The Joy of Seeing

The art world is rightfully shedding a tear for the passing of David Hockney, the great British artist who died last week at the ripe age of 88.

Hockney became a sensation in his early 20s while attending Bradford College of Art. He’s been knocking the ball out of the park ever since.

We’re not art critics, so we’ll let other people write the deservedly glowing obituaries – like this very good one in The Guardian.

But his career made us think of three very lovely ideas.

The first comes from the renowned 1920s artist and teacher, Robert Henri: “Great art is evidence of life well lived.”

The second was when Renoir commented on a still life of a bowl of oranges that Cezanne had painted: “It’s just an orange, but my goodness, what an orange.”

The third comes from distinguished German film director Werner Herzog. He liked to wax poetic about how he wanted his films to capture the “ecstatic truth” of existence.

These points sum up Hockney’s work well. He had an uncanny gift for really looking at life around him and capturing it in a fun yet deeply compelling way. His work always portrayed lived, everyday experience, joyfully condensed in a canvas.

Whether living in LA or visiting his home county of Yorkshire, England, he could paint something, anything really, and somehow bridge magic and mastery together like a figure skater – making it look childishly easy.

If you’re a boomer, you might remember your mother’s cookbook, “The Joy of Cooking.” Or later, if your parents were hippies, you might remember “The Joy of Sex” (with those very cringey graphic illustrations). 

If Hockney had a book like that, it’d be “The Joy of Seeing.” Because that was what he brought to the table. And those of us sitting at the table, quite rightly, ate it up for sixty years.

Hockney wasn’t one of those fartsy, pretentious types. If you listen to his interviews, there was no high-faluting, ostentatious art terminology. 

No clever, emotionally distant, postmodern, ironic “Duct tape a banana to a wall and call it ‘Art’ and sell it for $6.2 mil and get all the media to kick up a fuss” crap. No “Look at me, I’m a tortured artist and want to drone on endlessly about it” angst.

No technical wizardry, no overintellectualized humbug, just no-nonsense hard work and being so very perceptive of the world around him.

The lesson for us non-artists?

Before you put the metaphorical paintbrush on the metaphorical canvas, open your eyes.

Take a good, hard look at the world around you and the people moving through it. What do you notice? What do others overlook? What small thing deserves a second glance? What ordinary thing becomes extraordinary when someone finally pays attention to it?

David Hockney spent six decades reminding us that the world is far more interesting than we give it credit for.

Most people think creativity starts with making something. Hockney understood that it starts with seeing something.

Or, as an art-school friend once told him: “Just ignore everybody and paint what you love.”