On Pollock's Classic Drip Paintings

Jackson Pollock, One (Number 31, 1950), 1950. Oil and enamel paint on canvas, 8' 10" x 17' 5 5/8" (MoMA)

By Charles Kessler

Sometimes preconceptions can really screw you up. That’s what happened to me with Jackson Pollock’s classic drip paintings of the 1950’s.

I always knew these were “all over” paintings. That is, they treated the entire surface of the painting in a relatively uniform manner with no obvious differentiation between the top, bottom, or center, and therefore with no dominant point of interest. Of course, I didn’t think they were truly “all over” the way Stella’s black paintings or Agnes Martin’s paintings are, or the Pattern Painters, but I thought they came pretty close.

And I never believed Pollock’s classic drip paintings were “all over” in the sense that they seemed to be a slice of a larger “all over” universe that continues indefinitely in all directions. On the contrary, like Monet’s Water Lillies, Pollock’s classic drip paintings always have a border of unpainted canvas around the outside edges, and, as a result, they always struck me as self-contained worlds — worlds fully contained within the rectangle of the painting.*

More important in this respect, the canvas is transformed into a backboard of sorts, and the drips appear to be moving in a space IN FRONT OF the canvas/backboard, i.e. in our space. (See my post Les Demoiselles d'Avignon). Pollock reinforces this illusion in the case of Number 1A, 1948 by placing hand prints around the top right edge (see photo below), affirming the physicality of the canvas and, almost literally, pushing everything forward. 

Jackson Pollock. Number 1A, 1948.1948. Oil and enamel paint on canvas, 68" x 8' 8" (MoMA)

Detail upper right: Number 1A, 1948, showing hand prints.

This I already knew, but to the extent I bought into the notion that this work was “all over,” I saw them as monotonous, decorative and lacking the pictorial drama of his older work like Guardians of the Secret, 1943, or his later work like Easter and the Totem, 1953. 

I was determined to find out what people I respect saw in them, so last week, and again yesterday, I went to the Modern's Ab Ex New York show during early viewing hours for members, and had the show pretty much to myself for the entire time. I stood in front of Pollock’s classic drip paintings and looked at them with soft eyes, allowing the drips of paint to dart around in their illusionary space. Sometimes I focused on one color for a while, and other times I experienced the different speeds and rhythms of the lines.

Eventually I became aware that these paintings in fact do NOT repeat the same basic riffs and patterns evenly throughout the surface of the painting. The surface isn’t uniform at all, instead there’s an energetic and dramatic composition  — one that isn’t “all over.” Patterns formed —  one side of the painting might have more vertical lines, other areas more curved ones. Sometimes the curved lines would consolidate and form volumes with some volumes falling back into space (but the space almost always stayed in front of the canvas) and others (usually the lighter ones) advancing.  

Jackson Pollock. Number 1A, 1948 marked in green to show the dominant compositional elements.

In the case of Number 1A, 1948, for example, the black drips on the left coalesce to form a prominent vertical element, very similar to what Pollock did in his Guardians of the Secret, 1943, and Easter and the Totem, 1953 (see photos above). And like those two paintings, the central area is significantly lighter and recedes in space (except for two conspicuous round volumes that advance significantly). If it weren’t for the hand prints pushing everything out, this space would probably seem to recede well into the canvas. Also like Easter and the Totem, the bottom right side bulges out diagonally, slanting from left to right.

A similar composition can be found in Pollock’s famously “all over” painting, One (Number 31, 1950).  It’s more difficult to see because the painting is so large (more than 17 feet wide) that you can’t take it all in, and Pollock did a good job of disguising the composition by covering it with drips. Nevertheless, here’s the way I saw it:

Jackson Pollock, One (Number 31, 1950), 1950. Oil and enamel paint on canvas, 8' 10" x 17' 5 ⅝ " (MoMA) - marked in green to show the dominant compositional elements.

Finally, there is another point that reinforces my belief that these are not "all over" paintings. Pollock was known to spend hours studying a painting as he worked on it, what he called his “get acquainted” period.  In his own words, from "My Painting" Possibilities I, New York, Winter 1947-8:

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. I have no fear of making changes, destroying the image, etc., because the painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through. It is only when I lose contact with the painting that the result is a mess. Otherwise there is pure harmony, an easy give and take, and the painting comes out well.

If it were just a matter of evening things out by, say, putting more black somewhere, he certainly wouldn’t need to struggle to stay in contact with the painting — it wouldn’t involve much thought at all.



* BTW, this is additional proof that Pollock didn’t crop his paintings or, even worse, cut up large paintings to make several smaller ones -- a myth probably perpetuated by the movie Day Of The Painter (1960).

Charles Kessler is an artist and writer based in Jersey City