I was saddened by the news of David Hockney’s death.
When I am trying to process something, I often write. It is one of the ways I make sense of the world. As occupational therapists, we understand that occupations can help us express our thoughts, connect with our emotions and tell our stories. For me, writing has become one of those occupations.
After the news of his passing, I have found myself reflecting on just how much David Hockney’s work has influenced my life. His art shaped my interests as a young student, encouraged my love of creativity and photography, and perhaps even played a small part in my decision to become an occupational therapist. This blog is my way of reflecting on that impact and saying thank you.
I first became aware of David Hockney while studying Art A-level. For my final major project, I focused on Hockney’s work. I remember creating a swimming pool from a cardboard box, with my dissertation hidden inside and a photo montage of a swimming pool on the front. Photography was a major part of my project, inspired by Hockney’s own photo montages. It was his work that first sparked my interest in photography, but as I explored further, I discovered the vast breadth of his work. There was something about those colourful, large, bold prints and Hockney’s exploration of perspective that captured my imagination.
During my A-level studies, I visited Salts Mill in Bradford several times to study his work. It remains one of my favourite places. Although Hockney became internationally renowned, Yorkshire never seemed far from his work. He returned repeatedly to its landscapes and continued to celebrate the place where he grew up.
What I remember most is the smell of lilies. Even now, lilies are my favourite flower because they instantly transport me back to Salts Mill and those visits as a young art student.
As I write this blog, I am sitting in my bedroom. To my right is my art wall. Among the many prints from artists both my husband and I admire are seven David Hockney prints. That probably tells you everything you need to know about the influence he has had on my life.
My relationship with David Hockney’s work did not end when I finished my A-levels. If anything, it grew stronger over the years. I would seek out his exhibitions whenever I could, whether at the Royal Academy, the Tate or on return visits to Salts Mill.
One of my favourite pieces remains My Mother, Bolton Abbey, Yorkshire, November 1982. Artwork Hockney created when I was but a few months old. There is something deeply human about it. Created from dozens of photographs assembled, it captures not only a person but a moment, a relationship and a place. Whenever I look at it, I feel as though I am there on a wet day at Bolton Abbey alongside Hockney and his mother. Somehow, a collection of still photographs creates a sense of movement, atmosphere and presence. It fascinated me as a student and still fascinates me today.
What I admired most about Hockney was his curiosity. He never seemed interested in standing still as an artist. Whether exploring how the Old Masters may have used mirrors and lenses, experimenting with fax machines and computers, or later embracing the iPhone and iPad, he was always asking questions and exploring new possibilities.
While others saw technology as something that might replace traditional art, Hockney saw another way to create. His work reminds us that creativity is not tied to a particular tool. It is the curiosity behind it that matters.
He also used his art to challenge social attitudes. As an openly gay man at a time when homosexuality was still heavily stigmatised, he created work that normalised relationships and experiences that society often preferred to ignore. That took courage. Through his art, he helped make visible lives and stories that had often been hidden.
Hockney understood the importance of creativity as a meaningful occupation. Creating was not simply something he did; it was part of who he was. As technology changed, he adapted. As he got older, he adapted. The tools changed, but the occupation remained.
Occupational therapists often support people to continue engaging in occupations that give their lives meaning and purpose when circumstances change. Looking back, Hockney’s life feels like a wonderful example of that principle in action. His story reminds us that while the way we do something may change, the occupations that shape our identity can remain with us throughout our lives.
When I think about why I became an occupational therapist, I suspect my love of creativity played a much bigger role than I realised at the time. Creativity helps us solve problems, express ourselves, connect with others and find meaning. David Hockney’s work helped me understand that long before I had the language of occupational therapy to describe it.
For me, visiting galleries is one of my favourite occupations. Whether rolling through Salts Mill or exploring an exhibition at the Royal Academy or the Tate, Hockney’s art has brought joy, inspiration and reflection throughout my life.
When an icon passes away, it is always a sad moment. Yet it is rare for an artist to have such a profound impact during their own lifetime. David Hockney never seemed to stop creating. Whether through paintings, photo montages, digital art or ideas that challenged how we think about seeing and creativity, he remained curious and influential right to the end.
What he leaves behind is extraordinary. His work will continue to hang in galleries and museums around the world for generations to come. Somewhere, another art student will discover one of his photo montages for the first time and be just as inspired as I was.
For me, though, his legacy is also personal. It lives in memories of Salts Mill, the smell of lilies, the prints on my wall and the creative spark that has followed me throughout my life. It lives in every gallery visit and every photograph I have taken.
So thank you, David Hockney.
Thank you for the colour.
Thank you for the courage.
Thank you for the creativity.
And thank you for helping me see the world a little differently.
Leave a Reply