David Hockney’s death left a void that art lovers are still trying to fill, but two upcoming exhibitions in Australia might just be the emotional antidote we need. These aren’t mere retrospectives—they’re love letters to a man who treated life itself as a canvas. What fascinates me most is how these shows are being framed not as academic exercises, but as immersive experiences that make you feel like you’re sitting across from Hockney himself, sipping tea and hearing him explain why a pool’s ripple matters more than its edges. That’s the magic of Bigger & Closer (not smaller & further away), which turns gallery walls into portals to his mind. Personally, I think this approach is revolutionary. Why stare at a painting when you can hear the artist’s heartbeat in the way they describe it? It’s like getting a front-row seat to someone’s creative soul, and that’s something museums have been desperately trying to achieve for decades.
Let’s talk about the contrast between the National Gallery of Australia’s Portraits in Print and Carriageworks’ immersive show. The former is a quiet, reflective journey through 60 works spanning 30 years. But here’s what I find intriguing: Hockney’s obsession with portraiture isn’t just about capturing faces—it’s about decoding human connection. His prints, with their bold lines and playful distortions, feel like conversations frozen in ink. Yet, the Bigger & Closer exhibit takes this intimacy to another level. Imagine standing in front of a massive print, only to hear Hockney’s voice whisper, ‘Look how the light bends here—it’s like the sun is winking at you.’ That’s not just interpretation; it’s performance art. What many people don’t realize is that Hockney wasn’t just an artist—he was a storyteller who believed every brushstroke had a narrative. This show turns his technical process into a theatrical experience, which raises a deeper question: Can art ever truly be separated from the person who created it? I don’t think so. Hockney’s voice becomes the bridge between his work and the viewer, making the experience feel personal, even if you’ve never met him.
And let’s not forget the irony of Hockney’s legacy in Australia. A man who once said, ‘I’ve always been in love with California’s light,’ now has his work celebrated in a country where sunlight is a daily companion. Richard Slaney, the curator behind Bigger & Closer, points out the obvious: Australia’s landscapes and culture resonate with Hockney’s aesthetic. But what makes this particularly fascinating is how the exhibitions are being positioned as gateways, not endpoints. They’re not just for art historians—they’re for anyone curious about how a single artist could redefine how we see the world. I’ve seen too many exhibitions that feel like they’re shouting at you to appreciate something you already don’t care about. These shows, however, are inviting you to lean in, to listen, and to maybe even fall in love with a detail you’d previously overlooked. That’s the power of storytelling in art—it doesn’t just display beauty; it creates it in the viewer’s mind.
There’s also something hauntingly timely about these exhibitions. Hockney died surrounded by his work, still experimenting with iPads and 3D technology. His final projects weren’t about nostalgia—they were about pushing boundaries. The fact that Bigger & Closer includes thousands of hours of his recorded voice feels like a final gift. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘Here, take this piece of me and make it your own.’ This raises a provocative idea: What if the most enduring legacy of an artist isn’t their physical work, but the way they make others feel? Hockney’s voice, preserved in these exhibitions, becomes a time capsule of his curiosity, his humor, and his relentless drive to see the world anew. In my opinion, that’s far more valuable than any auction record.
As for the future, I can’t help but wonder what these exhibitions will look like in a decade. Will AI-generated interpretations of Hockney’s voice replace his own? Will virtual reality make us feel even closer to his perspective? I hope not. There’s something irreplaceable about hearing a human voice, flawed and full of life, guiding you through a gallery. Hockney’s work has always been about perspective—literally and metaphorically. These shows remind us that the best art doesn’t just change how we see things; it changes how we feel about seeing them at all. And that, I think, is the real splash these exhibitions will make—not in the art world, but in the hearts of everyone who walks through those doors.
