Friday, October 9, 2009

Jackson Pollock


Jackson Pollock
"Lavender Mist: Number 1, 1950"
1950, Oil, enamel, and aluminum on canvas;
221 x 300 cm (7 ft 3 in x 9 ft 10 in);
National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.



I don't know why, but prior to this past week. I hated Jackson Pollock's work. I know, I know- how in the hell could one say such a thing? But note, I said "prior to". I have a new-found appreciation for him and his work.

It wasn't (entirely) about the composition, or the linework, or how thick or thin the paint was; he did it until it FELT done. The creation was an experience- painting just an end result. Judging from this train of thought, creation for him was a very violent and indefinite thing.

Herein comes my new appreciation. Who's to say a piece of art is bullshit because it's non-representational, or simply not your taste? The man may not have been an "artiste'", but he was certainly a creator- a leveler, a "bulldozer". Granted, he's simply slinging paint on the canvas, but the fact he did just that and yet, still makes us feel something is truly remarkable. His works go beyond drips of paint, and became a visual record of the raw unfocused emotion that he had.

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