A Jackson Pollock painting is an explosion – an explosion of life forever captured in its most chaotic state. The seeping lines of paint pulsate and veer across space. Drips here and splatters there. Soft white puddles are pierced by jagged slashes of black, multiplied many times over. His work captures the exactness of his action. Each splash of paint is the literal representation of the physics of gravity meeting the artistic choices of Pollock. The result is the creation of abstract expressionist action painting. The result is a gift from the gods of art.
The first Pollock I ever saw in person was One: Number 31 at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan. I stood dwarfed by its colossal majesty. Over eight feet tall. Over seventeen feet long. Over-lapping grooves of enamel paint adorn the mammoth canvas. It is void of form. Pools of tints, dotted with grays, and sliced by black. The drips of white reach out and split into different directions and remind me of the diagrams of the nervous system from biology class, controlling all actions voluntary and involuntary.
His paintings captivate me. They are as violent as eruptions of suns. Or, they are as tranquil as waves in a bay. I see joy, saddled with despair. Exuberance with depression. Open-mouthed smiles and hidden tears. I see life. Ebullient life. Chaotic life. The paintings appear like flashes without anyone direction holding order, without any commentary or message. Just expression. They inspire me to create, not destroy. Out of chaos can come beautiful art that shines with precision and order. Chaos doesn’t have to be all bad. But Pollock disagrees with me.
“No chaos, Damn it,” His famous response to an art critic who used the term chaos to describe One: Number 31. Pollock defends that he is in control of each drop of paint, each launch of bucket’s contents across the canvas stretched out on the floor. That he makes artistic choices the same as any other painter does, as he walks around and on his work. Attacking it from every angle.
There is an automatism present in his work. He taps into his subconscious. He paints first and thinks second. Pollock believes in the artistic embrace of the accidental as a way to bypass the conscious mind. He once said, “When I am in my painting, I’m not aware of what I’m doing. It is only after a sort of ‘get acquainted’ period that I see what I have been about.” That sounds pretty chaotic to me.
My Bloody Valentine, "In Another Way," MBV, 2013
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