My Tribute to Jackson Pollock

Living in a post 9/11 NYC, I had a strong desire to nest and have a safe place to call home.  My best friend, Jeremiah and I were lucky to discover our humble abode after attending a college party thrown by Pratt art students living there at the time.  I remember the place being drab and dark that night, and the walls were screaming for TLC - I knew then, we were just the twosome for the job.  Jeremiah befriended the coffee shop barista/photographer who had the lease, and as soon as they were ready to move - we jumped at the chance to fix up the dumpy duplex!

After settling in at 392 12th Street in the summer of '03, the first logical thing we did was repaint every room, including details on both fireplaces.  A fresh coat of paint was the cheap and initial place to start.  Extra is always to be expected, and I ended up with paint cans galore under the sink.  Since storage is always desired, I eventually took the half empty cans into the backyard, and created my very own Jackson Pollock Tribute!

While attending college on the Upper East Side, I figured out that "suggested donation" at the Metropolitan Museum of Art was in fact just that, suggested.  Once this golden opportunity presented itself to me, I was there whenever I had more than 2 hours between rehearsals and class.  I would walk directly to the modern wing to sit in front of the massive piece, Autumn Rhythm (Number 30), a part of their permanent collection.  It took my breathe away every time, and if I sat long enough the paint would move, or at least I started to sway.  The colors danced over and over the canvas.  I felt the emotion, and not from strokes on the canvas, but from it being thrown above by the artist.  I felt deeply the pain and internal struggle that I later learned was accurate after reading his biography, and seeing Ed Harris' brilliant performance in Pollock

It was early spring when I had enough of the paint cans.  The ground had thawed and I thought this would be a great project to get me outside after a long winter.  I bought a large piece of canvas at the local hardware store, and dragged everything into the backyard. 


These were the last of my party days, but if ever asked to evoke the raw emotion of a alcoholic artist - this would have been the ideal time in my life.  I wish whatever friend of mine taking the pictures would have gotten the paint cans and variety of tools used to get different effects.  I was out there all afternoon, and left it overnight to dry. 
  

I had found these scrap frames down the street, and asked a neighbor if I could take them.  I painted them all black, and cut my large piece of art into 3.  Not intentional at first, but the project ended up being a series - the only thing I forgot to do was sign them!



I love the story behind my Jackson Pollock, and it will always remind me of the work we put into this apartment that summer.  My grandparents showcased a "Jackson Pollack" type of painting on their enclosed front porch that my uncle had painted when he was young.  I remember the grains of sand and bristles stuck to the thick canvas vividly as a childhood memory.  I hope some or all of the pieces come with us to the next home.





La vita è bella,

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