The Art of Seeing (Too Much)

Or how I had one of the greatest emotional payoffs of my life at the David Hockney exhibition in Paris

I love a good story. Always have. But these days, as I become more aware of how limited our time here really is, I’ve grown more protective of what I give my attention to. I don’t go chasing novelty the way I used to. If I want to feel something — reliably — I turn to a handful of things that never disappoint. Netflix and chill — and I’m almost not joking.

One of them is BoJack Horseman, arguably one of the most well-written shows in the history of television. And the other? A good gallery day in Paris — when the right artist, the right city, and the right moment collide. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, those things blur. And that’s exactly what happened the day I walked into the David Hockney retrospective at the Fondation Louis Vuitton.

BoJack, Hockney, and the Painting I Already Knew

BoJack fans will know the shot — a horse in a red blazer stares into a pool while another horse swims below the surface. It’s a visual that appears within minutes of the very first episode. For most viewers, it’s just the mood. For the art-literate, it’s a reference. But for me, standing in front of the real thing in Paris, it was a revelation.

That painting is David Hockney’s Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures). Acrylic on canvas. Seven by ten feet. Made in 1972, in a haze of heartbreak, retreat, and obsession. The swimmer: anonymous. The watcher: Hockney’s former lover, Peter Schlesinger. No one moves. Nothing connects. It’s a dark night of the soul beaming in sunlight.

I know the feeling. And it’s not entirely one of a severed romantic connection. The painting is called Portrait of an Artist, and since I became an artist myself — not anything big, just one small exhibition — I still know how it feels to be disconnected not only from love but from yourself. When you don’t hear your other side, the one that’s crying while the artist is creating.

I too had my fair share of breakups. But this wasn’t just about heartbreak. It was about being split from the version of myself that once felt whole.

Pools, Los Angeles, and the Loneliness of Looking

Hockney first visited California in 1964 and became obsessed — with swimming pools, with male beauty, with light. His paintings from that time glowed with surface pleasure, but they were never shallow. Pools became a recurring motif, not for their glamour, but for what they conceal: desire, disconnection, voyeurism. The quiet sadness of watching someone you can’t reach.

When I saw that image on BoJack’s wall years ago, I didn’t have the full story. I just knew it meant something. Seeing it in Paris, being overwhelmed by the waterfall of vivid colors and discovering its story — dozens of photographs behind it, trial and error, the obsession — it all clicked into place. Art imitates art, and there’s always room for exploration. A million hidden layers, and a million more overlooked.

What else have I missed?

Hockney in Paris: Where the Meaning Unfolds

The exhibition showcases the artist’s career — but mostly the last 25 years of his prolific creation, from the sunny voyeurism of the L.A. pools to the soft grief of the English countryside.

Of course, Hockney in Paris is nothing new. He’s exhibited here almost a dozen times since 1999: from Centre Pompidou to Galerie Lelong, from flower studies to digital iPad landscapes of Normandy. But the 2025 retrospective, David Hockney 25 at Fondation Louis Vuitton, is something else entirely. Over 400 pieces across seven decades. The largest ever shown in France.

Until recently, I was not a huge fan of pop art — and even though Hockney doesn’t conform 100% to the movement, you can still see its influence, especially in the almost fluorescent, exceptionally bright palette. I always loved something darker: German Expressionists and Surrealists were always in the front.

But this time, in front of the painting, I felt this oxymoron — and fell in love with the colors. (Probably too much — don’t judge me.)

Things Get Overlooked — And That’s Why We Need Help Seeing

Art doesn’t come with subtitles. Neither does life. If you don’t know what to look for, you miss it. The meaning is there — but it’s not always obvious.

BoJack knew the painting meant something — it meant a lot. It’s a metaphor of eternal separation: with every step we take, we cut something off. And sometimes, one is never meant to find the missing piece.

And on that thought, after standing near the painting for ten minutes — I cried.

The Payoff

So yes — I had a full-circle moment at a Hockney show in Paris.

But more than that, I was reminded why context is everything, and why great art doesn’t just sit in galleries or hang on cartoon walls — it lives inside you, if you let it.

You can scroll past a thousand paintings. You can binge a show and miss the masterpiece right in front of you. Or… you can let someone show you what you’ve been looking at all along — and finally, really see it.

Want to see Paris (and yourself) a little differently?

We’re not saying we’ll make you cry in front of a painting. But we might.

Explore David Hockney on a Private Tour of Louis Vuitton Foundation. Learn why the pool is never just a pool. And the artist?

Let’s find out!