On the life of David Hockney…
A strange thing happened. I mentioned to a friend that I wanted to watch A Bigger Splash — the 1974 documentary about the artist David Hockney, in which his lover of three or four years, Peter Schlesinger, leaves him during filming.
I still hadn’t watched it, and the following day, it was announced that Hockney had died at the age of 88.
The news reminded me of a few years ago when I was given a Hockney print, Two Boys Clinging Together. I made a convincing show of being overwhelmed by it, but the truth was rather different. The print never made it onto the wall; to my eye, it looked like something I might have painted when I was four. His work never entirely won me over.
That said, I have always liked his California pool paintings from the 1960s and 1970s, although nobody has ever bought me one. My favourite is Peter Getting Out of Nick’s Pool (1966), which depicted the 19-year-old Schlesinger climbing from a swimming pool at the Hollywood apartment block where art dealer and gallery owner, Nick Wilder, lived.
I spent a few hours reading about Hockney — a man who, if I am honest, irritated me immensely. His dour Yorkshire monotone seemed at odds with the loud bow ties, red braces and trademark spectacles. He occupied the same corner of my imagination as the writer Alan Bennett; the two could almost have been twins. Yet it is impossible not to admire his courage. He was painting gay love at a time when homosexuality was still effectively illegal in Britain.
America held a particular attraction for him:
“I must admit, I’d begun to be interested in America from a sexual point of view; I’d seen American Physique Pictorial magazines when I first came to London. And they were full of what I thought were very beautiful bodies. I painted Domestic Scene from a photograph in Physique Pictorial, where there’s a boy with a little apron tied around his waist, scrubbing the back of another boy in a rather dingy American room; I thought, ‘That’s what a domestic scene must be like there.’”
But my favourite Hockney quotation comes from David Hockney in Paris, a BBC documentary from 1975:
“Men in white socks are very sexy. White tee-shirts are quite sexy, but not so sexy as socks.”
On good looking guys who died young…
It is an unhealthy fascination. I have a curious interest in those young guys who left us too soon. I have a list of the unfortunates and will get to them in future posts. But the list is tragically long. There’s something mythic about it. At the height of beauty, talent, or promise, they stop aging while we keep going. They are fixed in our memory and will never change; permanently charged with youth and possibility. Although, there are too many stories where death came about due to self destruction – the doomed poet, the tragic actor and the brilliant addict. I mourn them all and kid myself that if I’d been around them their fate might have been different.
On a sculptor and a real-life model…
I’m not entirely sure I like the sculpture, but I’m fascinated by how it was created. Hercules the Archer (1909), by the French sculptor Antoine Bourdelle (1861-1929), now exists in several versions, although it was originally commissioned by the financier and philanthropist Gabriel Thomas as a unique work.
Bourdelle modelled the sculpture in clay during the summer of 1909, using his friend Paul Gustave André Doyen-Parigot (1854–1916), a captain in the French Army, as his model. An accomplished sportsman, Doyen-Parigot possessed the physical strength and athleticism required for the pose. The dramatic extension of the body and the intense muscular tension of archery allowed Bourdelle to emphasise the model’s powerful physique.
At Doyen-Parigot’s request for anonymity, however, Bourdelle altered the head, distancing the finished figure from a direct portrait and transforming it into the heroic image of Hercules.
On having childhood regrets…
What if I had understood what was happening? What if I had been brave enough to acknowledge it? What might have become of us? Would he still have been my best friend?
Why was I thinking about Darren this week? Perhaps because some questions never quite leave us. When he later discovered that I was gay, he drifted out of my life. We have not spoken since.
On finding a poem about Manly Love…
Douglas Malloch (1877–1938) was an American poet, short-story writer and Associate Editor of American Lumberman, a trade paper in Chicago.
Manly Love…
Deep in your heart understand
the love of a man for a man;
He’ll go with you over the trail,
the trail that is lonesome and long;
His faith will not falter nor fail,
nor falter the lilt of his song.
He knows both your soul and your sins,
and does not too carefully scan,—
The Highway to Heaven begins
with the love of a man for a man!
– Donald Malloch
The poem is preserved in modern literary history as an early piece of Western gay literature. It is notably featured in The Columbia Anthology of Gay Literature, compiled by Byrne R. S. Fone. It was also collected in historic specialty anthologies such as Men and Boys (edited by Edward Mark Slocum), which curated historical verses exploring Greek love, male friendships, and same-sex devotion across different eras.
On the cute and willing…
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 