When I was 40 (seems like a very long time ago, in fact it was a very long time ago)) I managed very nearly to meet three of my heroes within the space of a couple of weeks. I saw Bruce Springsteen at Roundhay Park, narrowly missed meeting Mike Brearley ( ex-England cricket captain) at Headingley, he was then writing for The Sunday Times and (and the topic of this retirement blog) David Hockney at Bradford Photographic Museum.
Sadly David passed away (another one gone) recently aged 88 last week. I haven’t been invited to his funeral, so that’s something after the recent experience of funeral-attending. But he is another human plucked from the ever-shortening line ahead of me.
David and I go back a long time not that he would know it. The admiration was all one way but started when I was at Leeds art college in the late sixties (exact date lost in the mists of time). He came to our studios with a friend of his who was one of my tutors at the time. My memory of the encounter is that he took a fleeting glance at my art and passed by without comment. It was ever thus.
It was symbolic of our future art careers. Mine faded into oblivion* and his well, you know how that went. Something to do with his great talent and my lack of any. And he could turn his hand to any form of art (sculpture excepted) The second time was a nearly meeting in Washington DC, USA. A friend and I went to hear him talk but unfortunately it was full when we got there and they wouldn’t let us in. A shame but I reasoned there would be other occasions to compare our relative successes.
And so it proved a few years later (I’m not sure exactly when) he gave another talk at Bradford Photographic Museum and he was signing autographs before the talk, Not just any old signing he had two coloured pencils side by side and so it was a double autograph. This guy is so cool and you, are not, I thought.
Unfortunately I have lost this autograph (See the fake version in the picture above), be worth a few bob perhaps (not the one above) but then probably not because David liked to sign things, in fact the only things he didn’t sign were his paintings. I never owned one of these although I do have a signed print of his which I paid £100 for many years ago when £100 was quite a lot of money.
I bought the print from Salts Mill, Saltaire, Yorkshire where he has (had) a gallery exclusively of his work. It’s just down the road from where we live now and we count ourselves very lucky to have it so close but then this is where he was born and educated and, from what I read, is to be buried (having turned down a spot in Westminster Abbey courtesy of his mate, King Charles).
In between the beginning and the end we have had a great deal of pleasure visiting his exhibitions in various parts of the world, reading his books and just generally admiring his talent. So thank you David, for everything.
*I recently wrote a blog about any regrets I might have about my life looking back on it and I can honestly say that I have no regrets about not having enough talent to follow a career in art