Judith Flanders [Times Literary Supplement, 25 October 2006]

There are three David Hockneys, I think, and only one of them matters. The first one, and the least important, although the most intrusive, is the public, much-photographed David Hockney – the 1960s owlishly bespectacled mop-top turned twenty-first-century curmudgeon, the one who writes letters to the newspapers about smokers’ freedoms and what the modern world is coming to.