Grief - it can hit you in the most unexpected ways.

My Dad died over three years ago.

Yesterday as soon as I heard the news about the death of the great British artist David Hockney, I was crying my eyes out.

I felt like I was experiencing his death as rawly as my Dad’s.

But what I realised was that there was a deep connection between them in my mind.

Both had Yorkshire roots (my Dad’s ancestors were from there) and both loved art and creating.

My Dad was an accountant by trade but he painted and drew all his life and especially when he could no longer garden when MSA (a rare form of Parkinson’s) robbed him of his mobility.

Art became his salvo, his means of expression and a way to channel his emotions. You can see it in the choice of medium and the topics he chose to draw.

His last paintings were of trees - sturdy and enduring. Like he was trying to embody their strength and stature.

David too was creating right up until his end - vibrant scenes and trees.

Images below were taken at a Hockney show I went to in Manchester last January (I cried too after I’d been to that) - it was awesome!