Hockney Schlesinger Boman

Hockney's 'Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures)' recently sold for $90.3m and became the most expensive artwork ever by a living artist, easily beating the previous record of $58.4m for a Jeff Koons' 'Balloon Dog' sculpture. The painting depicts Peter Schlesinger looking at an underwater swimmer (his new boyfriend?) and was painted by a sad Hockney after his break-up with Schlesinger. It's said that Hockney wanted to convey his pain at Schlesinger's search for a new lover. 

Interestingly, shortly after this painting was finished, Schlesinger hooked up with new lover Eric Boman. Even more interestingly, I remember Boman as a student at the Royal College of Art. When he sauntered into the canteen at lunchtime, dozens of swooning girls (and a few lads) would murmur "By 'eck, he's gorgeous!", and indeed he was (and still is, judging by recent photos). But, to the ladies' disappointment he was gay and rumoured to be part of the Hockney set (thereby causing mass slitting of wrists and suicidal leaping out of canteen windows - the canteen was on the ground floor - by some of the girls, and mass holding in of beerguts while preening in front of mirrors by some of the chaps). 

After leaving the RCA, Boman achieved fame as a Vogue photographer, despite a common belief that he was pretty enough to be in front of the camera rather than behind it. Having researched this painting I've discovered that it features a south of France pool, not a Californian one. Also, Schlesinger (in pink jacket) wasn't there - his pose photo was taken in Kensington Gardens. And the swimmer was actually John St. Clair (who hurt his head on the bottom of the pool when diving in so Hockney could photograph him underwater) not Boman (though Boman may well be the person Hockney was depicting). And Schlesinger and Boman are still together living in New York about 40-odd years later. I wonder if Hockney still sees them.

Misty morning

I remember when I first arrived in our little village I was immediately hooked on the view out front. Despite the cloudy drizzle (I think it was around September '04) I could just make out the distant horizon across the valley. I've been looking at that view for about fourteen years now. It's changed a bit. Some trees have gone and others have been planted. Brush and scrub have been cleared and new fields claimed. And, of course, the view changes with seasons. But the main change is the lighting. Sometimes bright, sometimes dull, sometimes clear, sometimes misty. Take this morning for example. Sunny and misty. Very Turneresque. The view constantly changed as the mists rolled about and the sun rose higher. Enthralling. I think that's the right word.

Migrating cranes

It's around this time of year that hundreds (nay, probably thousands) of cranes (called 'grue' in France, or maybe 'grues' - dunneau for sure) fly south from somewhere around Finland (and/or Russia, Sweden, Germany and other chilly northern places) and head towards the warmer climes of countries such as Spain and north Africa (apparently Algeria is a popular spot) where they spend the winter months. One of their favoured routes is a sort of diagonal line (north-east to south-west) over France, which, of course, means they fly directly over our neck of the woods.

Knowing that thousands of these birdies are likely to be flying overhead at any given moment, means that one is constantly looking skywards in the hope of spotting a gang of feathered travellers other than the usual crows, magpies, sparrows or hawks. This usually results in a stiff neck and/or an unfortunate treading in a cowpat or a pile of dog poo. But..., if one is lucky enough to be in the presence of these migrating oiseaux, one may be unlucky enough to have one's vision impaired by bleedin' clouds. In a circumstance such as that, one will merely be able to hear the flock (or is it a gaggle of grues?) as it passes unseen overhead due to their excited chattering as they trundle onwards. Loud chattering. Non stop chattering while fluttering.

A few weeks back, when Don was here, we heard a chattering in the sky and, sure enough, a gang of grue (or should that be grues?) eventually appeared. Marvellous sight. Time stood still. So did I. Which, of course, meant that I didn't manage to grab my camera in time to take a few snaps.

However, a couple of days ago, another distant chattering way off in the east signalling the possible arrival of another gang of grue. Luckily the sky was fairly clear. Grabbed my camera in the hope of getting some snaps. They flew almost directly overhead. Absolutely fabbeau. Then they were gone.

(Click on pics to enlarge.)