David Hockney (b. 1937) is one of the master draftsmen of our times. Drawing lies at the heart of his studio activity and has consistently underpinned his work. From early pen-and-ink drawings and photocollages to more recent experiments with watercolor and digital technology, Hockney’s inventive visual language has taken many stylistic turns. Inquisitive, playful, and thought provoking, his drawings reflect an admiration for both the old and modern masters, from Rembrandt to Picasso.
Drawing from Life explores Hockney’s record of encounters with those close to him. Portraits of family and friends show the artist’s mother, Laura Hockney; textile designer Celia Birtwell; his friend and former curator Gregory Evans; and printmaker Maurice Payne. Also featured is a large selection of self-portraits. By focusing on Hockney’s intimate and revealing depictions of five people dear to him, the exhibition charts the effect of the passage of time—on his sitters and his relationship to them, and on the development of his style over the last seven decades.
This online exhibition was created in conjunction with the exhibition David Hockney: Drawing from Life on view October 2, 2020 through May 30, 2021.
The exhibition is organized by the National Portrait Gallery, London, in collaboration with the artist and the Morgan Library & Museum.
The New York presentation is made possible by Mr. and Mrs. Robert King Steel and Katharine J. Rayner. Additional support is provided by the Rita Markus Fund for Exhibitions, with assistance from Dian Woodner and David and Tanya Wells.
David Hockney was born on 9 July 1937 in Bradford, West Yorkshire. As a schoolboy, he had a passion for art even before he fully understood what it meant to be an artist. His academic training at Bradford School of Art, which emphasized drawing, painting, and the study of anatomy and perspective, provided the foundation for his career.
The works in this section demonstrate the evolution of Hockney’s practice, built upon his natural aptitude as a draftsman. At the Royal College of Art in London, where he enrolled in 1959, Hockney threw himself into life classes. In 1960, a Picasso retrospective at the Tate marked the beginning of a fascination with the modern master, whose eclecticism was a formative influence on the young artist.
Although homosexuality remained illegal in England until 1967, Hockney took up overtly gay themes in his work at the Royal College before almost anyone else. In A Rake’s Progress, a personal narrative of his first trip to the United States in the summer of 1961—influenced by the eighteenth-century print series by William Hogarth—Hockney’s sense of his own identity began to emerge.
The self-portraits Hockney made in his teenage years, such as the present one and the pencil drawings nearby, convey a youthful confidence as well as the beginnings of an intense self-scrutiny. The full-frontal pose and attention to detail in clothes and styling reflect Hockney’s burgeoning sense of his own identity. This collage also offers a foretaste of Hockney’s later works, notably his vibrant palette and experimentation with different media.
While at the Royal College of Art in London, Hockney turned to etching for pragmatic reasons. Students were responsible for purchasing their own supplies and Hockney had quickly run out of money thanks to his enthusiasm for painting, so he took advantage of the college’s free printmaking materials. His first etching, Myself and My Heroes, embraces several of his passions at the time: the homoerotic poetry of Walt Whitman and the pacifism and vegetarianism of Mahatma Gandhi.
Hockney’s first visit to the United States, in the summer of 1961, provided the narrative for this semiautobiographical series. Inspired by William Hogarth’s 1735 engraving series of the same title, Hockney transformed the tale of an aristocrat who squanders his wealth into his own personal story of a young gay man’s journey and emerging identity in 1960s New York City. Although Hockney claimed that “It is not really me. It’s just that I use myself as a model because I’m always around,” the etchings were partly inspired by real events. Plate 1a records his meeting with William S. Lieberman, then curator of drawings and prints at the Museum of Modern Art, who bought two prints from him, including Myself and My Heroes. The name “Lady Clairol” on plate 3 refers to the brand of hair dye Hockney used to bleach his hair for the first time. A range of artistic influences can be traced, from the figures of William Blake to the art brut of Jean Dubuffet.
Following Picasso’s death in April 1973, Hockney made two etchings in the spirit of Picasso’s renowned Vollard Suite (1930−37). In the present one, Hockney depicts an imaginary meeting with the modern master, casting himself as the nude model and using different etching techniques to distinguish the two: for Picasso, the looser “sugar-lift” method—which involves brushing the figure directly on the plate with a sugar-based fluid—and a more densely hatched line for himself. Hockney had been taught the sugar-lift technique that year in Paris by Aldo Crommelynck, the master printer of Picasso’s later etchings.
The large number of portraits Hockney made of his mother attests to the close bond between them. A devout Methodist and strict vegetarian, Laura Hockney (1900−1999) raised her four children with great generosity of spirit. Supportive of her son David’s desire to be an artist, she remained a loyal and patient model who would always sit still for him.
Although Hockney is critical of photography— “A photograph cannot really have layers of time in it the way a painting can, which is why drawn and painted portraits are much more interesting,” he once said—the large portrait that dominates this section was made from photographs. In 1982, Hockney began creating collages with Polaroid prints, which he worked into grids. He eventually went on to create more complex images with irregular edges using 35 mm photographs, such as this portrait of his mother. The influence of Picasso and Cubism is evident in these works, in which he captures simultaneous viewpoints and a narrative that reflects the passage of time. Hockney compared the photocollage pro- cess to a kind of drawing: “I felt these pictures were linear, and that in piecing them together, picture by picture, I was really drawing line, linking them.”
While Hockney was living in Paris intermittently from 1973 to 1975, he was visited by his parents and began making preparatory drawings for a painting of them. His father worked as a clerk but was also an amateur artist and antismoking campaigner, well known for his strong political views. His mother was a quiet but strong matriarchal figure. The artist inserted himself into the picture through his reflection in the mirror on the cart.
Hockney made this drawing on 19 February 1979, the day of his father’s funeral. When he signed and dated it later, however, he mistakenly inscribed the year 1978. Relying on a minimal line, the artist conveys the sadness in his mother’s face as she looks directly at her son. The use of sepia ink applied with a reed pen—a possible reference to Van Gogh— gives his mother a softer, more vulnerable air than in the earlier pen-and-ink portraits. Making a drawing was less intrusive than taking a photograph would have been. Drawing had become Hockney’s way of communicating with his mother.
Hockney met Gregory Evans in London through the Los Angeles art dealer Nicholas Wilder. They began an intimate relationship in Paris in 1974, when both lived on the left bank of the Seine. Over time, Gregory’s role evolved from lover and studio assistant to curator and trusted adviser, but he has remained a close friend and consistent model for nearly fifty years.
Gregory’s portraits chart the trajectory of Hockney’s practice, from quick sketches in pen and ink to more detailed renderings in pencil. In the mid-1960s, Hockney started using a technical pen called a Rapidograph, which maintains a constant line width. Over the next decade, he finessed the technique in a series of figure studies characterized by an economical, unbroken line. Working quickly, with intense concentration, he was able to create the impression of a moment frozen in time. In the pencil drawings, by contrast, he varied the thickness and type of line to convey subtleties of form, texture, and tone.
“The moment you make a collage of photographs,” Hockney said, “it becomes something like a drawing.” In February 1982, he began assembling Polaroids into grids to form what he called “joiners,” composite images in which each photograph shows a detail of the subject. The process of selection and juxtaposition produces a more complex, multilayered portrayal than a single photograph, which the artist found “too devoid of life.” Hockney made portraits of his favorite models using this technique (see the composite Polaroids of Celia and Maurice elsewhere in this exhibition), but after a few months he abandoned the rigidity of the grid in favor of freer types of photocollages.
The British textile and fashion designer Celia Birtwell has been a close friend and confidante of Hockney’s since the 1960s. Sharing northern roots and a similar sense of humor, the two found they had much in common from their first meeting and together they were at the heart of bohemian London. Hockney has always been fascinated by the changing nature of Celia’s face and she remains, to this day, one of his favorite models.
Although Celia is often described as Hockney’s “muse,” their relationship is more than that. They have always admired each other’s work and her sittings for him have been collaborations, as well as an opportunity to enjoy one another’s company. In his portraits of Celia, Hockney has always paid close attention to her bold and romantic fabric designs, some of which are inspired by his work
The lifelong friendship between Hockney and master printer Maurice Payne began in London in the mid-1960s, when they worked together on the etching suite Illustrations for Fourteen Poems from C. P. Cavafy (1967). They continued to collaborate on significant print projects until the late 1970s.
In 1998, after a hiatus of twenty years, they again worked together when Maurice set up a print studio in Los Angeles. To encourage Hockney, he would take pre-prepared etching plates up to the artist’s house in the Hollywood Hills, then bring them back down to the printing press he had set up in Hockney’s studio in West Hollywood. Working from life, Hockney drew still lifes and portraits of friends. These intimate drawings created in the domestic setting of his home contrast with the monumental landscapes of the American West he was painting in his studio at the time.
In their print projects, Maurice Payne encouraged Hockney to work in innovative ways. Here, the artist’s characteristic line drawing, so well suited to the etching technique, is combined with the use of unconventional tools such as a wire brush to create texture and volume. Print production was a process of discovery for both Payne and Hockney. "We learned as we went along," the master printer later revealed. The expressive mark-making, as well as the sitter’s full-frontal pose, suggests the influence of Van Gogh’s portraits.
In his book Secret Knowledge: Rediscovering the Lost Techniques of the Old Masters, Hockney describes the process of using a camera lucida:
Basically, it is a prism on a stick that creates the illusion of an image of whatever is in front of it on a piece of paper below. . . . When you look through the prism from a single point you can see the person or objects in front and the paper below at the same time. . . . You must use it quickly, for once the eye has moved the image is really lost. A skilled artist could make quick notations, marking the key points of the subject’s features. . . . After these notations have been made, the hard work begins of observing from life and translating the marks into a more complete form.
New digital technology sparked creative experiments in Hockney’s work. In 2008, he began making computer drawings using Photoshop, as in this portrait of Maurice, one of a series of portraits of family, friends, and colleagues drawn in his large studio in Bridlington, Yorkshire. By then, Hockney felt that computer software had advanced enough to keep up with the artist’s hand. He particularly admired the speed with which he could draw with color “directly in a printing machine,” as he described it, unlike the slow process of swapping brushes with oil or watercolor.
In the 1980s, while he experimented with neo-Cubist distortions in his paintings, Hockney continued to make traditional drawings as a means of looking inward. In the autumn of 1983, he produced a series of contemplative self-portraits in which he observed himself, as a middle-aged man, with honesty and vulnerability. “I just thought I’d look at myself. As I go deafer, I tend to retreat into myself, as deaf people do,” he explained. In another self-portrait series, executed in 1999, he adopted a more playful attitude in a range of facial expressions.
A few years later, Hockney turned to watercolor, a medium he had not explored since the 1960s. This new way of working freed up his approach, allowing him to draw quickly and directly on paper. He described these watercolors as “portraits for the new millennium,” convinced that, despite his experimentation with photography and other technologies, the human eye and hand were still the best tools for capturing the individuality of his sitters.
In the autumn of 1983, almost every day for two months, Hockney challenged himself to produce a candid self-portrait in charcoal. This period of intense self-reflection was, in part, a reaction to the untimely deaths of many of his friends due to the HIV/AIDS epidemic. The vulnerability exposed in these drawings is a far cry from the confident self-portraits of thirty years earlier. Like the pages of a diary, these works record daily changes in the artist’s moods and emotions.
In 1986, while working on designs for a production of Wagner’s opera Tristan and Isolde, Hockney began experimenting with a color laser photocopier to produce what he called "home-made prints." Replicating the traditional printmaking process, he repeatedly fed a single sheet of paper through the copier until each color of the drawing had been printed. In this self-portrait, he even placed his own striped shirt on the glass plate of the copier. Though created with modern technology, the prints have a playful directness that reveals the artist’s hand.
The inscription on this sheet explains the artist’s weary look. Hockney, who lived in Los Angeles at the time, drew this self-portrait on the day the powerful Northridge earthquake struck the San Fernando Valley, northwest of the city—one of the most devastating earthquakes in United States history.
Hockney has always made candid self-portraits in moments of introspection, tracking his own aging process. These playful drawings in which he displays different facial expressions, influenced by Rembrandt’s self-portrait etchings, can be seen as precursors to the iPad self-portraits.
The presence of the mirror frame in this drawing recalls a typical composition of Renaissance portraits in which the sitter is shown beyond a window ledge. Inspired by the extensive research he was conducting at the time into old master methods—notably the use of lenses and mirrors—Hockney adopted here the classical bust-length pose that is found in portraiture throughout European art history.
In the spring of 2019, Hockney traveled to Amsterdam for the opening of Hockney – Van Gogh: The Joy of Nature, an exhibition at the Van Gogh Museum. While there, he fell in love with Rembrandt again. Later that year, with Rembrandt and Van Gogh on his mind, and spurred by the prospect of the present exhibition, Hockney invited Celia, Gregory, and Maurice to sit for a new drawing series. In these three-quarter-length portraits, he paid particular attention to faces and hands, often his starting point. Drawn in Los Angeles and Normandy, where Hockney had recently moved, the portraits are fond evocations of time spent together and represent the many familiar faces and expressions of his old friends. Using Japanese brushes with integral reservoirs and the walnut-brown ink favored by Rembrandt, Hockney achieved an uninterrupted line and built up the portraits in three different tones.
“I love new mediums. . . . I think mediums can turn you on, they can excite you: they always let you do something in a different way, even if you take the same subject.” In 2008, Hockney turned to Photoshop. At the same time, he began working on a smaller scale with the new technology provided by the iPhone and then the iPad. He employed the screen like a sketchbook, as a window with infinite possibilities for color and mark-making. He started out drawing with the side of his thumb, then took up the stylus when it became available. In 2012, Hockney made at least one digital self-portrait every day over the course of twenty days, exploring character types and facial expressions in a manner reminiscent of Rembrandt’s early self-portrait prints.