Born in the fifth-class carriage of a trans-Siberian train, Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993) ascended his humble origins by defecting to the West at the height of the Cold War in 1961, despite the KGB efforts to stop him, and became celebrated as the most famous dancer in the world. Nureyev joined the Royal Ballet Company in 1962 where his artistic skills provided a new role for the male ballet dancer, who had previously served mainly as a support to the ballerinas. Particularly known for his explosively powerful jumps, the grace and beauty of his fast turns, and for his revolutionary partnership with the ballerina Margot Fonteyn, Nureyev performed regularly with the Royal Ballet until he joined the Paris Opera Ballet in the 1980’s. His meteoric rise to the status of global cultural phenomenon played out like the sweeping plot of a classic Russian novel and with similar tragedy, Nureyev (a closeted homosexual) tested positive for HIV in 1984 before later dying of AIDS in Paris.
'For me, purity of movement wasn’t enough. I need expression, more intensity, more mind' —Rudolf NureyevA perhaps more grandiose story arc than David Hockney’s own escape from Yorkshire to California as a young, gay man seeking freedom from the criminalisation of homosexuality, but nonetheless Nureyev’s triumphant ‘leap to freedom’ resonated with the artist. Hockney first met Rudolf Nureyev in the early 1970’s when Lindy Dufferin persuaded Sir Frederick Ashton to allow her and Hockney to draw the Royal Ballet in rehearsal. Compelled by the movement of the dancer’s body, Hockney produced multiple sketches of Nureyev rehearsing and in 1978 was inspired to collaborate with Nureyev on the Parade ballet to be staged at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York. Hockney was to produce the set designs and Nureyev the choreography, although Hockney ultimately sacked Nureyev from this project saying, “Well, Rudi, it’s obvious that we are not going to be able to work together, so I’m afraid it’s all finished.” The collision of two charismatic and eccentric artists yielded a surprisingly peaceful pen and ink drawing of Nureyev seated after a rehearsal. Hockney’s sparsity of line captures a rare moment of stillness in a figure known for his expressive movement, yet the fierce intensity of his gaze belies a subject perhaps not content in tranquillity.
'I never talk when I’m drawing a person, especially if I am making line drawings. I prefer there to be no noise at all so I can concentrate more' —David Hockney
Despite the seemingly effortless elegance of Hockney’s drawing, the difficulty in defining a pose and likes through outline alone, without tonal washes or shading, should not be underestimated. As Hockney himself noted, “I never talk when I’m drawing a person, especially if I am making line drawings. I prefer there to be no noise at all so I can concentrate more. You can’t make a line too slowly, you have to go at a certain speed; so the concentration needed is quite strong. It’s very tiring as well. If you make two or three line drawings, it’s very tiring in the head because you have to do it all at one go, something you’ve no need to do with pencil drawing; that doesn’t have to be done in one go; you can’t stop, you can rub out. With line drawings you don’t want to do that. You can’t rub out line, mustn’t do it. It’s exciting doing it, and I think it’s harder than anything else; so when they succeed, they’re much better drawings often. The failure rate amongst my line drawings is still high; I’m always tearing them up and putting crossed through them, because you can’t touch them. If you draw the leg all wrong, you just have to throw it away.”
