I'm not going to lie. I didn't like my art history survey course I took last semester. No, that's a lie. I really hated it. I hated how it was disorganized, my TA was clueless, my discussion section was useless, and we skipped some of my favorite artists (um, hi, Van Gogh? Magritte? Hello?) However, despite my abhorrance (take that SAT flashcards you said would never come in handy) of that dreadful class (okay, now I'm British), I still love going to museums and seeing new art and old faves. I had never heard of Hockney before I was driving down Santa Monica Blvd on my way to the Troubadour and saw the banners erected on consecutive lamp-posts wedged between the infamous palms. I was struck by the Gogh-like strokes and the bright technicolor paint of the portrait of an older portly man in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt. I made it my mission to visit the exhibit at LACMA and learn more of this man.
I went on Sunday with my mom. I was completely blown away. David Hockney represents everything I love about art (spontaneity, passion, imperfection, the intimacy of the relationship between viewer/painter/subject, the way it can encapsulate a moment perfectly), and he completely rejects everything I loathe (the installation of fear in the subject, making the viewer feel inconsequential, perfect "by the book technique). His portraits were magnificent: bright colors, clear motion, a moment brilliantly captured, but forever changing. I was drawn into every painting, curious about the subject, and also very aware of its relationship to the world and to Hockney himself. Though the paintings are so much about that painter/subject relationship, I can't help but also feel part of the equation, as I find myself relating so much to the subject. It was incredible.
I leave you with my favorite piece in the collection, an attempt to capture a moment with Polaroids, but defying the photographic convention that this medium must appear static - The Scrabble Game
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