January 28, 2009
August 12, 2007
Modern Art
In my quest to finish 50 books this year, I've picked up a few things that I wouldn't normally read. I suppose it's an effort to stretch myself, also an effort to make sure I don't get bored with reading the same kind of thing over and over. My mother finally discovered my Amazon wishlist - a very good thing. Last year for my birthday, she gave me Such Desperate Joy: Imagining Jackson Pollock. It's a collection of essays and writings edited by Helen A. Harrison who manages the Krasner-Pollock House in New York.
That, of course, is a Jackson Pollock painting. I don't know which one, honestly, I cribbed it off the web somewhere. Let me say that I don't know much about art. I know what I like - what I would hang in my very small house. I remember seeing pictures of Pollock paintings when I was a kid. They didn't impress me (not much did then). It seemed like scribbles or random droppings. After that Ed Harris film in 2000 (Pollock), I was intrigued and started to read about him. I can also tell you that I've searched out his paintings and seen two at the Hirshhorn Museum in DC and one at the Chicago Institute of Art. I also happened across one by Lee Krasner (Pollock's wife) at the National Museum of Women in the Arts, also in Washington, DC.
What I have learned in all of this is that looking at pictures of famous paintings is useless. You need to see the paintings in their full glory. For me a Pollock practically breathes when you see it in person. When you get right up close to the painting - almost put your nose on it - so many things come out. Glimpses of the canvas peek through, the lines of the paint build on one another and criss-cross, any other stuff that Pollock buried within the paint floats into view, the texture jumps out and grabs you, and yes - they move. Many of his works are so big that you can fill your vision with the canvas and almost fall into it. For me, it was impossible to walk away from these canvases without a great respect for the painter and an appreciation for his work.
Stay with me here, there's a point. Back to Such Desperate Joy. I am in the midst of an article by Sam Hunter, an art critic. I have discovered why people hate modern art or at least hate trying to figure out what it means. Allow me to share a few quotes:
"Within the general framework of abstraction he could be grave, tender, angry, and meltingly lyric by turns."
"The dynamics of the development of Pollock's abstract painting style ... seem to have sprung from a strong tension of renunciation, as if in the role of the revolutionary he had constantly to remind himself of his spiritual chains in order to spur his progress towards freedom."
"One of his significant achievements was to rejuvenate the European sense of art and make it viable again for native sensibility."
WTF??!!? Please, don't try to impress me with how many giant words you know and can use in a sentence. Make the art accessible to people, make them want to search out the paintings and stand in front of them. THAT's the only way art survives - it's all personal. Tell me about how Pollock struggled with alcoholism, explain to me how he fits into the spectrum of art - don't throw abstractions at me. Don't try to confuse me with searching out the definitions of your giant words. 'Meltingly lyric' my fat, white ass.
Well then...
Many of the essays in this book were written by people who knew actually knew Pollock - they interviewed him, drank with him, lived with him, slept with him, and/or painted with him. There's also quite a bit of Pollock's own correspondence included. That's the stuff that's worth reading. Do I suggest reading the book? Not necessarily. What I suggest is that whenever you find yourself going into an art museum, stop at the information desk and ask if they have any Pollocks on display. Go have a look and decide for yourself. Is it art? Is it pretty? Does it make your fingers itch for a paintbrush (or paint can as the case may be)? Does it make you want to stand in front of it all day just searching - for something?