So sad that's he gone. He was so joyously full of life and ideas that would have kept him busy had he lived to be 150. I'll own up to not having hugely enjoyed his Serpentine exhibition - heavens, it was thronged when I went, what will it be like now? - mostly because it was just one long Insta-opportunity for the tiresome posers whose only response to art or anything else is I Woz Here. But how I remember the sheer'wow' of walking into his 2012 exhibition at the Royal Academy and the exuberance of his Arrival of Spring as we emerged from lockdown. I visited the Serpentine on a glorious spring day and remember wondering how many more springtimes Hockney had left, and wishing him still a few more. I've just happened upon this rather sniffy comment in the Guardian: 'Nor can this artist escape his own vernal temperament, which infuses even shedding trees with that slightly chill impression of possibility that presages spring.' But how joyfully optimistic to have a vernal temperament and always to see the coming of another spring ...