Bruce Fessier

The Desert Sun

Like millions of others, I followed the first season of HBO’s “Westworld” with a passion. Its late producer, Jerry Weintraub, told me I was going to love it three years ago, but I had no idea it would be such a fascinating exploration of the birth of consciousness.

So, when I was told its star, Sir Anthony Hopkins, wanted to talk to me about his art exhibition opening this week at Desert Art Collection, 45350 San Luis Rey Ave. in Palm Desert, I said, “Any time.”

His publicist said the exhibition, titled "Dreamscapes," is loosely tied to the Palm Springs International Film Festival, but there’s no indication he’ll attend the festival. A Collector’s Preview is from 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Thursday. It's also open for viewing from 4 to 8 p.m. Friday as part of the El Paseo Art Walk. But there’s no indication the Welsh actor will attend those, either. He’s planning to see the show sometime during its run through Jan. 27, but quietly, so he won't be mobbed by fans of “Westworld” or his movies, such as “The Remains of the Day,” “Nixon” and “The Silence of the Lambs,” for which he won a Best Actor Oscar.

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Calling this man enigmatic is like saying Kanye West exaggerates a little. An acknowledged renaissance man, he’s written, directed, produced and composed music for films. He’s also composed for ensembles such as the Dallas Symphony Orchestra. In his drinking days, before 1975, there are stories of him forgetting lines on stage and improvising better ones.

His art is literally brilliant. He paints in vibrant colors with identifiable forms, but they lie somewhere between abstract and representational. He has painted a self-portrait that looks nothing like him. Desert Art Collection director Jana Korocyznski can’t cite the influences of his work but says he focuses on his subjects’ eyes because he believes they’re windows to the soul – or whatever is inside our physical vessels.

The interview was supposed to be about his art. He’s had exhibitions at major galleries and the company formed by his wife, Margam Fine Art, has turned his avocation into a business. But Hopkins, 79, is fascinated by the concept of consciousness, which made it all the more compelling for me to find a way to talk to him about “Westworld.” He plays a scientist who sews the seeds of humanity in robots in an amusement park. There's a correlation between that character and this artist.

Fortunately, Hopkins isn't likely to stick to one subject, or even to sit in one place for an interview.

Hopkins spoke via cell phone on a drive back to his Malibu home on a brisk, stormy day. Halfway through the drive, he became philosophical, and the conversation transitioned into the meaning of “Westworld.”

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But then he decided to get out of his car and walk along the beach as winds blew in his face and played havoc with the cell phone reception. Some of his deepest, most meaningful thoughts were blown in the wind. The talk was still fascinating. At least, I hope you’ll think so from what I was able to record:

Desert Sun:I got to see your art and it’s really quite good. I especially liked the one titled “Princepessa.” What does that mean?

Hopkins: I don’t name them. We have a guy in retail, Aaron Tucker, who is the genius behind Margam Fine Art. He gets the galleries and all that. My wife, Stella – she’s the boss – assigned him to put names to them. I just go into the studio and paint and they choose them and frame them. I don’t go into the business side of it.

So, you’re not inspired by a name or one doesn’t pop into your head?

No. Just to give you a brief background, my wife encouraged me to paint about 13 of 14 years ago, just before we got married. She found some artwork of mine. I said, ‘I can’t paint’ and she said, 'Who said you can’t?' One day, a friend of mine, Stan Winston, the artist who designed "Jurassic Park" – a bona fide artist – came over to the house. He went in to use the bathroom and saw all these paintings hanging on the wall. He said, 'Who did these?' I pulled one of those self-deprecating faces and said, 'I did.' He said, 'Why are you putting on a face like that?' I said, 'Well, I’ve never had any training.' He said, 'Don’t train. You’re a painter. Don’t worry about all the other geometric functioning formality. Just paint.' And that’s what I do. I’m a bit cynical about myself. It’s the same with acting and music. It’s just doing a job, isn’t it?

A lot of artists feel they need some sort of validation before they can call themselves an artist. Do you feel more comfortable being called that now?

It’s a great surprise. I’m surprised I’m still around and still working as an actor. I’m always surprised by everything.

I read in Wikipedia – which means it's not necessarily true – that your high school days were “unproductive” and you preferred to indulge in art, such as painting or playing the piano, than your studies. Then, in 1949, your parents sent you to the Jones West Monmouth School in Pontipool. Is that accurate?

No. It’s not accurate at all. I was fairly stupid in school. Maybe I had dyslexia. I couldn’t understand what everybody was talking about. I was an unruly little kid. I didn’t know what I was doing most of the time. They put me in the boarding school because they didn’t know what else to do with me. So, my school history was poor and I think that breeds in any child a lot of anger and loneliness. So I said, 'Screw it. I’ll become an actor and be successful in life.' But that attitude has stayed with me all my life. I’m happily grateful I’ve survived all these years.

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Did you like to paint and draw as a kid? Was that a passion?

No. I drew a little like any kid does in coloring books. I tried to play piano. I practiced, but I was never a natural talent. I started composing at an early age and I started writing poetry. Michael Seal of the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra performed one of my pieces. It was a big concert.

Let’s talk about your painting. You obviously have a love of color, but “The Hopkins Family” is different from the rest in that the brown is dominant. Is that family your parents, you and a pet?

My wife called it that. When I was a child we had a cat. My mother and father and myself. I loved cats. Did you see the one with the elephant?

Yes, with the trunk up.

Yes. Those were all childhood things. I remember my grandfather took me to the circus, so I drew elephants. I didn’t have the structural expertise, so they’re primitive animals, primitive people, primitive representations. I colored them wildly because it reminds me of a part of my life.

And your self-portrait isn’t representational. So, how did you interpret that as being you?

I didn’t. My wife called it that.

And you said, 'OK, it kind of looks like me'?

No. I don’t think of anything. I think I’m being indulgent with the kids stuff, but I don’t analyze things. My old dyslexia, or whatever it was, it disempowered my brain from analyzing. It’s the same with acting. I don’t waste time talking the politics of what I do. I’m inconsistent and my inconsistency has been my best friend in my life. I’m not to be trusted.

I have a son who is dyslexic and, when he was going off to study animation at Cal Arts, we took him to an eye doctor who said, 'Don’t worry about it. Half the students at Cal Arts have some form of dyslexia, which is probably responsible for the way they look at things.'

Like Asperger’s Syndrome?

I wouldn’t compare it to that. I think it’s just a different way of seeing.

Well, I’ve been diagnosed with Asperger’s, but I’m high end. A lot of people with Asperger’s are highly functional, but inconsistent. They have nervous ticks, nervous habits, inconsistently obsessive thinking. Some neurological people don’t agree, but my wife was trying to figure out who she was married to and she read a newsletter from a psychotherapist. He said, 'You should see some of my patients.' He put it back on the map that Asperger’s people tend to be creative or severely handicapped. I don’t know if that’s true of me, but I know I can never be restful. I tend to multi-task. I decide I’m not going to paint and then I’ll spend 24 hours painting.

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Did you realize early that your brain just worked in a way that was more conducive to acting and art than perhaps business?

Yes, I think so. I didn’t know Asperger’s even existed. But, I became an actor with a rather worker’s approach to it. My father was a baker. But, I was never sure what the hell I was. That led to years of deep insecurity and curiosity. I could never settle anywhere. I was troubled and caused trouble, especially in my early years. I matured a bit, so I’m at much more peace with myself. But I still have that big question mark in my brain. Am I supposed to being doing this? But I’m going to be 79, so I guess I’ve done what I’m supposed to have done. I don’t think there’s any meaning in life.

You’ve had so much acclaim as an actor.

Yeah. And I don’t believe one word of it.

Really. Is that a defense mechanism?

I guess so. It’s a shut-off in my brain. When they say nice things to me, I look over my shoulder and say, “What are they talking about?” I met (inspirational speaker) Tony Robbins once. We went down to Fiji. He said to me, 'Never put yourself down because then people will put you down. If you feel like a fraud, be the biggest fraud in the business. Be a successful fraud.' And I like that.

I understand that. I feel that way myself sometimes.

Every human being does, I think. If we didn’t, we’d all be bland robots.

It’s interesting you bring that up after “Westworld.” I must ask you about that. Your character is so layered and mysterious. You had to keep so much hidden. Was that a challenge for you?

Not at all, really. There were some great writers, but I didn’t know what the hell the piece was about because I couldn’t read all the episodes. In fact, I had no idea who I was really playing. I’d watch some of the episodes and then there’d be Twitters, or whatever you call them, saying, 'Hopkins is playing an evil man.' I didn’t feel like I was playing an evil man. Then, at the end, I find out I wasn’t evil at all. I was playing a good man. I didn’t have a clue. I go into projects like that, I have ideas, but I don’t analyze them. I think what I have is a very deeply powerful instinct… Hold on. I’m going to get out of the car now. I’m at the beach... Can you hear me now?

(Sounds of wind blowing heavily) Yes, I can hear you.

So, I know things and I think whatever it is, it comes from a deep sense of knowing stuff. I do it from an intuitive level… (garble.) I’m going to do “King Lear” for BBC next year. I have an interpretation for it which breaks all the rules at the very beginning of the film, the first scenes. I’ve seen a number of great actors play Lear, but I’ve got a way of playing the opening scene (garble)… very cataclysmic opening scene in a completely different way, which has its own strange logic… The tragedy is not his stubbornness, but old age. I get these ideas and I build them. I don’t want to go on about acting, but, as for “Westworld,” I knew enough (garble). I grasped the general theme and I go to my own part and I dig deep into the fabric of the lines, of the text. My job is to go under the lines. Just one word can give a message to the audience of the intent of the character. I should know how to stress a sentence or a word, something that will alarm or alert the storyline the audience is following (garble). I’m pulled in that direction.

The same with painting. I have an idea that it’s an expression of my human consciousness. I don’t know, but it seems to be covered in foliage and leaves and trees and, out of that comes, in the eye (garble), the dawning of consciousness, which I’ve always been fascinated by, ever since I was a little boy. Even before I could intellectualize anything as a little kid, I’d stand on the corner of a street and I’d look across the street, and I couldn’t verbalize. I was stunned at the age of 5 by my own being. It was a very powerful presence in my mind (garble). I remember being taken by my aunt to Margam Woods, based on the place I was born in. Margam Woods (garble) a beautiful forest of ancient trees (garble) all torn down since then. I remember going there in spring. I sprained my ankle. My Aunt Lorna picked bluebell flowers. I had never seen such blue. I had never seen anything like it among green trees and the meadow. I remember I couldn’t get enough of it. I was thirsty. I think it was the beginning of consciousness. The miracle of human consciousness. The miracle of my own consciousness. And, I wanted to keep going. This is boring, I know.

No, no. I’ve thought a lot about that myself. The idea of Adam and Eve being kicked out of Eden I think represents the beginning of consciousness.

Yes.

So, “Westworld” must have really appealed to you on that level.

Yes.

One last question about “Westworld.” Are you contracted to come back next year?

Oh, I’ve got to be secretive about that. I don’t know. I haven’t heard at all. I just live for today (long garble). I’m standing on the beach in Malibu and it’s very windy. But it’s so beautiful.

My last question about your art is your fascination with eyes. I understand you’re attracted to eyes because they’re windows to the soul. When you do your art, is that where you start?

No. I paint the whole background and then the shape of the face and then the eyes. But, I think when I was a kid I learned this point of view which I’ve read about in philosophy, theological philosophy. When I was a kid, I used to wonder, what is inside looking out? What could be inside? I couldn’t put the words together (garble). I was a little boy (garble). But, I’d look in my own eyes and think, who is looking out of this? And, what is that that is out there? Am I it?

You’re cutting out.

I just look out at the world and I think, who is that in me looking out? I suppose it’s, well, in that episode of “Westworld” in the very end, when they’re looking at (garble).

Don’t let me lose you here.

When I say to (garble) basically consciousness. Michaelangelo’s God giving life to Adam (garble) deutorologist (garble) in plain site (garble) in the cloak. God is pointing, saying the higher power is not up there, it’s here. In us. And I wonder if that’s what is (garble) whatever we interpret the divine being to be (garble). If what is in us, is us? I think that’s what I try to express in my paintings. We’re all one.