Artist David Hockney has died. Saddened by the news, I found myself disappearing down the Hockney rabbit hole. Somewhere along the way I heard about David Hockney’s bedside note, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
It was a little handwritten note that he apparently kept by his bed.
It read:
GET UP AND WORK IMMEDIATELY
I smiled when I heard this. No, I actually grinned! Then, over the next few days, I found myself thinking about it again. And again. Not because of what David Hockney’s bedside note said, but because it existed at all.
Why would the great David Hockney need a reminder to get to work?
If anyone seemed born to paint, surely it was Hockney.
Ever since I first encountered his work at an exhibition in Winnipeg, Manitoba in the early 1980s, he has seemed to me like an artist who simply had to make art. I remember looking longingly at one of the etchings at that show and wondering whether I could possibly afford it. I couldn’t. (How I wish I’d stretched my budget!)
Over the years, I’ve watched him move effortlessly—or so it seemed—from one body of work to another. Etchings. Swimming pools. Portraits. Yorkshire landscapes. Photographic collages. iPad drawings, Paintings in Normandy. Whatever caught his curiosity, he threw himself into it with astonishing energy.
Creating art always appeared to be the most natural thing in the world to him.
So why the note?
At first I assumed it was about motivation. Then I thought perhaps it was about protecting the morning. After all, the more successful and famous Hockney became, the more people must have wanted a piece of him. Emails. Phone calls. Interviews. Meetings. Visitors. Correspondence. Invitations. All the things that slowly nibble away at a day before you’ve even noticed.
Perhaps those five words simply meant: Paint first. Everything else can wait.
But the more I sat with it, another thought appeared.
Hockney made the note.
He put it where he would see it every morning. He understood himself well enough to design his life around doing what mattered most.
The note was helping him become himself, day after day.
I wrote recently about the strange contradiction of wanting to paint and yet somehow finding ourselves doing everything except painting. I’ve often wondered why it’s so hard to begin doing the very thing we long to do.
Perhaps David Hockney faced this same resistance.
Or perhaps he simply understood this:
Sometimes the kindest thing we can do for ourselves is to make the decision to paint before the excuses arrive.
And perhaps that’s why his bedside note wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t,
“Your painting is waiting.”
“Show Up”
“Just begin.”
It was a clear command.
GET UP AND WORK IMMEDIATELY
No negotiation.
No discussion.
No “when you feel ready.”
No “after you’ve checked your email.”
There’s something wonderfully decisive about it.
And here’s where it gets really interesting… I don’t think the command is harsh. I think it’s loving. It’s Hockney knowing exactly what Tomorrow Morning David needs to hear. We often think of self-compassion as being gentle. But sometimes the kindest thing we can do for ourselves is remove the opportunity to dither.
The note says,
I’ve already made this decision for you.
It means Morning David doesn’t have a chance to debate. He simply gets on with it.
We tend to think that artists we admire possess an endless well of motivation, unshakeable discipline, some magical, inexhaustible drive that propels them into the studio every day. That they leap out of bed eager to begin. That somehow they have escaped the hesitation the rest of us feel.
But perhaps they haven’t.
Perhaps what separates them isn’t that they never hesitate.
Perhaps it’s that they build their lives in a way that makes beginning more likely.
Perhaps it’s one tiny, ordinary detail – five handwritten words by the bed – that makes action happen.
So what does the existence of David Hockney’s bedside note tell us? I do know that I’ve stopped seeing it as a motivation.
Instead, I see it as an act of self-knowledge. Hockney understood himself well enough to remove the daily debate. Somehow, that feels like a far more useful lesson than simply telling ourselves to “be disciplined.”
Life has a remarkable way of getting in the way of the thing we so care about – making art. Perhaps that’s why David Hockney wrote those five powerful words.
I’m still thinking about them.
Until next time,
~ Gail
PS. David Hockney (9 July 1937–11 June 2026). I’ve pulled out my books on David Hockney to reread. One of my favourites is The Bigger Message written with Martin Gayford. I also really enjoyed Volume 1 of Hockney’s biography. It’s time to purchase Volume 2! But it only goes to 2012 so I’m hoping there will be a final one in the series….
(Note: these are Amazon links – if you purchase with the links, I get a small commission.)
12 thoughts on “David Hockney’s Bedside Note – Why Did He Need It? ”
Lovely, simple tribute and insightful (as always) post, Gail. I was in the middle of reading and savoring A Bigger Message when he passed. It’s so difficult to understand that David Hockney, most definitely a Big Message himself, is with us no longer. He’s always been here. However, he certainly left us with a lot to ponder and work on–immediately!–if we rise and take his cue.
Beth, I totally agree with you about how difficult it is to understand that David Hockney is no longer with us. As you say, he certainly was a Big Message! And how poignant that you were enjoying that book at the time he died. (It’s a fabulous book isn’t it?!)
Let’s take his message to heart!
I did not know this sentence/note by David Hockney, thank you for sharing it Gail!
I also think you nailed it perfectly: the sentence was not supposed to motivate him, it was all about reminding him about priorities… I believe we’ve all been there, we get some self-satisfaction by stating “I will definitively do that…”, but we constantly find some pretext to do something else instead.
Another point you touched: we tend to imagine great artists as someone coming directly from planet Ziklon with divine powers, when in fact we are talking about human beings that somehow found answers, or maybe and more precisely: raised the right questions that allowed them to create beauty.
Thank you again for an inspiring post!
I’m so happy to introduce you to Hockney’s bedside note José! And I chuckled at your idea of the greats coming the planet Ziklon 🤣
Hello Gail- bursting with news since reading your blog from guest artist Tim Blackwell.
I have since made the time and pushed through the rusty hand eye co-ordination to get the drawing done and the self doubt in the brave messy stage to complete 3 paintings 2 pastel paintings already sent in for framing and 1 acrylic collaboration. I have entered them all into a local exhibition. (Still waiting to hear if selected)
Thats not the great news –
Drum roll…I have already selected my next reference photo and have decided on the layout/crop. Obviously I’m hoping to be selected for the exhibition but it dawned on me to have a work in progress so that if I’m not selected that I will be too inspired to lose focus and momentum.
I’ve seen that it is possible to balance family responsibilities and make time at start of the day before energy is drained or end of the day when it’s quiet.
So yes this is something I’ve been mulling over even if it is only 30 mins some days and a glorious 5 or more hours another day, that I need to make an agreement with myself to schedule time or always have a work in progress or 2 on my easels, before another year or two passes and reference photos sit in my folder waiting for me to give them their moment in the sun.
And I don’t think it is strange for seasoned artists to have the same struggles beginners face particularly when they push their limits and try something new, perhaps starting immediately can be to get going before the inner critic wakes up to discourage and disrupt the day.
Thank you Gail for your energising blog.
Ohhhh Melanie, I LOVE hearing your news and I can feel your excitement jumping off the page! You go, girl!! 🤩
And do you know what made me smile the biggest? That you’ve already chosen your next reference photo and planned the crop. You’re wisely thinking beyond this exhibition and keeping your creative momentum alive. I absolutely love that.
Thank you so much for sharing this. Reading your words – and your determination – is truly inspiring. ❤️
This is so profound! Thank you for sharing it. The time I have spent beating myself up because I didn’t make it to painting day after day even though it was the thing I most wanted to do. I just thought I was the problem – that I was fundamentally broken or completely useless. So now I don’t have to think that way – and carry that burden when there are so many others I already carry. ❤️
Awwwww Kerrie. My heart breaks when I read this. And I am moved that this post has given you hope. ❤️
I’ve found that even putting a few scratches of pen or pencil to paper makes me feel better in a streak of days when getting to the easel is difficult.
Thank you for this – it’s perfectly timed for my life. Studio time is precious, and unfortunately I have a lot of encroaching hobbies: dog training and Native American flute and I’m sure something else will come up. But painting/drawing is not a hobby; it’s my full time work since I retired from the necessary career I had. My studio time desperately needs to be protected. Thanks to you and Hockney, I’ll tape those notes anywhere I can see them.
That’s marvellous to hear, Ilana!
The funny thing is, I’ve always thought of you as one of those artists who gets up and heads to the easel, come hell or high water!
Perhaps we all need the reminder from time to time. 😊
Ha! My note would definitely be “Get up and work after breakfast and emails and coffee and dishes and finishing the newsletter and comments on social media and feeding and brushing the cats and laundry and oh by the way grocery store because you’re out of green juice and low on coffee!!” 😂
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Rita you crack me up!! And sheesh, I think that’s what the note reads for most of us!!!