DAVID HOCKNEY: A self-portrait without a face

This Vanity Fair from 1983 dropped into my mailbox. Every month or so, I treat myself to a little gift: a classic magazine found on eBay.

It’s one of my all-time favorite covers. It makes me smile every time I see it. Recognize those socks? It’s a David Hockney self-portrait. A self-portrait where you never see his face. Instead, he gives us a view from his own eyes: legs, mismatched socks, water below. It’s a masterclass in saying more by showing less.

At first glance, it’s playful, socks instead of a face. His choice says so much about how portraiture can resist the obvious. Hockney reminds us that identity can be expressed through the unexpected, through absence as much as presence. It’s a subtle rebellion against how artists, and celebs, are supposed to show themselves.

And perhaps that’s the most Hockney thing about it. He spent a lifetime challenging the way we look at images, so why would he settle for a conventional portrait? No face. No pose. No attempt to look important. Just mismatched socks above the water. Somehow, it feels more personal than a thousand celebrity close-ups.

What I love most is the confidence behind it. Hockney didn’t need a face to be recognized. It's a reminder that the best covers don't explain themselves. They trust you to look.

David Hockney passed away last week at 88. No more new