Review: Hockney’s Eye at the Fitzwilliam Museum

As someone who has never quite been able to ‘get’ modern art, a Hockney exhibition would hardly be my first choice of Sunday afternoon activity. To describe Hockney’s Eye: The Art and Technology of Depiction as a ‘Hockney exhibition’ is, however, to sell it short. Although Hockney’s works are certainly integral to the exhibition, adding a very spring-like pop of colour, it is the theory presented by Hockney in his book, ‘Secret Knowledge: Rediscovering the Lost Techniques of the Old Masters’ that provides the focal point. 

The most radical element of this theory is the proposal that French neoclassical painter Ingres used a camera lucida to aid his delicate sketches, and it is to this theory that the Fitzwilliam’s Shiba gallery is dedicated. Hockney argues his point by comparing the lines to those of Warhol, known for his traced drawings, and Canaletto amongst other Old Masters known to have used camera obscura and other drawing aids. It is this which fluidly ties together the works which are on display, despite the vast range of styles and periods covered as they range from Warhol and Monet to Veneziano. 

The greatest success of this exhibition is that it manages to drag the modern out of the tiny room it has been relegated to in the back corner of the Fitzwilliam and weave it in and among the old masters. For too long art museums have kept to rigid separations of art by period or stylistic era. To the untrained eye (much like mine, I am not too ashamed to admit) artworks in the larger museums can begin to fall into the trap of ‘once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.’ 

Apathy is not a word one often associates with museums, but the uninspiring and sometimes overly technical signage of (typically) the older, permanent collections can certainly alienate the casual museum-goer. ‘Glazed earthenware’ and ‘oil on canvas, 1798’ are hardly the colourful descriptions deserved by the spectacular displays of artistic talent which catch the eye.

It is here that Hockney’s Eye comes into its own. By combining the exhibition with the permanent collection, the Fitzwilliam is given a new lease of life. The two Canalettos which normally reside in the Italian gallery are supplemented not only by some more stunning paintings but also a sign giving new information about the painters and their techniques.

The loss of Sir John Finch in the British Art 16th-18th Century is soothed by its replacement – Hockney’s ‘a man thinking’ – which seems to pair almost naturally with Sir Thomas Baines who remains. And so it follows across the top floor of the museum – the existing collections are enhanced rather than overshadowed or left incomplete by the placement of Hockney’s works. 

As much as the radical layout of this exhibition plays to its message, it certainly does not make for easy viewing. Whichever way you enter (and having gone around twice, each from a different end, I can certainly attest to this), you feel somewhat plunged into the unknown. Much like starting a new sci-fi or fantasy novel, the first couple of rooms you explore feel unfamiliar and like you’ve managed to miss something crucial to the experience. And yet, it appears that is just how the exhibition is intended. 

The first room we came across was labelled Hockney ‘continues’ inside, by which we were stumped until a steward assured us that the exhibition was spread across the entire top floor and that we could carry on from where we were. However, if you stick with it, and I certainly recommend this, the exhibition begins to feel almost like a treasure hunt. 

For every blinding turquoise backing which highlights a Hockney, there is, somewhere, a dark green sign attached to one of the permanent collections hinting at a previously unconsidered relationship and new perspective. As much as this makes for an entertaining and semi-interactive experience, it cannot be avoided that it also means that the exhibition almost requires a second viewing. If you enter from one way, the deconstruction of the use of perspective in Veneziano’s Annunciation painting and Hockney’s Annunciation II comes after a side by side look at Hockney’s take on Hobbema’s ‘The Avenue at Middelharnis’, and so a layer of understanding is lost to the first-time viewer. 

No conclusion to Hockney’s theory is ultimately provided – nor can one be due to a lack of definitive evidence – but what is perhaps most important, as is constantly emphasised by Hockney, is the act of viewing the world through different perspectives.

Feature Image Credit: Zhurakovskyi, Wikimedia Commons via Creative Commons