In a move that has sent the nation's art critics into a collective frenzy of tweed-wearing, gin-sipping ecstasy, UK museums have announced a celebration of David Hockney's early works, painted while the mere act of loving another man could land you in the clink. Yes, gentle reader, you heard correctly. While our beloved government was busy treating homosexuals like felons, Hockney was busy painting a 'gay paradise' with the kind of defiant, sun-drenched exuberance that would make a rainbow flag look monochrome.
The news broke this morning like a champagne cork at a Tory party fundraiser. Museums across the land, from the Tate to the V&A, have collectively decided to honour the works Hockney produced in the 1960s, a time when homosexuality was illegal in this sceptered isle. Hockney, armed with nothing more than paints, brushes, and a burning desire to depict the male form in all its glory, created images that shouted 'We are here, we are queer, and we swim in swimming pools'.
One can only imagine the conversations in the halls of power back then. 'Good heavens, Thistlethwaite, that Hockney chappie is painting blokes embracing. And something about a shower. It's simply not cricket.' Meanwhile, Hockney, probably sipping on a gimlet, painted on, oblivious to the pompous outrage. His work 'A Bigger Splash' is perhaps the most subversive image of defiance ever committed to canvas: a swimming pool, empty of people, but full of possibility. A splash of water, a splash of paint, a splash of rebellion.
Today's museums, with their grant funding and their diversity officers, are falling over themselves to celebrate this 'artistic defiance'. They speak of 'bravery' and 'resilience' and 'queer joy'. And indeed, it deserves celebration. But one cannot help but detect a whiff of hypocrisy. Where were these same institutions in the 1960s? Did they mount exhibitions of Hockney's work then, with the full force of the law against them? Of course not. They waited until it was safe, until the law caught up with art.
That said, the exhibition promises to be a riot of colour. Hockney's early works are a paean to hedonism, to love, to the sheer joy of being alive and gay in a world that wants to stamp you out. They are a slap in the face to the dour moralists who thought they could legislate love. Hockney's 'gay paradise' is a world where the sun always shines, the water is always warm, and the men are always beautiful. It's the kind of world that makes you want to throw off your clothes and dive into a swimming pool, preferably with a gin and tonic in hand.
So raise a glass, dear reader, to David Hockney. He painted a paradise while the law painted him a criminal. He swam in the face of the tide. And now, long after the lawmakers have turned to dust, his works remain, a testament to the fact that art will always outlast bigotry. And if that's not worth celebrating, I don't know what is.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find a pool. And a gin. Preferably both.
