Jackson Pollock: WTF?
From time to time, we will be answering your questions or comments. If you have something you would like answered, please leave it in the comments. The first one we received was from Verbal Remedy, who asks simply: “Jackson Pollock, WTF?” We both are taking a stab at this one.
Leslie:
WTF indeed! I mean…you could probably do the same. In fact, take a moment to try: www.jacksonpollock.org.
A classical archaeologist myself, I probably seem like the least qualified species of art historian to broach such a query, but the truth is, I might be the most. I am not in the business of looking at art made for art’s sake, but rather that made as a tool for the dissemination and propagation of political and religious propaganda. It is necessary therefore, to look at the socio-historical circumstances in which the piece was made with the same scrutiny as the aesthetics.
That’s not to say that modern art is not imbued with socio-political messages, but generally the betterment of the artist’s career is as much a concern. Artists had little to no status in ancient classical society therefore self-promotion was pointless.
Was Pollock in the business of self-promotion? Hell yes.
As is the case with so many “great” people, Pollock had good timing and even better PR. Until the 1940’s, the center of the known art universe had been Paris, but an outspoken and well-connected group of Harvard-educated art critics, led by Clement Greenberg, brought new focus and authority to contemporary American Art.
Greenberg’s most influential essay written in 1939 for The Partisan Review is entitled: “Avant-Garde and Kitsch.” In the essay he defines Soviet state art as “kitsch” (a word he is oft credited with coining) versus American art, or the “Avant-Garde,” in which there is a freedom of expression. Greenberg was a champion of Pollock and his band of abstract expressionists.
The global political climate was ripe for just that kind of sensationalism, which brought a great deal of attention to this group of misfit artists. In 1949, Life magazine featured a story on Pollock, the not so subtle tongue-in-cheek sub-title of which read: “Is he the greatest living painter in the United States?”
“Jackson Pollock: Is he the greatest living painter in the United States?” 1949, Courtesy Life Magazine
America answered that question with a resounding “Yes!” Pollock’s work served as a background for Cecil Benton’s March, 1951 fashion photo shoot for American Vogue. Pollock reached an unprecedented level of popular recognition for a fine artist; not even Picasso made it into the mailboxes of middle America.
1951, Courtesy Vogue
To top the whole thing off, Pollock achieved the ultimate publicity stunt; he died at the height of his fame and popularity in 1956 at the age of 44. His death was a virtual suicide; Pollock drunkenly crashed his car a mile form his home, one of his two young female passengers, Ruth Kligman, the girlfriend he shared with Willem DeKooning, survived.
None of this is to say that Pollock’s work is without aesthetic merit. I, for one, really like his paintings. But why did he do them? Here’s the short version: In the 1930’s, Pollock studied under Thomas Benton at the Art Students League of New York. The influence of Benton’s regionalism is apparent in Pollock’s early work.
Jackson Pollock, Going West, 1934-35
The important thing to understand about his early work is its figurative nature, because it was this that he sought to eradicate with his “action” technique. He felt that line ultimately delineated figures; when a figure began to emerge in one of his paintings, Pollock erased it or painted it over. When he felt that he had sufficiently eliminated any references to the figure in his monumental works of the 1940’s, Pollock set out on a new mission; to use his technique and reintroduce the figure, but to do so without the use of line. Instead, he used cut-outs. This was the direction Pollock was going at the time of his death.
Jackson Pollock, Untitled (Cut Out), 1951
Pollock was the first to paint the way he did, and he did it in an environment starved for a culture to call its own. He was lucky in a lot of ways, but also, he had a process, he was working out his own artistic demons on the canvas:
“My painting does not come from the easel. I prefer to tack the unstretched canvas to the hard wall or the floor. I need the resistance of a hard surface. On the floor I am more at ease. I feel nearer, more part of the painting, since this way I can walk around it, work from the four sides and literally be in the paintings.”- Jackson Pollock, 1949
Karla:
“Why is this in a museum? I could do that! My kid could do that!”
This is perhaps the most universally expressed sentiment about Jackson Pollock’s paintings. I hear some variation of this nearly any time I am near one of his works. People actually seem to find the fact that they feel capable of producing something like it to be extremely aggravating.
What I think is important to understand is that Abstract Expressionism — a name given to the works of extremely varied painters working in the 1940-50s, of which Pollock is most famous – is all about the creation. The process was more important than the product. It was subconscious and spontaneous – Pollock poured paints from buckets as he moved across huge canvases unfurled on the floor.
Jackson Pollock, One: Number 31, 1950, Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art, New York
The key to appreciating these works is to experience them, not think about them. First of all, if you haven’t seen Jackson Pollock’s works in person, you haven’t seen them. Much like a Van Gogh, the materiality of the paint, the thick splotches and splatters, completely change the way the work is viewed. There are often bits of detritus from his workspace thrown in, both purposely and through happy accident. Close inspection of the surface reveals nails, washers, cigarette butts fallen absentmindedly from lips.
The more massive works such as One: Number 31, 1950 at MoMA or Autumn Rhythm (Number 30), 1950 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, are the best examples to understand what I mean by “experience.” One friend of mine compared Autumn Rhythm to a roller coaster ride, and I think that describes the power of them far better than anything I have read on Jackson Pollock. Next time you see one of his paintings, take the ride. Stare at the painting – don’t over think it, don’t write it off with a sarcastic one-liner. Just let your eyes fall somewhere and follow the swirls.
Jackson Pollock, Autumn Rhythm (Number 30), 1950, Courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Lines in paintings often lead your eyes exactly where the painter intends for them to go. Pollock’s lines are no different. He often said that his paintings weren’t accidents and he kept dancing across those canvases dribbling paint until it looked exactly how he pictured it in his head. The splattered lines pull you across the surface, flip around and dive down to the edge. Your eyes are tossed over the top and shot out the other side and you start to feel the movement of his vision, the process of the painting.
As Leslie discussed above, Pollock was also quite adept at selling himself and by extension his paintings, which were a record of his creative impulse. And yes, you could do that — so why didn’t you?
