With the sad passing of artistic and sartorial titan David Hockney, Tom Hodgkinson recalls an enlightening encounter with him in 2010, at Hockney’s home in Yorkshire.
Earlier this year, I travelled to East Yorkshire to interview Mr. David Hockney, whom I consider to be a man of style, taste and considerable humility. On arriving at his red brick town house, I was shown into Hockney’s smoking room. A pipe rack is fixed to the wall, as well as a sign reading “Smoking Area”. Hockney’s defence of pleasure and freedom are well known; he is a fierce critic of the smoking ban. I sat on a chaise longue and courted Freddy the dog for a moment. Then Hockney came in. He was wearing a hand-made suit with braces, splattered with paint, a flat cap and a green polo shirt.
“Sit down, sit down,” he said in his measured Yorkshire tones, his eyes twinkling. “Would you like a drink, beer, wine?”
Hockney’s long-term partner, John, appeared with a Corona. I rolled a cigarette and struggled to find my lighter. “Take these,” Hockney said, and gave me three lighters. When I’d finished my cigarette, he proffered his pack of Camel Wides to me. He smokes almost continuously. The dog Freddy jumped up on to the sofa and started expressing amorous intentions towards my arm.
Hockney in his later heavy tweed era, fifteen years after the interview was conducted
“Get down, Freddy,” Hockney commanded. Freddy got down and knocked over my beer. I got up to find a cloth but Hockney waved me down. John brought me a replacement beer and another young man appeared with a cloth to wipe up the mess from the carpet. Hockney’s household consists of his partner John and assistant Jean-Pierre. Then there is his other assistant Jonathan, who had collected me from the station. Finally there was Dominic, who seemed to be a general gofer.
I told Hockney that I’d just had my first bespoke suit made, and that I wished I’d worn it to this interview. “Well, I’ve always had my suits made,” he replied. “It used to be Tommy Nutter. I’ve never worn blue jeans. I like to dress well. It’s courteous. It shows respect. When you get your new suit, you must wear it every day for two weeks so you get used to it. And I say to friends who are worried about their weight: don’t go to the gym; get a good tailor. Anyone looks good in a well-fitted suit.”
Hockney meeting King Charles last year in a splendid pair of yellow crocs
He says that people, in the main, are not well dressed: “We are living in dark times, and people have never been so badly dressed. I thought it was appalling, for example, that Tony Blair wore an ordinary suit at the Queen Mother’s funeral. He was pretending to be an ordinary man, but the ordinary man would have gone to Moss Bros and hired a morning suit.”
After an hour or so of agreeable chat we go in to the dining room for dinner. There are more ‘Smoking Area’ signs on the wall. Hockney seats me at the head of the table and sits on my left. John, Dominic, Jean-Pierre and Jonathan are also present. John has cooked a delicious pigeon pie and there is red wine. A log fire blazes, the curtains are of purple velvet and the sideboard is covered in candles. At about eleven, John, Jean-Pierre and Dominic leave for a party. Hockney, Jonathan and I chat until midnight.
Hockney says he has always been a bohemian: “For the last fifty years, I have always done what I wanted to do every day. At some points I was working for other people, doing set design on operas. But I had chosen to do that. And that is the essence of a bohemian life. It is not actually about the money. If you are an artist doing what you want, then you are rich.”
The whole interview with Tom Hodgkinson can be read at www.idler.co.uk
