I'm a very early riser, and I don't like to miss that beautiful

The artist David Hockney once said, “I’m a very early riser, and I don’t like to miss that beautiful early morning light.” At first glance, these words speak simply of a habit, but beneath them lies a philosophy as old as time itself. For in the first light of dawn, there is more than beauty—there is renewal, clarity, and vision. The morning light has long been a symbol of beginnings, a sacred hour when the world is fresh, when shadows retreat, and when the soul is most open to wonder. Hockney, a painter of color and life, understood that the early hours carry a truth that cannot be captured once they are gone.

The ancients revered this light. In Greece, Eos, the goddess of dawn, was celebrated for opening the gates of heaven so that Helios might drive the sun across the sky. In Egypt, the rising of Ra brought not just day but the order of the cosmos, pushing back the chaos of night. To awaken early was to greet the gods themselves, to partake in the sacred unveiling of the world. Hockney’s delight in rising early and basking in the morning glow stands within this lineage of reverence. He reminds us that dawn is not merely a time, but an invitation—a call to awaken not just the body, but the spirit.

The artist’s eye sees what others overlook. For Hockney, the morning light was not just illumination, but a living palette—soft, fragile, fleeting. He knew that each dawn offers a vision that exists only once, never to be repeated in quite the same way. Just as Heraclitus taught that we never step into the same river twice, so too we never see the same dawn twice. By rising early, Hockney positioned himself as a witness to the eternal flow of creation, seizing moments of inspiration that those who sleep late will never know.

History is filled with those who drew strength and insight from the dawn. Benjamin Franklin, who shaped a nation with his wisdom, famously taught that early rising brought health, wealth, and wisdom. Soldiers in every age have been called to readiness at first light, for dawn is the time when vigilance matters most. And poets, from Homer to Rumi, have sung of the beauty of morning as the hour when truth whispers clearest. It is in this spirit that Hockney, too, declared his devotion to the early morning light, for he knew it nourished not only his art but his soul.

The emotional power of his words is found in their quiet simplicity. He does not speak of grand victories or mighty deeds, but of a daily practice, humble and profound: to wake, to witness, to delight in the gift of light. This is the wisdom of the ages—that greatness is often born not from rare flashes of genius, but from steady devotion to life’s rhythms. The morning is not only the painter’s muse, but the warrior’s preparation, the scholar’s focus, the seeker’s prayer. To embrace the morning is to live attuned to the pulse of creation itself.

For the seeker of wisdom, the lesson is clear: do not waste the dawn. Each morning is a new canvas, painted in colors that will vanish within the hour. To rise late is to miss the chance to meet the world at its most honest, when the dew still clings to the grass and the air is filled with beginnings. Make a habit of rising early, even if only sometimes, and let the light teach you patience, attentiveness, and gratitude. The morning light is a teacher, if only you are awake to receive it.

What then must we do? Rise with purpose. Let the first light of day be a moment of stillness, reflection, or creation. Walk outside, breathe the cool air, and give thanks for another chance to begin. Let artists sketch, writers write, workers prepare, seekers pray. Whatever your path, use the morning to plant seeds that the rest of the day may grow. And when evening comes, you will know you have not let the most sacred part of the day slip away unseen.

Thus, David Hockney’s words echo with ancient truth: do not miss the morning light. For it is more than beauty—it is renewal, inspiration, and the eternal reminder that every day, like every dawn, is a gift both fragile and powerful. To greet the light is to greet life itself, and to honor the mystery that grants us one more day to live, to labor, and to love.