Left: David Hockney standing beside his painting My Parents (1977), in the same year that he created it, with Piero della Francesca’s The Baptism of Christ (around 1437–45) depicted in the mirror. My Parents: © David Hockney. Photo: Bern Schwartz
Right: A full view of The Baptism of Christ, housed in the National Gallery in London’s collection © The National Gallery, London
Despite being a resolutely modern artist, David Hockney is well known for his love of the past. For more than 60 years, he has engaged, in particular, with the Old Masters, drawing on and closely analysing many of their works.
Examples range from his re-imagination of William Hogarth’s series A Rake’s Progress, which Hockney worked on from 1961 to 1963, to his homages to Michelangelo and Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres. In 2001, meanwhile, he published his book Secret Knowledge, in which he argued that many leading Old Masters adopted optical devices such as mirrors and lenses to create their masterpieces—a proposition that brought much attention at the time. Such has the influence of historical art been on his own explorations of colour and composition that he has been posited, in the words of The Guardian’s Jonathan Jones, as a “living old master”.
An artist who has fascinated Hockney since he was a child is the Italian Renaissance painter Piero della Franscesca, known for his pioneering handling of perspective and emotion within his subjects. Piero’s The Baptism of Christ (around 1437-45) has appeared in two of Hockney‘s works: My Parents (1977), a double portrait of his mother and father, and Looking at Pictures on a Screen (1977), a painting of the curator Henry Geldzahler gazing at posters on a folding screen.
As part of the celebrations marking its 200th anniversary, the National Gallery is bringing these two works together with The Baptism of Christ in an exhibition titled Hockney and Piero: A Longer Look. The mission is to highlight the connections between the two artists, promote the act of “slow looking”—a concept close to Hockney’s heart—and, according to the show’s curator Susanna Avery-Quash, “encourage reflection on the National Gallery’s history of connecting people with pictures”.
In advance of the opening, Avery-Quash spoke to Hockney about his experiences of The Baptism of Christ and what makes it such a “fantastic construction”. The conversation took place in front of the painting.
Susanna Avery-Quash: Do you remember the first time you encountered Piero della Francesca's The Baptism of Christ?
David Hockney: It was about 1955, when I first came to London, and we came to the National Gallery, National Portrait Gallery and the Tate Gallery, just to look at pictures. This one I've always remembered. I had a little book about Piero that was given to me for a Sketchbook Prize, and there was one colour reproduction—this one [Hockney points to Piero’s Baptism]. All the rest were black and white. It cost three and sixpence and it was about that big [Hockney indicates the shape of the book]. I kept the book with me for a long time. I'm sure I've still got it somewhere.
What was your reaction when you first stood in front of the original?
Well, I thought it was the most beautiful painting I’d ever seen. It’s painted with egg tempera isn’t it, on wood?
David Hockney at a press showing of the Artist's Eye exhibition at National Gallery (June 1981), which he curated using works from the institution’s collection
© Photo: Robert Workman. From the Robert Workman Archive, Bishopsgate
Yes, that's right; the wood’s Italian poplar.
Its use of shadows isn't that strong. I like that. I mean, the shadows on the figures are just quite light, aren't they?
And I like the little pathway going up the hill.
Yes, I know that you love that detail. In fact, you had the pathway going up the hillside reproduced as a postcard, together with another postcard showing the whole image, and included both at the back of your exhibition catalogue, Looking at Pictures in a Book, which accompanied your Artist’s Eye exhibition at the National Gallery in 1981.
And that bird…
Yes, the dove representing the Holy Spirit.
Yes, it's hovering. It's not flying. It's hovering over Christ, isn't it? Because you can tell if birds are flying even in a two-dimensional picture. But oh, I thought, the whole picture had such a clarity. I was very, very impressed with it—very!
David Hockney first saw Piero della Francesca’s The Baptism of Christ on a visit to London in 1955. His mother kept a reproduction of it in her bedroom
© The National Gallery, London
There are certainly elements that you've been particularly struck by and taken on in artistic dialogue with your own work.
Yes, but when I first saw it face to face, I was just 18 years old then.
And Piero’s Baptism has stuck with you ever since.
It's stuck with me all my life. It's a fantastic picture, and it's painted beautifully.
David Hockney My Parents (1977)
© David Hockney. Photo: Tate, London
You have sometimes included, in your paintings, pairs of figures, one depicted side-on and the other facing the viewer [as in My Parents or Henry Geldzahler and Christopher Scott]. That recalls the placing of the figures of Christ and John the Baptist in The Baptism. Repurposing that compositional device points to your deep engagement with Piero.
Yes, and I also remember the quite modern underwear.
Exactly! The figure just disrobing in the background looks like he's got a sort of pair of y-fronts on.
Yes, it looks like y-fronts!
A lot of modern artists have commented on that memorable disrobing figure. They found it so relatable: the action of taking off the shirt and the fact that you can't see the head, just the y-fronts!
You’ve always had reproductions of Piero’s Baptism, not only in books but as postcards and posters in your studio in London and elsewhere, haven't you? And you said your mother had a reproduction of it in her bedroom for many years.
Yes, I gave her it and she had it in her bedroom all her life.
You’ve always said about reproductions that they're wonderful because you can have them at your bedside and look at them last thing before you to bed. And you can look at them when you get up in the morning. You don't have to come to the National Gallery, although, obviously, seeing the original is more amazing than looking at any reproduction.
Well, I said sometimes reproductions give off vibes and I'm sure I bought a postcard of the Piero. In those days the postcard section was quite small, wasn't it?
Yes, there was certainly a more limited choice in the 1950s than we have today.
So, you had a postcard of Piero’s Baptism at home as a little aide memoire, as they say. And of course, you also had a bigger version in the form of the poster that you depicted, taped on the screen alongside three other posters of National Gallery paintings, in Looking at Pictures on a Screen.
I painted Henry [Geldzahler] looking at them—because he had a very good eye.
David Hockney, Looking at Pictures on a Screen (1977)
© David Hockney
And did he like the Piero painting?
Oh yes, you could not not like it, could you? Anybody who constructs pictures at all is going to love it because it's a fantastic construction.
Yes, there’s a real sense of monumentality.
And the red, white and blue is marvellous isn’t it? The grey.
I've also always aimed in my figurative pictures for that sort of clarity. There was a reproduction of Fra Angelico’s The Annunciation in a corridor at Bradford Grammar School which I’ve known since I was 11. And I always thought it was the best picture they had there.
‘I’m also attracted to the clarity in Piero’s Baptism. Everything is seen: no dark shadows covering things up.
Hockney included The Baptism of Christ in The Artist‘s Eye, an exhibition he curated at London‘s National Gallery in 1981. For the poster promoting the show,, he remade Looking at Pictures on a Screen—inserting himself in curator Henry Geldzahler’s place
The National Gallery Archive © David Hockney. Photo: The National Gallery, London
Indeed! I remember you used in your Artist’s Eye exhibition catalogue a quote from George Herbert’s poem Elixir about how we tend to see things through a glass darkly but with inspiration or illumination, we get to see things properly. This idea of clarity of vision has fascinated you—that if we get beyond the surface of things, we can hope to reach a clearer understanding of the truth about something.
A man that looks on glass…
[David Hockney joins in with Susanna Avery-Quash and they recite together]
A man that looks on glasse,
On it may stay his eye;
Or if he pleaseth, through it passe,
And then the heav'n espie.
I always liked that. That was a hymn we used to sing at Bradford Grammar School.
Its message is definitely appropriate for an artist in the making!
And I always thought it was a marvellous hymn because it began in such an unusual way.
Well, it's your motto, isn't it? Really close, deep, sustained looking. And then, more looking!
Piero’s Baptism is very, very, beautiful. And how old is it now? Five hundred…
Yes, 600 years old. It was painted probably about the 1440s. And it still speaks to us.
Yes, it does!
It's gone with you throughout your life, as a friend.
Yes, I've never fallen out with it. Never.
No, it's never fallen out with you. Because it feels as though the centuries since it was made have concertinaed up into nothing, and that your relationship with Piero is fresh and alive.
I remember thinking when I first came in the National Gallery, this was one of their great gems. All the pictures are good. But this one was a real gem. I've always remembered it. I could draw it without looking up: the tree trunk, and the shadow you see on it is just subtle. All the shadows are very subtle, aren't they?
Well, Piero’s wonderful Baptism is going to feature in the National Gallery’s bicentenary exhibition, Hockney and Piero: A Longer Look, in August 2024. We’re going to put the Piero in the centre, with your painting My Parents on one side of it and with your painting Looking at Pictures on a Screen on the other. Because then we’ll have created the most amazing kind of triptych.
Do you know, I did another version [of My Parents]? In the National Portrait Gallery exhibition [in 2023], they had the other version of my painting.
Your Parents with you, yes, or, to use its title, My Parents and Me.
Of “me” because I was looking in the mirror. But in the one that you'll have, Piero’s Baptism is reflected in the mirror.
Exactly. The substitution of Piero’s Baptism for your likeness in the later painting underscores the deep bond you feel with Piero and the connections between his art and yours. Your two paintings, My Parents and Looking at Pictures on a Screen, witness to your lifelong relationship with Piero because in both you reproduced his Baptism.
And they have a bit of Fra Angelico too with the…
…with the drape you also see in the mirror, exactly.
Yes, I put the drape in My Parents.
Well, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts about Piero’s Baptism. It really means a huge amount to me that we could have this lovely chat about our favourite painting.