In yesterday’s Guardian, there was a literally smokin’ hot piece lpiece by David Hockney (because our greatest living artist was pictured wreathed happily in cigarette smoke to accompany the piece) inveighing against the smoking ban.
I read and enjoyed the article, and thought Hockney made a reasonable point, that smoking does not necessarily lead to certain death, can be very enjoyable, and more to the point in his case, is important for his mental health.
Now, in the piece, Davod Hockney (whose book of portraits I had been looking at only the day before, fancy!) said he lived in California in such style and amplitude that the smoking ban on public places didn’t really effect him one way or the other.
Well, blow me down. This morning, as I took my dog for a walk in Holland Park, (one of the few public open spaces in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, most of the greenery and garden squares are strictly private) and I was ambling down the broadwalk bit that connects to Ken High, and I saw a man on a bench. Smoking.
He was wearing a mac and a white baker-boy style cap, and glasses. He was sitting on the bench, not reading, not listening to his iPod, not doing anything, except enjoying his smoke.
It was David Hockney.
So of course, never having been backwards about coming forward, I told him how much I enjoyed and agreed with his article, and I managed to recall the last line for him, which was all about the uglification of Britain, and how much the artist detests it.
We chanted the line together, and then Mr Hockney said, “I was a bit sad they cut out bits, the Guardian.” I said, “what bits?” He said, “Eh, the bits where I was taking digs at people.”
Then David Hockney told me that last night he had hung a huge new painting – of trees – in the Royal Academy, in I think Room Three, all of which is hand-painted (although he did need computers for aspect of the composition, I would get it wrong if I tried to say what).
Ten minutes later, I saw his figure framed against plane trees, walking slowly down the broadwalk, the artist in a mackintosh and white cap, on May 16, 2007, and I told myself to remember this image, and how lucky I was to have talked to him.
I also thought that it was oddly cowardly of the Guardian not to have published his article in full, and I wondered what on earth they had cut out.
Alan, or any other of the Gdn online gang – if you’re reading this, perhaps you could paste the offending bits on this website? Brill.
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