Here’s a transcript of the video:
My dear old friend David Hockney—we just lost him, and we wanted to find a way to celebrate his life. It seemed that we were already in the perfect place for it: in the South of France, beside a swimming pool. It’s as if his ghost is here.
I knew David Hockney for many years because my friend Christopher Isherwood and his partner Don Bachardy introduced me to him. One of the first things they said was, “Oh, you’ve got to meet David.” Part of that was about our shared early queerness, but they also knew that I would like the man he was.
He was like a child in many ways. He had a wonderful childlike passion about the world, about art in general, and he loved to share it. Whenever we went over to his house, he had some new stunt, some new gimmick—most of which was lost on me.
It was there that I saw him experimenting with all sorts of technology: fax machines and other things I didn’t even understand. But he had this wonderful energy that made him want to share everything with the world.
It was also there that he took me on what he called the “Wagner Drive.” It took you through Santa Monica Canyon and out to the Pacific Coast Highway. The entire route was timed to the music of Wagner. Every twist and turn in the road was dictated by Wagner’s music. I was terrified most of the time. He would wheel around one corner and you’d end up—I don’t know where. It was utterly terrifying. But it was thrilling too, of course.
Another memorable occasion was going to his house for a Hogmanay celebration—the Scottish New Year. Vincent Price and his wife, Coral Browne, were there. They were dear friends of David’s.
Vincent once told David that Coral was out of town for the week and wondered if David had any recommendations for good pornography. David told him, “Catalina is the way to go,” and recommended a particular title he enjoyed called The Young and the Hung. I think I remember that one, actually. That became Vincent’s entertainment while his wife was away. Vincent was gay, by the way. Just listen to his old movies and you’ll hear that voice.
He was also one of the sweetest men I’d ever met—so kind. That evening at Hogmanay, I found myself standing next to him, and he reached out and held my hand because he was old and quite feeble and needed someone to steady him while the pipers were going by.
So I gladly held the hand of this horror-movie legend as the pipers passed. I don’t know why it spoke to me so deeply at the time, but there was something moving about holding the hand of this very spooky man while the year was changing. I was thrilled. I really enjoyed it.
David was an activist in the truest sense of the word. Some things really bugged him, and he spoke out about them. When he was in art school, I believe, he was openly gay and had a photograph of some famous pop star on the wall of his locker. And he continued living openly for the rest of his life.
I wasn’t very happy with his stance on smoking, which was that he was all for it. But it wasn’t my place to tell him otherwise. We posed once with a sign that said, “Thank you for pot smoking,” because that was one thing we could both agree on. We both loved weed.
David was his own man. He believed what he believed. Sometimes he could hold forth rather angrily about cigarette smoking restrictions, saying that his homosexuality was less of a violation in California than his cigarette smoking.
But anyway, I knew David for over four decades, and he was always such a kind person and so much fun. He shared everything with his friends. On one of my first visits to London years ago, he let us stay in his house in West London, where I could walk to Earl’s Court. He didn’t think twice about it. He simply told people we were coming, and that was that. There are many other examples of his generosity I could mention, but those are the ones that stick in my mind most strongly. I loved him as a human being.
I don’t want to claim him, because the world wants to claim him. But I was lucky to be in his orbit during part of his life, and it made a difference to me.
Among other things, David makes me think of my own mortality. The end may be fairly near for me—I hope not, but it probably will be. And it was wonderful to have the example of his kindness, his talent, and his urge for exploration.
David was one of those rare human beings who was always curious about life. He always wanted to know what the next adventure was going to be—whether technological, artistic, or otherwise. He was curious about what would happen next.
I wish I had all of that curiosity in my own nature. I don’t think I do. But I was happy to be in the presence of someone who was always stimulating me in that way, someone who knew how to ask questions and how to be fully part of the world.
So anyway, thank you for coming along.
I hope I’ll see you next time.
