense of urgency as they age. They work diligently, often from first light until dusk, waking up at 4:30 or 5:30 in the morning to capture the light and inspiration around them. This work ethic has been a constant throughout their career, and they are now able to paint with a fluency that they did not possess in earlier years.

Reflecting on their past, the artist recalls their upbringing in Bradford, where their father was a conscientious objector and their mother a Methodist. They won their first art prize at a Grammar School and later attended the Royal College of Art. Despite a glittering career, they never pursued conceptual art and remained committed to the practicalities of picture making.

When revisiting their earliest works, the artist notes, "these are the only paintings that have gone a bit dark," attributing this to the cheap white paint they used at the time. They reminisce about being only 18 and how nobody cared about the quality of their materials back then. However, once they had the means, they upgraded to better paint.

The conversation shifts to a discussion about Chinese painting and the idea of a journey. The artist recounts their second or third trip to the continent, traveling to Italy with an American friend. They describe the experience of being in a mini without windows, which limited their view of Switzerland. This disappointment led them to consider alternative ways of representing the mountains in their art, using a postcard and a geology diagram as inspiration. Ultimately, they reflect on the concept of moving through the landscape as a journey in itself.

=> 00:16:59

Art is not just about what you see; it's about the journey and the space between you and the world around you.

The discussion revolves around Chinese painting and the concept of journey. The speaker reflects on their experience, noting that it was only their second or third trip on the continent, specifically to Italy. They traveled with an American friend in a small, windowless mini van from London to Berne. Being in the back, they felt disconnected from the scenery, wishing they could see more of Switzerland. This led to a realization that while one cannot paint the mountains directly, there are alternative ways to depict them, such as through postcards and geology diagrams.

The speaker expresses a sense of obsession with the idea of journeying, emphasizing the importance of movement. They draw a comparison between Duchamp's "Woman Descending a Staircase" and Picasso's still lifes, suggesting that Picasso's work is more about the viewer's movement rather than just the subject. This notion of movement is further explored, as the speaker points out that the most interesting space is not just the vastness of the landscape but rather the interaction between the viewer and the subject. They describe themselves as a "snapper," having taken photographs for a long time, with a collection of about a hundred albums full of images.

The relationship between Hockney and photography is described as long and complicated. In the mid-80s, Hockney began using photographs to enhance the sense of space in landscapes. His work, Pearblossom Highway, is a collage of prints that aims to replicate a subjective and immersive experience of space. In contrast, A Closer Grand Canyon presents a different approach, painted on sixty glowing canvases, creating a spatial spill that lacks a focal point. The speaker notes that standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon requires one to look in all directions, emphasizing the vastness of the space.

Reflecting on their artistic journey, the speaker mentions that this was perhaps the biggest picture they had created at that time. They recall a moment ten years earlier when they had just acquired a different studio in LA, leading to a shift in their artistic scale. They humorously comment that people often struggle to categorize their work, but they believe that learning from Picasso means one should not be afraid to explore new avenues.

The conversation shifts to Hockney's experience in Los Angeles, where driving through the Hollywood Hills and canyons inspired a new genre of landscape painting. He recounts deciding to paint a picture of Nichols Canyon, starting with a line that represented the winding roads. This experience of driving in an open car allowed him to feel the vastness of the landscape, highlighting how small one can feel in such expansive surroundings.

Upon arriving in Los Angeles, the speaker quickly adapted to the environment, obtaining a driving license and purchasing a car. They describe the city as "sexy," filled with incredible people and perpetual sunshine, blending the energy of the United States with a Mediterranean vibe. They humorously note that the scenery even resembles Italy. However, they also observe a cultural shift, mentioning that "in America, they're all medicated now," which contributes to a slower pace of life. This observation leads to a conversation with Gregory in LA, who shares a keen insight about the local culture.

=> 00:22:25

Embrace the journey of discovery; sometimes, living in a new place teaches you to see the world through a different lens.

Coming here, I've never driven before. However, I’ve got a driving license and bought a car. I got a student and got a living; I thought, this is the place. I thought it's so sexy, with all these incredible boys. Everybody wore little white socks, and it’s always sunny. It’s got all the energy of the United States with the Mediterranean thrown in, which I think is a wonderful combination. It even looks a bit like Italy.

When discussing America, I observed that they're all medicated now, and they’re a bit slower than pills. You can tell that snap finger has got a bit of a delay. I mentioned this to Gregory in LA, and he came up with a marvelous observation: yes, they’re slower away at the traffic lights.

In 1997, Hockney spent six months in Yorkshire to be near his close friend and supporter, Jonathan Silver, who was terminally ill. In the late 1980s, Silver had purchased Salts Mill in Saltaire near Bradford, where he created a gallery for Hockney’s work. It was Silver who had been at the receiving end of Hockney's first epic work for the fax machine. Hockney reflected, we started off, didn’t go to connections at the moment; it’s magic in the place, isn’t it? He also suggested that Hockney should paint his native Yorkshire.

This is an unusual painting because it’s about buildings, and it was for your friend. Hockney noted, it’s not a subject I would normally have done; architecture is not a subject I’m that interested in. He painted that in LA when he went back, but because Jonathan was dying, he thought, when I'm gone, I’ll paint Saltaire for him. As he mentioned, it wasn’t a subject he normally pursued, but he did it, and he was very pleased.

The painting was really about the space; he made little drawings, and when he got back to LA, that was the first thing he did. He painted from memory, capturing the memory of the landscape and the experience of moving through it. He described the road from York down towards Saltaire, saying, that’s the road to York through Sled. He kept driving to visit his sister-in-law, and when she saw the painting, she remarked, you know, I never realized it was red and green; all the houses are red. Hockney replied, well, you didn’t look hard enough.

He continued to explore the idea of the landscape through a journey, asking to what extent he had been able to paint these extraordinarily vivid paintings of England because he learned anew. He reflected, because I lived in California, I had a new vocabulary of color. He acknowledged the challenge of painting the Yorkshire landscape as someone who had lived in LA for 30 years. When he returned, he didn’t intend to leave; he simply said, I live wherever I happen to be, pointing out that he was in Hollywood, stating, I’m on location; this is location.

As he settled in, he began to enjoy the landscape. He started with watercolors, keeping one wall of them to show the hand, meaning something flowing, part of the hand and eye. He remarked, well, that’s check the Chinese; that’s what you need for painting: you need three things: the hand, the eye, and the heart. He emphasized that two won’t do, stating, it’s very, very good; I think it’s very true. When considering Rembrandt’s drawings, he noted, isn’t that what they are? They are hand-made; how many are in the heart? There it is.

These were moments when he decided to work from observation to develop perhaps marks or something, so he chose watercolor first. He recalled a summer and explained, could you explain for me? He remembered once explaining the difficulty of watercolor: you paint in reverse almost. He elaborated, yes, you have to work from light to dark; once you’ve got a dark there, you can’t put anything light on it unless you take it out. He acknowledged that you can do it with difficulty, but it’s challenging. Thus, you have to do this quickly; you work from light to dark.

He noted that this method stimulates thought, making you consider various techniques. He reminisced, where was it painting? It’s gone. He concluded with a mention of drawing positively with rubber cement, saying, oh yes, so why exactly? You rub it off, and when you rub it off, you can find these.

=> 00:27:42

Art is a journey from light to dark, where the process of painting outside transforms your perception and connection to nature.

First, this was a summer. Could you explain for me? I remember you once explaining the difficulty of watercolor. Is that you paint in reverse almost?

Well, yes, you have to work from light to dark. Once you've got a dark there, you can't put anything light on it unless you take it out. I mean, you can with difficulty, but it can't be done easily. So, you have to work quickly, from light to dark.

Again, it stimulates you. I mean, it makes you think out things. There were some techniques where you have to... where was it? Painting... it's gone. Yeah, all that was drawn positively with rubber cement.

Oh yes, so why exactly do you rub it off? When you rub it off, you can find these techniques and use them in a way. The sketchbooks led to the iPad in a way. I was going to ask about that; there is clearly a relationship.

You know, two or three hours, these... a few more hours each. Yes, and I didn't always exhibit those, but I think putting them together like that when I edited them shows you what I was doing—just simply going out and looking at it.

Certainly, in some of them, there was a very strong sense of bigness and space, as well as I am affected. I know I'm unaffected by the space; I know I hate drills, me a yellow cell, and it doesn't bother everybody, but it does me. In painting, I've always made space—millions—how to put figures in space and so on.

One of the first painting spots I settled on was a rather ordinary farm tract that's become known as the tunnel. David, can I ask what first attracted you to this particular place? Because you've painted here a lot.

Well, it was in the summer, so it was actually quite dark in here, or where the trees come around, and you could see it was almost a spiral in the air from the shadows. It caught my eye, and I did a small painting of it. Then I'd look at it again and begin to see, of course, it was going to change—especially changed from what I'd done originally. So, I just kept coming back, and then I made them bigger. Although the next paintings were bigger, it was here that I decided I wanted to do them a lot bigger.

And it was here we first brought six cameras without. Is this about being inside the landscape? I mean, you are surrounded here 360 degrees; you're looking up, you're looking down.

Yeah, is that what main dailies? Yes, it is. Remember when you... well, I'll show you films later, but any cameraman will tell you—Hollywood cameraman will anyway—it's not so easy to film the tallness of trees because you have to look up to see the tallness. It's the tallest that would give you the majesty of the trees and majestic nature.

So it was that I wanted to expand it from one canvas. I just did what I do with a Polaroid or something; you just put one next to the other to make it bigger.

Remember, if you're doing anything big in any kind of art, actually the major problems are because they're big. The great big canvas presents technical problems because you're a certain size. I can only reach so far, and if it's 12 feet, how do I get to the top of the canvas?

Well, okay, you can go up on a ladder, but if you're up on a ladder, you can't paint up and back. No, you can't stand back; you can't paint that freely.

So much, you don't want to do that. A lot of people would say, "Why not paint from a photograph? Why go to the bother of standing out in front of the trees?"

Well, I mean, you just get a totally different reaction. I think in the end, the world doesn't quite look like photographs. Cameras give you a certain kind of view, but it's not quite the human view.

I think the idea of being able to work on a big scale outside is terrific. Remember Constable? What he did is those big canvases that were all done indoors. They did it from memory because of technical problems. I mean, his main technical problem was that he didn't have tubes of paint; he only had bladders of paint—you know, about 20 or 30 years before the first metal tube.

That's it. So he would have great difficulty working outside. The invention of the collapsible tube opened up Impressionism. I mean, meaning you shouldn't suddenly work anyway. I mean, these are fresh, ready-mixed colors. You can... its technologies altering things—probably doing that all the time.

=> 00:32:54

Art evolves with technology, and nature’s colors reveal themselves when you truly look.

Human view: I think the idea of being able to work on a big scale outside is terrific. Remember Constable? What he did was create those big canvases that were all done indoors. They did it from memory because of technical problems. I mean, his main technical problem was that he didn't have tubes of paint; he only had bladders of paint. You know, about 20 or 30 years before the first metal tube—that's it. So, he would have had great difficulty working outside.

The invention of the collapsible tube opened up Impressionism. I mean, it meant you could suddenly work anywhere. These are fresh, ready-mixed colors; you can see how technologies are altering things. Probably, we are doing that all the time. If you've lived in California for the length of time I did, this is fantastic. You can watch not just a bush change but the whole area. You know, again, every day would be a different color. I mean, look at the variety in the trees. Yet, there is a lot you can see—enough textures. There's so much to look at, actually. I mean, if you're painting, you're editing your focus. But I love the knobbly things—a meeting of Maltesers.

This was actually the first painting where I put six canvases together. Although this is the first one, I immediately knew it was called Closer. You feel closer; actually, you feel closer to the trees. You feel closest to this thing, and this was painted outside. There we were, like, I mean, we had mud. And then I realized, how are we moving on? This is fascinating—what you can do. Then I did all those woods, but the paintings are beginning to get bigger, and I'm finding ways that you can make big paintings without too much difficulty.

Meaning, there is a technical difficulty. Can I ask about the color then? Because it seems that in these pictures, you are pulling out more pinks, oranges, and bright greens than you were doing even when you started. Yeah, and you're on the journey towards the big woodland paintings, which are only... you know, when you stood there—I haven't done this for a long time—you stood there and you start asking yourself about color. What is it you're seeing? Because you have to look hard just to see. I mean, it’s... and you asked about the color of the ground and so on, and then you want to relate them.

It's then that you start seeing, well, these are pinks, really. These are not grays. You are seeing more. I always assume, only ask questions. You know, what color is it really? And it has to relate to others. And you know how does it relate? Also, green is not an easy color. So, you really have to work hard. Most artists will tell you that, and some hate it. I mean, turn it in like Mondrian, who was horrified by green. You know, well, if you're painting England, it is green—there's no doubt. But it is all kinds of different greens, and of course, you know, different times of day. But I'm well aware it’s not so easy.

Another subject Hockney returns to time and time again is the totem. This was a dead tree that died, and it was a good subject in the summer. Can I just say one thing? This is what great, great painting does. I bounced out of the car just now, and I thought, "Oh, isn't it beautiful? Isn't it wonderful?" It's just a tree stump—it's a particularly beautiful one. But because I know it from the paintings, I'm good. You know, that’s the magic.

There’s a lot that comes together. I mean, to be able to do what we did here, especially with the films as well—painting, drawing—yes, we were never bothered. I mean, we were just mostly on our own. It's important for you to have subjects which you return to again and again. A bit like Monet had his haystacks, and you've got... well, trees. Don't forget, the dramatic subject here is the change. Actually, not just today; it’s when you see it another week or two weeks later.

So, in a way, you then come back to the same place. It becomes a motif that is going to look very different. I mean, there’s a lot of just... I’ve had drawings of this with different colors—Miss Team Red Morning. I mean, I just come on here, and if I saw it differently, I’d just do another picture. I mean, with the iPad, you can do them quickly. I mean, you've got the time; well, you can do them. You can capture the mood of the color palette very quickly by the...

=> 00:38:39

Embrace the beauty of repetition; returning to the same subject reveals its ever-changing essence.

It’s important for you to have subjects which you return to again and again. A bit like how Mona had his haystacks, and you've got your trees. The dramatic subject here is the change; it’s not just about today, but when you see it another week or two weeks later. In a way, you then come back to the same place, and it becomes a motif that looks very different over time. There’s a lot of variation; I’ve had drawings of this subject in different colors, like red morning. I mean, I just come on here, and if I see it differently, I just do another picture.

With the iPad, you can create these images quickly. You have the time to capture the mood of the color palette very rapidly. By the time I was drawing on the iPad, I had been using it for about eight months, so I had gotten rather good at it. I realized that you could establish five colors down there very quickly. Generally, these colors are ready greens or whatever, and you can do them much quicker than anything else I know. For instance, with colored pencils, you can't create a mass that quickly, and with watercolor, you need a big brush and time for it to dry. Here, you can do it in seconds.

It is certainly a new medium and terrific for certain things. I found it particularly good for luminous subjects, like a sunrise, because you have a backlit screen. Additionally, you can put down a subtle range of color very quickly—quicker than anything else I’ve ever come across. I’m sure loads of other artists will find that as well.

On a different note, there’s something quite special about the lack of people in this area. The Cotswolds, by comparison, were crowded. This lack of noise plays a little part in my experience, especially since I have a harder time in the big city due to my hearing. Long before they banned smoking in restaurants in LA, I stopped going to places like Moscow because they were too noisy. In such environments, I just hear one big cacophony and can't make out individual conversations. This is a powerful factor for me, as I do enjoy silence. If you like music, you appreciate silence as well.

This part of the country is quite silent, in the sense that it doesn’t have any through-traffic. People have to want to come to Bridlington; they are on the road to nowhere. Initially, I thought the days here were dull, but after about two years, I realized that even a day like this has qualities that you won’t see tomorrow. This morning, for instance, was sunny, but to see the color here, you have to start looking for quite a while.

I should just explain that we are here in World Gate Woods, where a series of the most exciting huge sets of paintings that David has made were painted from more or less where we’re standing. Looking down that way, these paintings show the most extraordinary greens and reds at different times of the year. I did about nine paintings covering a year, so it was to capture each season. The mist took a while to settle, and of course, it would only stay for two or three hours. I had to come back and still look at the trees to paint them as if they were in the mist.

When you’re outside, Hockney is making a series of paintings of this one spot called World Gate Woods. By using the same composition, he can complete six panels in a day or two. The first winter painting took about three weeks to do because I was drawing it for the first time. Now, I would be able to do them much quicker, capturing the special effect of that day. The more you put through oil paint onto the surface, the more there is for the viewer to unlock and absorb later. The time you put in is visible, and I wasn’t always conscious of leaving marks.

=> 00:44:57

Look deeper and longer; beauty is everywhere if you know how to see it.

You know, I only stayed for two or three hours, and I was trying to work as fast as possible. Remember when I was outside? Hockney is making a series of paintings of this one spot called World Gate Woods. By using the same composition, he can complete six panels in a day or two. The first winter one took about three weeks to do because I was drawing it for the first time. Now, I’d be able to do them much quicker, meaning a golfer's special effect of that day.

As I was painting, I noticed that the more oil paint you put onto the surface, the more there is for the viewer to unlock and suck back out again. I should think that the time you put in is visible. If you are not conscious of always leaving marks, you’re not covering up too many marks; instead, you leave them visible. This is important because that's leaving time visible and the process visible. Generally, you would only cover up a mark in painting if you wanted to make an illusion, isn’t it?

[Music]

See, there’s still not much traffic. We thought we were really amazingly lucky with what we found here. What I found, and yet to most people, it looks like nothing. You know, it’s just a... well, my sister, for instance, when I told her we were here, she had been living in Bridlington for 30 years and asked me where it was. I said, “Oh, that’s on World Gate,” and she came driving here. I said, “Well, you have to get out of the car and walk a little bit.” But not many people do realize this is where a lot of people just dump things. Sometimes we have old refrigerators and things that we thought looked like sculptures placed here or something.

So now, you think that there’s a poem by Wallace Stevens: “I placed a jar in Tennessee; alone it stood upon a hill.” It’s about putting something in the landscape, and it alters it. When they put the refrigerators here, it made me think of it. I suppose there is another way you could look at it. It’s not too bad; I mean, a refrigerator did depend on memory. Even when you’re here, there’s no such thing as objective seeing. We always see with memory, and each person's memory is a bit different, but we can’t be looking at the same things. We’re all on our own.

[Music]

I should cover me. I mean, I could come and do them again; they’d be different. I get the impression that the message is not to come and see this extraordinary landscape, but rather to look harder and look for longer wherever you live, wherever you are. Well, yes, it is saying that. I think that’s true. I think van Gogh was saying things like that. I’ve always pointed out that if you took van Gogh and put him into the dreariest kind of American motel room, I suspect that at the end of a week, he’d still come out with interesting paintings. The hole in the carpet, he’d paint, wouldn’t he? Somehow, everything becomes interesting because he’s looking at it.

To paint a place, you have to have a lot of knowledge. You have to acquire knowledge about light and the foliage and what you’re looking at before you can really paint it. Yes, well, because you have to understand, for instance, that the arrival of spring is an event that for six weeks will be changing almost daily. So, you know, you’re doing this well; it takes a year or two to sort that out in an orderly way because you have to have one spring and then wait for the other. It does take time, and I don’t think you could just suddenly come one April and then do it.

[Music]

Hockney’s close observation of the cycles of nature is behind the showstopper of the Academy exhibition dedicated to the arrival of spring. The largest gallery in the Academy has been turned into a single work of art made up of fifty-one iPad prints and a massive end wall painting. If you come down here and look at them, you’ll see that you cannot do this with the real building. To do the spring, you had to begin in the winter because you have to show the change. So, you’ve got to show before and after and becoming, and this sequence starts in the winter and then works out here.

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Art is a labor of love, where every stroke and observation reflects the seasons of nature and the dedication of the artist.

Suddenly, one April, the arrival of spring is celebrated in a remarkable exhibition at the Academy. Hockney's close observation of the cycles of nature is the driving force behind this showstopper. The largest gallery in the Academy has been transformed into a single work of art, consisting of fifty-one iPad prints and a massive end wall painting.

Visitors who come to see the exhibition will notice that to depict spring, one must begin in the winter. This is essential to show the change, illustrating the sequence of before and after, and the process of becoming. The sequence starts in winter and progresses through the seasons until June. Hockney explains, “I was out there every day watching everything as the grass begins and the little flowers, the first spring flowers, come out.” He emphasizes that everything is presented in order, as he assumes there might be people who know nature well, and he wanted to ensure that everything is in order.

Hockney reflects on the unique design of the exhibition space, stating, “I can't think of a room that's been designed this way before.” He acknowledges that this room has never been given out to an artist in such a manner, and he believes it is a very grand setting that requires a big splendid subject. He concludes that the arrival of spring is indeed one of those subjects.

When discussing the iPad prints, Hockney addresses the initial curiosity of visitors regarding the medium. He notes that these pictures are not made with oil, gouache, or watercolor; they represent something new. He explains, “There are new forms of printing,” and emphasizes that the quality of color is exceptional. Hockney became aware that he could draw knowing the capabilities of the printing machine, which allowed for a very free method of creation. He describes it as the most direct thing I've ever come across.

Hockney also points out the necessity of a massive wall for this work. He explains that the prints must be seen in their full scale to appreciate them, and sometimes he would bring them out to work on specific areas. Without such a vast wall, he believes one would not even conceive of the artwork. He acknowledges that this process is moving into new territory with the iPad, and if one understands the printing machine and draws accordingly, you can get very very good things.

Addressing the perception of him as an artist, Hockney counters the stereotype of the hedonistic artist often associated with swimming pools and Californian sun. He asserts, “an artist can support hedonism but he can't be a hedonist himself because artists are workers by definition.” He describes his dedication, stating that he is often out in all weathers, working hard in his gum boots and cap.

Furthermore, Hockney mentions an interesting poster that will be displayed, which states that all the artworks here were made by the hand of the artist himself. He clarifies that there is no hidden agenda in this statement; it is simply an argument about the importance of the hand in art. He acknowledges that while some artists, like Damien Hirst and Gilbert & George, may downplay the significance of the hand, the hand counts in his view.

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Art is not just about the hand that creates it; it's about the vision that inspires it.

The discussion begins with a reflection on the artistic process and the significance of the artist's hand in creating artwork. The speaker notes that there is an interesting poster at the beginning of the exhibit, stating that all the artworks were made by the hand of the artist himself. This raises a question about whether there is an agenda behind this statement, as the speaker wonders if it refers to anyone else. The conversation touches upon the argument about the hand in art, with the speaker asserting that the hand counts. However, they acknowledge that there is a school of thought, represented by artists like Damien Hirst and Gilbert & George, who downplay the importance of the hand in favor of conceptual approaches.

The speaker emphasizes that being an artist also requires being a craftsman. They recall that in art school, one could teach the craft, but the innate pointer—the ability to convey meaning—cannot be taught. The speaker now teaches the pointer while neglecting the craft, suggesting that skills can indeed be taught and practiced.

Transitioning to a different topic, the speaker introduces Jonathan, who has been acquiring new skills in Bridlington by making films. Jonathan's innovative idea involves mounting a grid of nine cameras onto a jeep, allowing for one picture with nine subtly different points of view. The speaker notes that the advancement in camera technology has enabled filmmakers to create different-looking films without the need for large cameras. The subject matter of Jonathan's films mirrors that of the paintings, focusing on nature in all its seasons.

The speaker elaborates on the concept of projecting images, explaining that simply enlarging a single image can lead to a flatter representation. They argue that the only way to incorporate time into the artwork is through a collage-like approach, allowing viewers to explore the piece without being directed on where to look. This leads to a moment of silence for both the speaker and the audience, inviting viewers to engage with the Royal Academy's display of nine screens, which have been transformed into eighteen by manipulating time.

The speaker expresses excitement about the potential to draw not just in space but in time, recognizing that traditional photography limits the viewer's perspective. They assert that photography is merely a stage in the evolution of picture-making, which is now being transformed by technology. The speaker believes that they can create a bigger picture than traditional television, emphasizing that art encourages us to look at the world differently.

Reflecting on personal experiences, the speaker mentions the Fellini film "The Ship Sails On," which explores the challenges of depiction. As they walk through the exhibit, they are struck by the restless color and vibrancy of life, particularly when confronted with the winter timber piece, which evokes thoughts of mortality. The speaker notes that at 74, David Hockney has reinvented himself as a landscape painter, with his spring paintings capturing the essence of renewal.

The conversation shifts to Hockney's increasing productivity as he ages. The speaker wonders if this surge in activity is driven by a sense of acceleration or a desire to complete projects. Hockney candidly admits that he feels hopelessly lost when not busy, and his friends agree that he is much better when working. He expresses a desire to keep the momentum going, stating, "if we're on a roll, just keep it going," as he continues to create paintings and drawings.

Hockney acknowledges the challenges of depiction in art and expresses his ongoing interest in exploring these themes. He remarks that while his work is not overtly political, it serves as a reminder to look harder at the world around us, which remains beautiful despite concerns about the state of England. He quotes Ruskin, who famously said that there is no such thing as bad weather in England, emphasizing the beauty of the changing seasons. The speaker concludes by reflecting on the joy of experiencing nature, even in less favorable conditions, as they celebrate the beauty of their surroundings.

As the segment wraps up, the audience is reminded of the upcoming celebration of Spanish and Latin cinema on the culture show, while the next program on BBC 2 is University Challenge.