“You have to be inventive, always,” says David Hockney at the opening night of his new show, “Some Very, Very, Very New Paintings Not Yet Shown in Paris”, which is full of bright, dynamic works that belie the energy of an 88-year-old man in a wheelchair. The grand old master is explaining how he painted the tops of the large canvases while sitting down. “I turn them on their side. There is always a way. It is what imagination is about,” he says, with a twinkle in his eye.
In a brand new tweed suit specially made for the occasion, he is escorted by his great-nephew, Richard, also newly tweed-suited, who is both a family member and his assistant. “David said he was sick of seeing me in jeans and trainers, so he sent me to the tailor,” he says. Of course, the peroxide-haired and silver-tongued Hockney has always been a bit of a dandy.
