--“Winter Timber” by David Hockney, oil on 15 canvases, 9’ x 20’
Spiting Hockney’s TotemThey came in the night
while he was abroad.
It was Friday. They attacked
with spray paint
bloody red, anticipating
their chainsaw violence.
Two hours it must have taken,
hacking and chucking the chunks
artlessly about.
Not for firewood,
Hockney’s friends surmised.
Years before, they’d saved the stump
at his request.
It was famous now,
preserved on canvas, throbbing purple;
father to glowing gold timber
waiting at the side of the drove,
purposeful, like the blue woods,
art, or friendship.
The first thing Hockney did
when he arrived home
from the plaudits of Cologne
was to visit the butchery.
“Unbelievably mean-spirited,”
he said. His totem gone,
all he could do was draw.
"That's how I react," he muttered,
as soft, feathered grey
and finality black
spread over his page.
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