Fig 1.

The Phallic Imperative in David Hockney’s Coming Out Pictures

In Britain, where gay men have been traditionally stereotyped and caricatured for popular entertainment (vide Larry Grayson, Dick Emery, Benny Hill, the Two Ronnies, John Inman et al), two television moments stand out for the gay male viewer. The first came in 1974, with the airing of Thames Television’s The Naked Civil Servant, based on Quentin Crisp’s autobiography. At the end of the programme, which was a plea for understanding and acceptance, John Hurt, as the remarkable Crisp, responds to some young boys - would-be blackmailers who have confronted him on his own doorstep:
Young Queer-Baiter: See that copper over there? If you don't give us a quid each, right? I'm gonna tell him you been fiddlin’ with these two. Quentin Crisp: I defy you to do your worst. It can hardly be my worst. Mine has already and often happened to me. You cannot touch me now. I am one of the stately homos of England.

As he strode off down the street with his head held aloft, the message was plain: here is an unrepentant queer, battered by experience but alive and proud and refusing to be bullied or silenced. The second event occurred in 1999 and is more echt:
I’m queer, I’m gay, I’m homosexual, I’m a poof, I’m a poofter, I’m a ponce. I’m a bum boy, batty boy, backside artist, bugger, I’m bent. I am that arse bandit, I lift those shirts. I’m a faggot-assed, fudge-packing, shit-stabbing, uphill gardener. I dine at the downstairs restaurant; I dance at the other end of the ballroom. I’m Moses and the parting of the red cheeks. I fuck and I’m fucked. I suck and I’m sucked. I rim them and wank them and every single man’s had the fucking time of his life.1

This cri du coeur is from Stuart Jones, one of the out gay characters in the seminal British television series Queer as Folk. In this stream of consciousness ‘confession’ to another of the gay characters, he gives voice to the pent up frustration and anger that he, as a gay man, harbours at society. It is both defiant and world-weary, containing a mini catalogue of the shaming abuse that every gay man endures. By ‘naming’ himself and publicly identifying with the epithets, Jones renders them powerless. It’s like a second ‘outing’ – the first to himself, the second to the rest of the hostile world. The program aired on Channel 4 in 1999 when the audience of predominantly gay British men could be expected to share in the sentiments, whether they were out or not. The very notion of an entire series about gay men for a gay audience would have been unthinkable even ten years before, let alone one in which gay characters were taken seriously or presented as normal human beings and not effeminate caricatures. The frankness of Stuart Jones’ speech announced the second arrival of the unrepentant queer in British living rooms. He had reclaimed his right to be so by appropriating the language of hate levelled against all gay men, in the same way that Afro Americans have defiantly claimed the pejorative ‘nigger’, and with similar nullifying effect.

Spoken by the character Stuart Jones (played by Aiden Gillen), Queer as Folk 2, (British version) Channel 4, 1999. The British series was dropped after the second season. The Canadian company ShowCase then adapted it, extending it for five seasons.

I began with the above examples in order to very briefly contrast the general attitudes of those two decades with the 1960’s, a period which much grimmer for gay men in Britain. This was a dangerous time for gay men to declare their sexuality. It should be remembered that in England it was not until 1967 that the Sexual Offences Act was passed. This landmark act of parliament decriminalised certain homosexual activities between men in private. ‘In private’ was strictly interpreted by the courts as meaning in a private house if only the two men were present. If a third person was in the house – even in a separate room - charges could still be laid. And the sex had to take place behind a locked door in case a third party inadvertently walked in on the proceedings. Sex on another premises in a hotel, for instance - was outlawed. The act also set the age of consent for homosexuals at twenty-one, five years older than for heterosexuals. Before 1967, men could be, and were sent to prison for having consensual sex. There have been a number of social advances for gay men since then, but the central dilemma still remains, then as now: ‘to whom can I reveal myself? Is it safe?

Fig 2.

It is not surprising, therefore, that a gay artist working in the 1960’s should be circumspect about revealing his same-sex attraction, or that he should wish to protect others. It is all the more surprising, therefore, to find an artist at the very beginning of that decade flaunting these laws in such a public manner.

Going to be a Queen for Tonight:2 the coming out pictures of David Hockney - 1960-1963
In 1960, David Hockney came out. He was twenty-three.
‘One day I met a boy in a cinema and I’d gone to another pub with him just for a drink, and he was kind of groping me. And there was another student from the College watching us. I didn’t know. Next day this guy said to me, rather pompously, I saw you in that pub with that boy and what you were doing. At first I was a bit embarrassed and then my reaction was: Of course I was, what about it?’ 3

We are told that:
In the space of a few months he changed from a quiet introspection to a flamboyant gregariousness, and the hermetic, sombre nature of his earlier work gave way to an almost hectic exuberance.4

A year later he had morphed into a very different creature from the shy northern boy from the provinces. He had reinvented himself with a bleached yellow crew cut and gold lamé jacket, swapping his National Health spectacles for his trademark, owlish round frames. Many people will be familiar with Hockney’s California paintings and the images he made of his lover Peter Schlesinger and the rich and beautiful people of the ‘70’s during his later forays into realism. But I mainly want to focus here on the often-overlooked work of four formative years; 1960 and ‘61 - when he was still a student at the Royal College of Art5 - and 1962 and ‘63, when he began to emerge as one of the brightest stars on the London art scene. As a student at the Royal College of Art, between the ages of twenty-three and twenty-four, Hockney produced dozens of paintings that dealt, obliquely at first, with his homosexuality. Initially, these paintings were predominantly abstract and as such were the perfect vehicles for dealing with private sexual matters. But, as he became braver and more open, the works began to include very personal information and disguised sexual imagery. The prevailing trend in British art schools in the early 1960’s was resolutely heterosexual, even heterosexist. Jann Haworth6 was a student at the Slade at the time. She was told by one of her tutors that the staff didn’t need to see the work of the female applicants as it was irrelevant, as they were only there to keep the boys happy.7 Another female student, Pauline Boty (1938 - 1966), who
2 3

Title of David Hockney painting (1960), oil on board, 124.5 X 94 cm. Hockney, quoted in David Hockney by David Hockney, Nikos Stangos (ed). Thames & Hudson, London, 1977 p68. 4 David Hockney, Marco Livingston, Thames & Hudson, London, 1981 p20. 5 Hockney studied at the Royal College of Art, London between 1959 –1962. 6 She later married Pop artist Peter Blake and contributed to the design of the Beatles’ ‘Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ album cover, in 1967. 7 Geraldine Bedell, The (London) Observer Sunday June 6, 2004.

studied at the RCA during Hockney’s time there (although in the stained glass department), competed with the male students on their terms by painting pictures based on the very same nude photographs of pin-up girls they used.8 Boty is sometimes proclaimed Britain’s only female Pop artist, and her pictures are now often viewed as proto-feminist - this is from David Mellor, who writes in The Sixties Art Scene in London:
As a remarkable body of work by a woman painter between 1961 and 1965 they look forward – in a feminist manner – to the issues that concerned women’s art in the following two decades.9

But, while Boty’s female nudes are perhaps more poignant than those of her male counterparts, it seems likely that she was merely painting what was expected of the (male) art students of this period. That she had a planned feminist agenda is debatable. If the female students at the RCA and other art schools were either dismissed or tolerated as decorative distractions, things were not much different for the young gay Hockney. The first of the paintings I will refer to as his coming out works, were regarded as junk by the staff.10 The lecturers seemed to be upset that Hockney had scrawled words across the surfaces of what were otherwise abstract paintings. It is significant that some of these words refer to his sexuality and his boyfriends and crushes. But perhaps what was deemed more unacceptable about these pictures was that much of the texts were direct transcriptions of sexual graffiti that Hockney had lifted from the walls of public

Fig 3.


Specifically, her paintings, It’s a Man’s World ll and The Only Blonde in the World, which features Marilyn Monroe against a green colour-field ground. 9 The Sixties Art Scene in London, David Mellor, Phaidon, London 1993 p.136. 10 Hockney, in Stangos p43

toilets. It is a credit to his determination, or perhaps his Yorkshire stubbornness, that he continued to make these works against the opprobrium. But it also has to be said that, by all accounts, Hockney’s intake year was particularly troublesome to the authorities, and there seems to have been a mutual distrust on both sides – a generation gap of the old guard against the young moderns; Allen Jones was thrown out after only one year, and Hockney himself was in danger of not receiving his diploma.11
‘The staff said that the students in that year were the worst they’d had for many, many years. They didn’t like us; they thought we were a little bolshy, or something.’12

The catalogue notes to the 1965 exhibition ‘London: The New Scene’, held at the Walker Art Centre, Minneapolis, say that Hockney’s difficulties were because of his ‘amiable eccentricities [my italics] and failure to observe the most minimal of the school’s regulations.’13 It is hard to imagine just what ‘amiable eccentricities’ would jeopardise Hockney’s diploma when, surely, failure to observe the regulations would have been enough. In all likelihood, this is a muffled reference to his sexuality aimed at a readership of gallery visitors who might be expected to read between the lines; this being 1965, it was the love that still dared not speak its name. In 1960, against this hetero-centric and homophobic backdrop, Hockney embarked upon a series of works that would enable him to come to terms with his sexuality in front of his first audience.
‘People had started to come into the College then to look around. […] Every day there’d be someone coming in, and I knew this, so, in a way, I was painting for an audience all the time. The pictures were seen as I was painting them. They were meant to be seen. […] I was being cheeky and bold, and that’s what one should be, I thought, be slightly cheeky, although I’m a bit shy.’14

The use of the word ‘bold’ in this context is apposite. This word had a special connotation for gay men through the 1950’s and into the 1960’s. It could be used as an indication that a gay man was daringly flaunting his sexuality in public, or that he was referring to (homo) sexual matters in conversation. It was used in a mock-outraged tone as in, “Oh! Isn’t he bold!”15


The following year, however, Hockney would be awarded the RCA’s Gold Medal, but this turnaround on the part of the lecturers was probably because of the outside interest and support he was receiving at the time from such established art luminaries as Richard Hamilton. 12 Hockney, in Stangos, p42 13 London: the New Scene, catalogue. Martin Friedman. Walker Art Centre, Minneapolis p17. 14 Hockney, in Stangos, p62 15 Probably the most famous utterers of the word in this context were the radio characters Julian and Sandy (played by Kenneth Williams and Hugh Paddick); two outrageously camp young men who were presented in a number of professions on the subversive and groundbreaking radio program ‘Round the Horne’, which aired on BBC Radio between 1965 and 1969. They spoke predominantly in Polari, a sort of cant slang used by the gay subculture of Britain, in order to speak freely amongst their own. More than a few words of Polari have entered into common usage; bevvy = drink, camp = effeminate, naff = awful or dull, zhoosh = styling of (particularly) the hair.

All out gay men have experienced the exciting moment of self-determination and self-discovery that comes from the first public acknowledgement of their sexuality. Few of them would take such a brave and dramatically public route to this self-acceptance as the young Hockney. It was with just such boldness that the then very shy Hockney began to perform to the constant audience of visitors to the RCA, in pictures that daringly broached the subject of his homosexuality:
‘The openness was through the paintings, it wasn’t through anything else. In those days I didn’t talk very much. I was aware that I was homosexual long before that, it’s just that I hadn’t done anything about it. […] Then the moment you decide you have to face what you’re like, you get so excited, it’s something off your back.’16

Looking back on this period, he went on to say that,
‘When people “come out” it’s quite an exciting moment. It means they become aware of their desires and deal with them in a reasonably honest way.’17

The first of the paintings that I will call his ‘coming out’ work is from 1960. This tiny painting measures just 25 X 18 cm., but if the artist wished to test the waters of social acceptance with a modestly-sized piece, at some point during its making, or shortly thereafter, he decided to stake his territory with less deference to the prevailing ‘norms’. By defiantly titling the work ‘Queer’, Hockney both mimics the taunters’ chant and reclaims the word as a positive point of identification and reference. If evidence were needed of the power of the word ‘queer’ to offend or cause consternation, it came, five years after the painting was completed, when it was exhibited in a London gallery. It had been nervously retitled with the anodyne ‘Yellow Abstract’ without the artist’s knowledge or permission.18 In the same year as Queer, Hockney painted Shame (fig.5). It is a larger and technically more ambitious work, which stylistically owes much to the Scottish painter Alan Davie, then very much in vogue. It emulates the older artist’s energetic, jazz-inspired layers, painterly splashes and his simple, outlined shapes. At first glance it is not such a memorable painting, perhaps indicating a young artist feeling his way with unfamiliar abstraction. But its title, Shame, gives us the first clue that it should be viewed with the rest of Hockney’s selfreferential, queer-themed student work and when we analyse the contents of the painting, it eventually becomes clear that it contains coded references to his outlawed sexuality. The first confirmation of this is the long grey, phallic shape rising up from the bottom left corner.

16 17

Hockney, in Livingstone, p20. Hockney, in Livingstone, p21 18 Livingstone, p21

Fig 4.

Fig 5.

Emanating from its tip, and almost illegible, is the word ‘shame’, which is written in white across the almost white background. This indicates that the shame depicted is sexual. There also appear to be other words that have been scribbled out, so that secret information has been embedded, as it were, into the fabric of the picture. Given that Hockney began to place coded references to actual

people in his work at this time, the words may be the names of various boyfriends or crushes. If we now look at the centre right of the painting, we find the element that locates this sexual ‘shame’ squarely in the autobiographical, for here, Hockney presents us with what is surely a self-portrait, though much stylised, painted over and abstracted and clearly showing the influence of Francis Bacon. This head, painted in Hockney’s faux-naif style of the period, looks very similar to the self-portrait he did in the etching Myself and My Heroes’ (fig 5). It has the same rather bulbous shape, a similar triangular nose and is seen in the same three-quarter profile. It is perched on top of a stylised heart shape - which also serves as the shoulders of the rudimentary bust. Under the sharp nose is a blue line that serves as a grim little mouth. White over-painting has obscured one eye – the one on our right. The other eye, under its white-line eyebrow - or it could be the top edge of the rim of a pair of spectacles, now painted out - stares sullenly at the grey phallus. The white paint of the background sweeps round the heart/shoulders and a blue line, suggestive of the left arm, continues the trajectory and reaches towards the phallus, the object and cause of such ‘shame’. Hockney acknowledges in this painting that his sexuality was ‘shameful’, but whether the titling of this work, and of Queer, was an ironic celebration or a guilty admission, is impossible to tell. Whatever the answer, it would not take him long to come to grips with his sexuality, and to do so in quite a militant fashion. Cottage Capers19
[W]aited for the No. 19 bus in Sloane Square. Got off at Piccadilly. Went to the Holloway Road. Went to the Gent’s lavatory. Nothing much in there. A man of about thirty. Then another man cam in, in his twenties. Joe Orton20

Still an RCA student in 1961, Hockney embarked on a small series of drawings and paintings he called the ‘Fuck Series’. This would appear to be the calculated action of someone seeing how far he could push the boundaries of what was acceptable. It is perhaps useful here to remember that the word fuck was not the ubiquitous word it has become. The first use of the word on British television came not until four years after the Hockney pictures, on November 13, 1965 on the satirical show BBC-3.21 There would be some later veiled references to the word ‘fuck’ in the work of his fellow students at the RCA - most notably in Pauline Boty’s painting, 5-4-3-2-1 (1963), which has a laughing self portrait and the truncated phrase ‘oh for a fu(…)’ painted in a box in the middle right. But Boty erred on the side of caution and forbore to write the complete word. And, in any event, it is highly likely that Boty would have already seen that very same abbreviated phrase in Hockney’s painting from two years earlier, The Most Beautiful Boy in the World (1961), where it can clearly be discerned amongst other scraps of graffiti-based text and other ruder stuff. Hockney’s usage of the

In Britain, public toilets used as gay beats are known as cottages The Orton Diaries, ed. John Lahr, p 203 21 In Hollywood, one of the first films to use the word ‘fuck’ was 20th Century Fox's M.A.S.H, directed by the late Robert Altman in 1970.

actual, uncensored word, at the very beginning of the 1960’s, therefore, has to be seen as provocative, even foolhardy – the action of a young man defiantly standing up to be counted.

Fig 6.

In Fuck (Cunt) (fig 6) we see another self portrait. Shunted to the right of the page, which adds to the secretive nature of the work, the figure of the young artist stands in what is undoubtedly a toilet cubicle, surrounded by graffiti. It could well be Earl’s Court tube station – it is on public record that Hockney used this particular toilet as a source of graffiti for other paintings and he was living in Earl’s Court during the early 1960’s. The circular shape in the background, in front of the figure, is reminiscent of the London Underground signage. Superimposed over the figure is what may be a doorway, perhaps of the cubicle itself. Behind and in front of the figure’s head floats the broken phrase: ‘A Happy […] to All Our Readers’, which was a once common graffiti joke referring to newspaper editors’ Christmas or New Year wishes to the public. Above his head is a phrase that begins, ‘my brother is [obscured by a blob of ink] 17’. And above that is the hastily scrawled legend ‘fuck you[?] cunt’, which gives the work its title. To take this direct, obscene graffiti and transcribe it into an artwork was a brazen act in itself, but the truly bold element of the work is disguised and only emerges after longer scrutiny, once we have followed the form of the figure to the bottom of the paper. Below the dark shirt or jacket that the figure wears, two spindly limbs trail down. These could be arms, but as they are disproportionately long, they more resemble legs. If read as such, they give the drawing a frank sexual

frisson. Given Hockney’s skill as a draughtsman, even at this early point in his career, it seems inconceivable that he was not aware of the ambiguity of anatomy. The left ‘leg’ is slightly raised, so we can see that it ends in rudimentary toes, indicating that the figure is naked from the waist down. In between the legs we can now see the figure’s unmistakable testicles and erect penis, drawn with the same brevity as the graffiti. And just in front of this, Hockney has drawn a lower case ‘w’, which also reiterates the shape of the testicles. Just to the rear of this, is more text which is difficult to decipher. Dotted over the entire image are blobs and splashes of fallen ink and a cluster of the artist’s fingerprints break the lower left corner, bringing a personalised bodily sense to the enterprise, in keeping with the implied ejaculatory experience. There is also, of course, a visual suggestion of the less-than-pristine walls of the cubicle itself. The toilet graffiti theme is taken into another drawing, ‘Fuck (My Brother)’ (fig7) from the same year, 1961. Hockney seems to have been taken with a particular phrase, gleaned from the walls of Earls Court tube station toilet: ‘my brother is only 17’.22 This teasing, opening non sequiteur, with its incestuous intimation, appears in at least three works from 1961 – The Third Love Painting, where it appears in its entirety in the middle right edge, Fuck (My Brother) and Fuck (Cunt), where it appears in the slightly truncated form mentioned above. This drawing is one of the most purely expressionistic of the works of this period. It is a crayon drawing which has been ‘drawn’ back into by an energetically applied eraser. The resulting effect is a kind of pleasing brutality and consequently the work appears to be the angriest of all the pieces under discussion. The word ‘fuck’ has been swiped back from the surface by an eraser, thus appearing in ghostly negative against the coloured ground. The phrase, which completes the work’s title, is almost indecipherable in the exact centre of the drawing. It has been scrawled rapidly and without care – in the manner of much actual graffiti. Beneath this, along the bottom of the work, more eraser swipes have been made, giving the space an odd, gauzy, Baconesque feel. Such is Hockney’s disregard for the niceties of presentation in this work that he allows the granules of rubbed off crayon to remain adhered to the surface of the paper. As in the previous drawing, there is an ejaculatory painterliness, achieved here by the application of a moistened hand or rag smeared across the centre. Entering in from the bottom mid-left edge and almost invisible amongst the stripes of erased crayon, is Hockney’s trademark of this period - a blunt-ended phallus. In the following section I will discuss the phallic imperative in Hockney’s coming out pictures.


Tate Gallery Website

Fig 7.

The Phallus in Hockney
He [Homo sapiens] is proud that he has the biggest brain of all the primates, but attempts to conceal the fact that he also has the biggest penis. Desmond Morris, The Naked Ape

Fig 8.

As I have demonstrated, Hockney began his very public coming out, as a young gay man, in 1960. With each picture he drew or painted, he became slightly bolder, but this was several years before he was to make the overtly homoerotic images in California from 1964. Looking at Hockney’s drawings, paintings and prints between 1960 and 1963, I have found that a disproportionate number contain overt phallic imagery or subliminal phallic references. These take a number of forms, shapes and dimensions. Sometimes they are obvious - as in Shame, where the phallus is isolated, and is an obvious and direct reference to the erect penis. But very often the phallus is implied, or else masquerades as other pictorial elements within the work. In some of these works, Hockney was surely well aware of this imagery. At other times, the inclusion of phallic shapes possibly reflects a subliminal or unconscious directive. In the earlier of these phallic works and in particular the abstract pieces, the phallus usually entered into the pictorial action from the bottom edge. It was used to open up the picture plane and to stand as the closest object to the viewer. In many of these works, the phallus may also be viewed as the sexual self-image of the artist encroaching on and entering into the narrative he has created.

Sometimes it serves purely as a phallus, and sometimes it forms the phallic-torso of a rudimentary figure – often Hockney’s self-portrait.23 This device of ‘the artist-as-phallus’ is first used in another of the toilet graffiti paintings of 1960, The Third Love Painting (fig 9). A large, rounded orange phallus enters the picture, almost filling the bottom right-hand quarter. Around its perimeter are fidgety marks, as used in children’s cartoons to denote movement. In this context, they give the form an erotically tactile sensation. In other works, discussed below, Hockney uses the same marks with similar erotic effect. In the top left quadrant is what at first appears to be an inverted ‘S’. But, if this iconography is viewed in relation to the figures in Adhesiveness (fig 10), it can be read

Fig 9.

as a coded reference to sex between men. A similar visual device has been used in this painting, in which two male persons commit an act of fellatio upon each other in front of a Cy Twombley-esque backdrop. We know that Hockney himself appears as one of the figures in this painting, because he has labelled himself ‘4.8.’ – a simple numerical code that transposes numbers for letters of the alphabet (therefore = ‘D.H.’). The other figure in this erotic tryst is the poet Walt

Much later, in his photographs, Hockney used the motif of his own shoes, or socked feet entering the bottom edge of the picture to insinuate his presence directly into the image in the same way.

Whitman, here labelled ’23.23’ (therefore = ‘W.W.’). If we accept the double fellatio scenario, Hockney’s figure is upside down (though his legs still support him), while Whitman, in deference to his eminence as a great poet, is allowed his dignity by being depicted standing upright and still wearing his hat.

Fig 10.

Fig 11.

The painting was bought and owned by Cecil Beaton who, four years later, designed the costumes and sets for George Cukor’s My Fair Lady. It is interesting to compare Hockney’s figure of Walt Whitman to an early sketch Beaton made for Audrey Hepburn’s character, Eliza Doolittle (fig 11).24 They have the same spindly, abbreviated legs, similar ‘skirts’ and almost identical hats – Eliza’s sprouts plumage, Whitman’s is tilted at a rakish angle beneath some feathery graffito. I don’t suggest that Beaton consciously referenced the painting; I merely draw attention to a serendipitous similarity. We can trace unconscious phallic references in Hockney’s work as far back as 1956, when he was a nineteen-year-old student at Bradford School of Art; specifically, in two pencil drawings from this period, Study for ‘Mount Street, Bradford’ (fig 12) and Bridge Street, Bradford (fig 13). In the former, a sketchy, rudimentary street scene is towered over by an indomitable telegraph pole that rises from the very centre of the picture. In the latter, a lamp post in the extreme foreground has been drawn only in outline, the better to reveal the more resolved

and complicated street scene that spreads over the hill behind it. As the lamp post seems to disappear about halfway up, just as it intersects the brow of the hill, we are left with a phallic shape with roughly the dimensions of a cigarette. Of course, a lamp post is still ‘just’ a lamp post, but in the light of the preponderance of phalluses in Hockney’s subsequent work, these are two useful early examples.

Fig 12.

Fig 13.

I have isolated at least thirty-five occasions, between 1960 and 1963, where Hockney uses phallic imagery in his work. That this occurs in an average of ten pictures per year seems extraordinary. And, while only some of these penile images, probably, were conscious, there are enough evident throughout these three years of his work to draw the conclusion that a phallic imperative drove Hockney during their manufacture. A large number of these works feature two phalluses, thereby presenting a coded pictorial reference to gay sex. And sometimes there are three or more phallic forms within individual works, so that a system of comparison operates – big, bigger, biggest. It is as if, having opened the closet door a crack, the initial veiled and abstracted references to his sexuality had suddenly given way to a flurry of direct and indirect penile representations. There are, of course, phallic shapes within Hockney’s work post 1963. But, these occur after the artist had had time to adjust to his public identity as a gay artist and, as such, can be said to be more arch or knowing. The first actual representation of a real and recognisable penis in Hockney’s work (apart from the one belonging to Mo McDermott in Domestic Scene, Notting Hill, which is rather smudgy and indistinct) is the one depicted in his etching, In an Old Book, from the suite of etchings entitled, Illustrations for Fourteen Poems from

C.P. Cavafy (1966), three years after the formative years I am concerned with here.

Fig 14.

During the summer of 1961, while still a student at the RCA, Hockney made his first brief visit to America, staying in New York.
‘And I went to New York and met a boy in a drugstore in Times Square and stayed with him for three months. When I arrived in New York I only knew one person, Mark Berger, who had been at the Royal College of Art. He was in hospital with hepatitis the whole time I was there.’

In one of the drawings he made on the trip, New York (fig 14), Hockney proclaims his love for the foreign city. He depicts himself sandwiched between two skyscrapers, like a hotdog between buns. The skyscrapers are twin phalluses, telling us that a large part of Hockney’s enjoyment of the city was (homo)sexual. The building on the left comes complete with vestigial, though elongated, testicles, and a line across the top denotes, in the manner of schoolboy graffiti, the demarcation between the shaft and the head. An aerial sprouts from the centre of the ‘head’, giving a suggestion of the path of urination, or ejaculation. The right-hand building is the focus of the young artist’s amorous attention. He grips it in a bear hug, and this has caused an ejaculatory cloud to appear from its tip. The text in the work tells us that the action takes place on

Hockney, quoted in Stangos, p65

July the 9th, 10th and 11th - this must have been a significant period to have been isolated in the work as it surely cannot refer to the time the drawing took to make, as it is more a rapid sketch than a prolonged or sustained piece.
‘What one must remember about some of these pictures is that they were partly propaganda of something I felt hadn’t been propagandized, especially amongst students, as a subject: homosexuality. I felt it should be done. Nobody else would use it as a subject, but because it was a part of me, it was a subject that I could treat humorously.’ 26

In another New York drawing, Man on Subway, New York (fig 15), made on a second trip en route to California in 1963, Hockney depicted an unprepossessing man in a subway train carriage. It is a fidgety line drawing of the man. All focus is drawn to his crotch because of the directional impetus of the lines of his arms, legs and tie and the bench seat he sits on. The entire drawing can be read as a paean to the penis. The man has no actual penis – Hockney has left an empty space where this should be. Instead, the man is ithyphallic – he has no less than five phantom erections, each emerging from his crotch. Indeed, due to his crossed legs and the glimpse of the hands in his lap, he appears to be wrestling with one of the largest of the erections (the bench seat). If this were not enough, Hockney has graced him with another penis and an impressive set of testicles in his face, in the form of (uncircumcised) nose and sunglasses. The overall image conveys a sexual tension, all the stronger for being ‘hidden’.

Fig 15


Hockney, quoted in Stangos, p68

A collation and brief description of the other phallic work from this period runs as follows: 1961 Another drawing Hockney made in New York was of his friend, Ferrill Amacker (fig16). The drawing is inscribed ‘DH 61. Ferrell. Hicks St. Brooklyn’. Amacker introduced Hockney to the gay hotspots, which is possibly why Hockney has portrayed his friend as a sort of human phallus, with a balding, round penile head with its central eye. If that weren’t enough, Hockney has ‘impaled’ his sitter on the leg of his chair. Amacker’s own legs are slightly raised and we see the chair leg ‘penetrate’ his buttocks and travel up inside him. The back chair leg has been barely rendered, which draws even more attention to the one in front.

Fig 16.

Amacker has essentially been buggered by the pictorial device and appears to pivot on it. As I have suggested earlier, when Hockney depicts a phallus

encroaching into the picture plane, particularly from the lower edge, it can be seen as a reference to the artist himself, or his own member. We can therefore speculate upon the nature of the sexual relationship between Hockney and Amacker. In the painting We Two Boys Together Clinging (fig 17), which is derived from a Walt Whitman poem of the same name, the two hugging protagonists are reduced to simple phallic shapes. Their disembodied heads (their identities) are floating above the phalluses and seem to be dissolving into the abstract background – the boys have literally lost their heads for each other. Their desire has turned them into their own truncated penises – they have essentially become their erections. Little tendrils join the forms together; these also function as Hockney’s ‘sensation’ marks.

Fig 17.

In the etching Kaisarion with all His Beauty (fig18), based on a poem by Cavafy, once more, a disembodied phallic torso is used to depict the eponymous central figure. There can be no doubt that, for Hockney, the idea of Kaisarian’s beauty is centred on his endowment. He has been transformed into his own member and stands as a black erection. His head and facial appearance are stylised and artificial; it is his sexual identity that is of much greater importance, and which locates him.

Fig 18.

In the etching Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall (fig 19), in which Hockney combines the story of Snow White and myth of Narcissus, a male figure gazes at his own reflection in a phallic mirror. The figure’s name is Peter27 (this is written on the back of his baggy shirt), and he is depicted naked below the waist. It is the same figure that appears in the painting The Cha-Cha that was Danced in the Early Hours of 24th March, 1961 (fig 20). That Peter is gay is confirmed by the start of the word ‘Queer’ or ‘Queen’ behind his head in the painting. Beneath this word is a fractured slogan from some sort of liniment: ‘penetrates deep down’ and ‘gives instant relief from’. Amazingly, Hockney has said that he was unaware of the sexual double entendre at the time he painted the picture.
‘They’re words that were so common then, they had no other meaning; they never took any other meaning. Now they may.’28

Beneath the figure, in the painting, is the line, ‘I love every movement’, which was lifted from the pop song, ‘Poetry in Motion’ by the American singer,


This is not a reference to Hockney’s lover, Peter Schlesinger, whom he did not meet until 1966. The figure is Hockney’s boyfriend at the time, Peter Crotch, who appears in the painting, Peter C (1961), and whose first name appears written in the background of the painted version of The Most Beautiful Boy in the World. The etching and both paintings were made in 1961. 28 Hockney, quoted in Stangos, p68.

Fig 19.

Fig 20.

Bobby Vee.29 In the etching, emanating from the end of the phallic mirror, are Hockney’s familiar ‘sensation’ lines (here doubling as flames), which, like the ejaculating skyscraper in New York, give the form a definite penile association. In two images with the same title, The Most Beautiful Boy in the World, Hockney again presents his trademark – for the period – formless, phallic figures. In the first, a watercolour and ink drawing (fig 21), he shows himself – as denoted by the insignia 4.8. – hugging another boy. This boy is labelled D.B.30 Like the embraced skyscraper in New York, the beautiful boy’s head spouts an orgasmic spume of liquid at Hockney’s embrace. Hockney depicts himself with a stylised, but clearly delineated and coloured-in, though not erect, penis. The other boy does not have a penis, having effectively become his member. In the second work with this title, an oil painting (fig 22), Hockney has been clearly influenced by Francis Bacon. The eponymous figure, here labelled D. Boy (see footnote 30) stands beneath a Pop Art trope – the package of a household product; on this occasion, it is Alka Seltzer, perhaps indicating that the beautiful boy is a party animal. He wears a transparent negligee. We can see his rudimentary arm


This song only appeared on an E.P. (see below) released in London and Portugal and so, presumably, received airplay on radio.

(London LES 543 Portugal) [1961] Poetry in Motion • Everyday • Rubber Ball • My Prayer


This is a reference to the Cliff Richard song ‘Living Doll’. Hockney had a crush on the singer and made several works referencing this song and subverting the heterosexual narrative of the original. Here, the boy is labelled D.B., or Doll Boy. He stands as fantasy figure of perfection.

Fig 21.

Travelling down towards his crotch, where a fortuitous drip of deep red has spilled down from the love heart adjacent to his face. In the small of his back, just by his elbow and almost illegible, is the insignia ’16.3.’, indicating that this is Hockney’s boyfriend Peter Crutch (the same person as depicted in Mirror, Mirror and in Cha Cha). Again, we see the almost disconnected head, which makes the body appear phallic – the more so for being encased in the condom-like nightie.

Fig 22.

1962 In Rimbaud – Vowel Painting (fig 23), painted in response to Arthur Rimbaud’s synaesthetic poem, ‘Voyelle’, the featureless male bust in the foreground seems to turn its blank face towards an erection, drawn in outline in the middle-left. These two elements link the painting with the earlier Shame. A sign painter’s directing hand floats up from the erection, pointing straight at the bust, making it quite clear that the figure is connected to it in a direct way.

Fig 23.

The First Marriage (A Marriage of Styles 1) (fig 24), is set in some tropical region. The groom stands behind his bride, who is of indeterminate sex. ‘Her’ breasts – phallic in themselves – appear to have been stuck on as an afterthought. ‘She’ sits on an invisible chair, and, as it drops to the ground, ‘her’ encasing veil forms a condom-like phallic shape – as did the negligee in The Most Beautiful Boy in the World. Just in front of the pair is another curious semi-phallus, in the form of what appears to be the end cone of a missile. Behind the couple is a palm tree, which, if taken as yet another phallic reference – conscious or unconscious on Hockney’s part – can be viewed as an erection about to be buried into the earth (body), the branches are pubic hair, the sun behind it, the testicles.

Fig 24.

In the crayon drawing, Colonial Governor (fig 25), the rounded feathers of the governor’s hat turn his entire figure into a phallus. The fact that the governor has a rudimentary third leg draws attention to the penile possibilities of the figure.

Fig 25.

Fig 26.

In the crayon drawing, Berliner and Bavarian Head (fig 26), Hockney presents two stylised, rounded heads, the point of which is comparison of the two physiognomies and their varying sizes and shapes. It is possible to view each

simplified head in relation to its resemblance to the head of a penis. Both heads have a small tuft of hair at top centre, which can be viewed as the urethral opening. The figure of the Bavarian, on the right, is more rigid, the ‘shaft’ beneath the head is hard and straight. The Berliner, on the left, leans towards flaccidity, but is the more penile. The curve of the arm suggests it is rising up and his face has been coloured in red. The enforced closeness of the figures/penises is reminiscent of the two erections/boys in We Two Boys Together Clinging and is another example of the suggestion of penile comparison that is prevalent in a great number of Hockney’s works from this period and throughout his career. 1963 In 1963, Hockney was commissioned to make drawings for the Sunday Times’ colour supplement. They had asked him to document Bradford, but with typical bravado, Hockney had suggested they put him up in the Honolulu Hilton instead. Eventually, a compromise was reached and he was flown to Egypt.31 In the crayon drawing, View From the Nile Hilton (fig 27) – Hockney presents a double

Fig 27.


Stangos, p94

Phallic reference. The first is the tall skyscraper in the middle distance, the second is the sinuous green phallus of the median strip encroaching from the bottom of the drawing, complete with dislocated, rounded ‘head’. Seen in the light of the earlier discussed works, with their phalluses entering the bottom of the picture frame, it is also possible to view it as the viewer’s/Hockney’s own erection as he contemplates the view stretched out before him. The ‘head’ of this phallus has a double function however, because it also serves as the entrance to an orifice that both phalluses close in on. The Sphinx and Sphinx and Pyramid, (figs 28 and 29) were made during the same sojourn – in both, the sphinx has been simplified into a phallic shape rising from the bottom of the paper. The pyramid behind each, points in an upwards direction to indicate movement and potential entry.

Fig 28.

Fig 29.

In the crayon drawing, The House of a Man Who had Made the Journey to Mecca, (fig 30) the entire house has become a phallus – in this case, most fittingly, a circumcised, Muslim one. The spray of palm tree foliage behind the

Fig 30.

building usefully suggests the spray of bodily fluids from the tip of the roof/penis. There are several other works containing similar phallic buildings from this year. In the crayon drawing, Shell Garage, Egypt, (fig 31) we are presented with a round-topped penile garage door in the centre of the image; in the watercolour version of the same image, with the same title, (fig 32) the door is even more clearly phallic due to its greater simplicity. The ushering arms of the standing

male figure32 lead the eye directly to his crotch, the artificial phallus to his right standing in for his actual unseen penis. These two images, with their prominent phalluses and grinning potentates, make oblique (and perhaps unconscious) reference to Egypt’s patriarchal society.

Fig 31.

Fig 32.


Both these pictures feature images of Gamal Abdel Nasser, president of Egypt from 1954 until his death in 1970.

To return to the London-produced works of 1963, we can see in the coloured drawing The Singer (fig 33), the abstracted phallic figure of the singer enclosed within a rectangle, at the base are two black footlights which serve as testicles to the erection. Around the end of the singer/erection, Hockney has placed cartoon ‘astonishment’ marks which, as well as being a visual reference to the voice emanating, also suggest that the figure is growing, or has already grown to its full extension. Indeed, there is a smaller, rudimentary phallic shape within the final figure, the top of which serving as the figure’s left shoulder. The enfolding green and red patterned stage curtain over the head of the singer/phallus also suggests that some sort of penetration is taking place.

Fig 33.

Fig 34.

In a similar work, Cubistic Woman (fig 34), the figure of the stylised woman – very reminiscent of the figurative works of British artist Roger Hilton33 is enclosed within a phallic archway, in the manner of the figure in his etching Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall, from two year’s previously. Her head stands at the point of the urethral opening. The outside edge of the phallus has been ‘illuminated’ by the bright colours that transverse it, in stark contrast to the sombre grey background. In this way, Hockney approximates the ‘astonishment’ or ‘sensation’ lines of The Singer and other works. We understand by this device that this and the other phalluses are somehow sensate and tactile. In the painting, Two Friends (in a Cul-de-sac) (fig 35), the cul-de-sac of the title appears as a phallus that enters from the right, travelling over two panels. It contains two naked, stylised young men. The one on the left brings up his legs as


As in Hilton’s painting Oi Yoi Yoi from 1963

the other races towards him. The running man calls ‘FRIEND’ twice. The painting can be viewed as a paeon to male/male anal sex. There are several reasons I suggest this; the receptive position adopted by the left hand figure and the placement of an exit door in the lower centre of the picture. The anus is, of course, the exit door for the human body’s waste product, but it also doubles as an entrance for sexual penetration. And the word ‘cul’ is French slang for ‘arse’ (as ‘culo’ is Italian, Turkish and Spanish slang for ‘arse’ / ‘arsehole’). Hockney places another male figure at the bottom left hand corner, who appears to be grimacing (or orgasming?). He could either be read as being excluded from the action, or implicated within it. The fact that the painting has been painted on two panels may also be significant. The phallus ‘passes through’ the split of the picture, metaphorically penetrating the work itself.

Fig 35.

This suggestion of physical penetration also appears in Still Life With Figure and Curtain (fig 36), wherein a stylised central figure stands erect in front of a curtain decorated with a repeat fleur-de-lis motif (and the fleur-de-lis is itself a kind of phallic emblem comprising erection and half-testicles). The head of the figure/phallus stands at the mid point of the two curtains, suggesting possible penetration. The phallic figure holds a hat over the position of its genitals, thereby concealing but drawing attention to the unseen; the hollow hat serves as a stand in orifice, thereby intensifying the sexual possibilities suggested by the figure, as it slightly bends its head towards the point of possible ingress. At its feet are strategically placed objects – fruit, vase etc – which form an interchangeable mini collection of potential phalluses and testicles.

Fig 36.

In his insightful essay on Hockney, The Lineaments of Desire, Edmund White writes that,
‘(Hockney) had to fit his work into a culture that accepts female nudes as classical but abhors the naked male body, if it is adult and contemporary (…) The naked adult male is in and of itself transgressive (…) Hockney had the potential to be even more daring – he was showing two men together in one early painting, one showering while the other washes his back’34

The painting White is describing is Domestic Scene, Los Angeles. It is one of three images Hockney painted of male couples in interiors in 1963. The other two were Domestic Scene, Notting Hill and Domestic Scene, Broadchalke, Wilts. Dozens of paintings of (usually heterosexual) couples in interiors were to follow throughout Hockney’s career, although none these would be as deeply subversive as the three from 1963. By his matter of fact depictions and the cosy ‘Domestic’ in each of the titles, Hockney ‘normalised’ a hitherto taboo subject – male/male cohabitation; the male couples were portrayed in ordinary aspects of everyday life, much as if they were heterosexual couples. Domestic Scene, Los Angeles (fig 37) was painted a few months before Hockney visited Los Angeles for the first time and is, therefore, a stylised version of second hand information. It can be seen as a kind of wish fulfilment painting based on the promise of sexual liberation in a golden land of plenty – in this case

The essay appears in David Hockney: Portraits p51.

California.35 As with the phallic figure in front of the fleur-de-lis curtain, the genitals of the young man on the left are covered – this time with a patterned ‘apron’ and, as with the former picture, this draws attention to the unseen member beneath. The stylised, featureless second young man is quite phallic, the more so for being encased, as it were, in a blue tube of flowing water. The first young man reaches out and touches or washes his back. It is ostensibly a picture about a potentially erotic encounter between two young men. But we may also, perhaps more accurately, view the subject of the painting as solitary masturbation. Seen in this context, the phallic right-hand figure can be viewed as the idealisation of the first figure’s real (invisible) erection, forever hidden under the patterned apron. The white darts of water, that streak over/through the phallic figure, anticipate the climax of the putative onanist. The orange telephone, suspended on three structure lines running down the right hand side of the canvas, stands as an emblem of communication – a way out of and into the domestic interior.

Fig 37.

The other two domestic paintings that Hockney made in 1963 are much more English in their setting and narratives. Domestic Scene, Broadchalke, Wilts. (fig 38) depicts the painter Peter Phillips36 and sculptor Joe Tilson37. The two young men are seen in conversation as one browses through an art book. Although

The painting is based upon a mildly titillating, for the times, photograph from the California-based gay magazine Physique Pictorial.

Phillips and Tilson are heterosexual, there is a strong homoeroticism about the close proximity of the artists’ legs, which, at a casual glance, appear to be entangled. And there is again evidence of Hockney’s predilection for making size-comparisons of phantom erections. The first of these appears in the lower right hand corner of the painting, where we see the large phallic outline of a cabinet rising; a disconnected arc – possibly the stylised arm of another chair – acts as the testicles of this ‘erection’. Spurting from the end of the phallus is an ejaculatory spume of flowers. The second, much smaller ‘erection-and-testicles’, appear on the smoked glass coffee table in the form of another vase. It, too, ejaculates a floral plume. As the stylised room has been emptied of all other props, and there is one set of ‘genitals’ next to each man, the unconscious subtext of the painting seems to be a comparison of sexual prowess and virility

Fig 38.

between them. As it is the decade-older Tilson who holds the art book, and therefore the received wisdom of an older practitioner, he seems to have been accorded the status of father figure, both figuratively and physically. (This linking of artistic prowess to sexual prowess theme Hockney returned to ten years later in two prints, both about the artist’s admiration for Picasso. In the first, The

The painter Peter Phillips was born in 1939, in Birmingham, England. He was a student at the Royal College at the same time as Hockney. 37 The British sculptor Joe Tilson was born in 1928. He studied at the Royal College from 1952 to 1955.

Student – Homage to Picasso (fig 39), Hockney depicts himself gazing at Picasso-as-giant-erection. And in Artist and Model (fig 40), Hockney sits naked and vulnerable before his idol. Above the younger artist’s head, outside the window, is a stylised palm tree, which closely resembles an erection springing from a thatch of pubic hair. It points directly down to Hockney’s head, indicating that he is receptive to the older, more virile man’s artistic example. In gay parlance, Hockney here is ‘bottom’ to Picasso’s ‘top’.)

Fig 39.

Fig 40.

Spanning these three years that I have focussed on, Hockney produced a suite of etchings based on Hogarth’s series of paintings of the same name, The Rake’s Progress. He began it in 1961 as a student exercise and finished it in 1963, when he had become established as an exciting young artist – a fixture on the Swinging London scene. Casting himself as the protagonist, Hockney documents a semi-fictional account of his trip to America over sixteen, two-colour etchings. There are five overt phallic depictions across the series and the reasons for their various appearances chime with the reasons for similar depictions within the paintings I have discussed above. In etching number 1 (fig 41), subtitled ‘The Arrival’, a pre-peroxide Hockney is literally dumped in New York by a wind labelled ‘Flying Tyger (sic)’ (or perhaps it is the adventure-seeking artist himself who has been so christened. The first thing he sees upon arrival are two erections, in the form of the Empire State Building standing next to a larger black phallic building. Here, we again see Hockney’s penchant for making visual comparisons of phallic objects. In this particular case, Hockney has also tapped into the unspoken racial/sexual insecurity of the American white male, as the white ‘penis’ is held up for scrutiny and unfavourable comparison with the mythical black ‘erection’. The protagonist could well be naked from the waist down; his legs have been depicted in the

same way as in the self portrait ink drawing, Fuck (Cunt), described at the beginning of this chapter. The multiple lines describing his seat resemble the cleft of buttocks. A suitcase is thrust out at groin level, towards the beckoning phallic towers, as he traverses the curiously pubic hair-like grass.

Fig 41.

Fig 42.

In print number 2, subtitled ‘Meeting the Good People (Washington)’ (fig 42), Hockney’s disembodied head surveys three phallic structures; stylised versions of the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial and the Washington Monument. As in many of the works described above, Hockney employs his trademark dashlines around these structures, imbuing them with tactile sensitivity while also suggesting that they have grown/are growing. The worthy father figures, Lincoln and Jefferson have been subsumed by their phalluses and Jefferson appears to be looking up, astonished, at the white obelisk of the Washington Monument as it towers above him. The comparison factor again holds sway.

Fig 43.

Fig 44.

In print number 3A, subtitled ‘The Seven Stone Weakling’ (fig 43), we see that Hockney has temporarily lost the sexual swagger of previous images. He stands

disconsolately beneath a tree, gazing forlornly at a pair of joggers running past him. This time, the dash-lines appear over his head to indicate his interest. He stands next to a tree, which sprays its foliage overhead; the printing process employed for this area has retained a fluid appearance, making it doubly suggestive. The image is a paean to sexual longing, feelings of inadequacy and to masturbatory fantasies. Print number 6A, ‘The Wallet Begins to Empty’ (fig 44), again shows an insecure Hockney. Here we see him ordered out of the city; he walks down the city steps with his head bowed. The subtitle tells us that he has to leave because he has run out of money. But the subtext tells us that his shame may be somehow connected with his sexuality. The guardians of the city are a middle aged man and a middle aged woman – representatives of the sexual status quo. The Washington Monument stands next to them, telling the shamed figure that the straight couple ‘own’ the erection – he has no claim to it. Number 7A in the series, ‘Cast Aside’ (fig 45), shows a limbless Hockney being

Fig 45.

thrown into the gaping mouth of a serpent. The now-penile Hockney and the tossing hand make a strong visual suggestion of masturbation. And the voracious, all engulfing penis monster attests that the young artist has given up all hope of deliverance. (Homo)sex has raised its ugly head and there is no way to avoid it. Hockney travelled through the 1960’s and metamorphosed from a shy, closeted boy from the provinces into a brave, sometimes militantly so, out gay man. The times were changing, but slowly. The passage of his work over these years can stand in for the journey of all gay men and it is equally fraught with dangers and difficulties. The strong sense of change evident throughout his work from the early part of the 1960’s can be seen as emblematic of the coming out journey of gay men everywhere. First we see the early references, as he begins to ‘find’

himself and broach the dawning knowledge of his homosexuality; this manifests as the disguised and timid messages scrawled across his student abstracts. Next we see the cheeky or bold revelation, as he dares to reveal himself to himself and to others with direct uses of pejoratives ‘Queer’ and ‘Queen’ in his canvases. Then, as he fully recognises the lack of social and sexual justice of his situation, we have the angry works with their the militant in-your-face aggression, such as Fuck (Cunt) or Fuck (My Brother). As he reaches a more relaxed point, he tackles foreign landscapes and figures in interiors; but even in these, the underlying, sublimated, homosexuality emerges in the preponderance of phallic shapes, objects and other penile suggestions Everything that Hockney drew or painted during these years was essentially a self portrait; the self portrait of a young gay man who was at various times scared, proud, angry, liberated, closeted, shy, angry, calm, sad, or happy. Fortuitously, he had come of age at the very beginning of the 1960s, just before it had started to swing. Had he come to maturity in the previous decade, his work would have undoubtedly taken a very different turn.

List of Illustrations
Fig 1. David Hockney (centre) at a lunch party, photographed by Lord Snowdon, 1962 Fig 2. Trafalgar Square (Detail), Roger Mayne, black & white photograph. c.1960

Fig 3. David Hockney (right) and Derek Boshier in militant mode at the RCA, 1961. Photographer unknown. Fig 4. Myself and My Heroes (Detail), David Hockney, etching and aquatint 26 x 50.1cm, 1961. Edition of fifty, signed in pencil and printed by Ron Fuller and Peter Matthews. Fig 5. Shame, David Hockney, oil on board 127 x 101.5cm, 1960 Fig 6. Fuck (Cunt), David Hockney, ink, 40.6 x 50.8 cm, 1961 Fig 7. Fuck (My Brother), David Hockney, crayon, 50.8 X 40.6 cm, 1961 Fig 8. Self Portrait photo booth image of David Hockney, Berlin, 1962 Fig 9. The Third Love Painting, David Hockney, oil on board 119 X 119cm, 1960 Fig 10. Adhesiveness, David Hockney, oil on canvas 127 X 102cm, 1960 Fig 11. Costume sketch by Cecil Beaton, 1964 Fig 12. Study for ‘Mount Street, Bradford’, David Hockney, pencil, 48 X 29cm, c.1956 Fig 13. Bridge Street, Bradford, David Hockney, pen and ink, 55.5 X 35.5cm, c.1956 Fig 14. New York, David Hockney, coloured crayon and pastel on paper, 60 X 45.7cm, 1960 Fig 15. Man on Subway, New York, David Hockney, ink on paper, 32.4 X 33.9cm, 1963 Fig 16. Ferrell Amacker, David Hockney, pencil, 61 X 45.6cm, 1961 Fig 17. We Two Boys Together Clinging, David Hockney, oil on board, 122 X 153cm, 1961 Fig 18. Kaisarion with all his Beauty, David Hockney, etching and aquatint on zinc, in two colours, 49.3 X 27.7cm, 1961. Edition of approximately fifty, signed in pencil and printed by Ron Fuller and Peter Matthews. Fig 19. Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall, David Hockney, etching and aquatint on zinc, in two colours, 40 X 50cm, 1961. Edition of approximately fifty, signed in pencil and printed by Ron Fuller and Peter Matthews. Fig 20. The Cha-Cha that was Danced in the Early Hours of 24th March, 1961, David Hockney, oil on canvas, 173 X 158cm, 1961 Fig 21. The Most Beautiful Boy in the World, David Hockney, watercolour and ink, 48.3 X 69.8cm, 1961 Fig 22. The Most Beautiful Boy in the World, David Hockney, oil on canvas, 178 X 100cm, 1961 Fig 23. Rimbaud – Vowel Painting, David Hockney, oil on canvas, 121 X 91cn, 1962 Fig 24. The First Marriage (A Marriage of Styles 1), David Hockney, oil on canvas, 183 X 153cm, 1962 Fig 25. Colonial Governor, David Hockney, coloured crayon and coloured ink, 35 X 25.5cm, 1962

Fig 26. Berliner and Bavarian Head David Hockney, coloured pencil and crayon, 33 X 46.5cm, 1962 Fig 27. View From the Nile Hilton, David Hockney, pencil and coloured crayon, 31X 25.4cm, 1962 Fig 28. The Sphinx, David Hockney, pencil and coloured crayon, 32.7 X 26.3cm, 1963 Fig 29. Sphinx and Pyramid, David Hockney, watercolour, 35 25cm, 1963 Fig 30. The House of a Man Who had Made the Journey to Mecca, Luxor, David Hockney, crayon, 1963 Fig 31. Shell Garage, Egypt, David Hockney, coloured crayon, 31 X 49.5cm, 1963 Fig 32. Shell Garage, Egypt, David Hockney, watercolour, 25 X 35cm, 1963 Fig 33. The Singer, David Hockney, pencil and coloured crayon, 31.8cm X 25.4cm, 1963 Fig 34. Cubistc Woman, David Hockney, coloured pencil, 32 X 25.5cm, 1963 Fig 35. Two Friends (in a Cul-de-sac), David Hockney, oil on canvas, 106.6 X 121.9cm, 1963 Fig 36. Still Life With Figure and Curtain, David Hockney, oil on canvas, 198 X 214cm, 1963 Fig 37. Domestic Scene, Los Angeles, David Hockney, oil on canvas, 153 X 153cm, 1963 Fig 38. Domestic Scene, Broadchalke, Wilts., David Hockney, oil on canvas, 183 X 183cm, 1963 Fig 39. The Student – Homage to Picasso, David Hockney, etching, edition of twenty, 76 X 57cm, 1973 Fig 40. Artist and Model, David Hockney, etching, 81 X 61cm, edition of 100, 1974 A Rake’s Progress , David Hockney, 1963. Sixteen plates: each one etching and aquatint on zinc, in two colours, 30.3 X 40.4cm). Edition of fity, signed in pencil, published by Editions Alecto and printed by C.H.Welch. Fig 41. ‘The Arrival’ Fig 42. ‘Meeting the Good People (Washington)’ Fig 43. ‘The Seven Stone Weakling’ Fig 44. ‘The Wallet Begins to Empty’ Fig 45. ‘Cast Aside’

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY Private View: the Lively World of British Art, Bryan Robertson, John Russell and Lord Snowdon, London: Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd, 1965

David Hockney: Portraits, Sarah Howgate and Barbera Stern Shapiro, National Portrait Gallery Publications, London and Hardy Grant Books, Prahran, 2006 Pictures by David Hockney, London: Thames & Hudson, 1979 David Hockney: A Drawing Retrospective, Ulrich Luckhardt and Paul Melia, Royal Academy of Arts in association with Thames & Hudson, London 1995 David Hockney by David Hockney, Nikos Stangos (Ed), Thames & Hudson, London 1976 David Hockney, Marco Livingstone, Thames & Hudson, London, 1981 72 Drawings by David Hockney, London: Jonathan Cape, 1971 Prick Up Your Ears: The Biography of Joe Orton, John Lahr, Penguin, London, 1978 The Orton Diaries, John Lahr (ed), Methuen, London, 1987 Catalogues London: the New Scene, Alan Bowness and Martin Friedman, Walker Art Centre: Minneapolis, 1965 Pop Art in England: Beginning of a New Figuration 1947 – 63, Uwe M. Schneede, Hamburg: Kunstverein Hamburg, 1976 David Hockney: Paintings, prints and drawings 1960-70, Mark Glazebrook, London: Whitechapel Gallery, 1970 David Hockney: Drawings, Minneapolis: Dayton’s Gallery 12, 1974 Articles Baro, Gene, ‘The British Scene: Hockney and Kitaj.’ Arts Magazine, May-June 1964 Baro, Gene, 1966, ‘David Hockney’s drawings’, Studio vol.171 (May)

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