Tuesday, April 29, 2014

The legendary Jackson Pollock work, "Mural", is on view at the Getty Center, in Los Angeles.
Conservators have completed the restoration and cleaning of the painting and the technical research into it's storied, rather apocryphal creation…

while academics and fey Warholians bow down
to the ghost of Mike Kelly, far and away from the riot
of paint and sincerity that fueled the brave
of the mid-20th century, it's nearly impossible
to reflect on a time when the reward of Art
wasn't paying off student loans, or the new car--

it was not starving to death…

I fell in love with my Wife for any number of reasons,
but with reflection I admired her for being a "seeker".
she didn't speak of what she knew,
she spoke of what she wanted to learn.

a legitimate artist never "knows" paint.
he succumbs to it, he delves into it's nature,
he gives himself over to the journey…

in a like sense, one can never "know" a martial art.
the practitioner, over time,
may acquire a greater athleticism
and facility of technique,
but the esoterica of training
is never a rote endeavor.

the "way" of paint is no different.

perhaps the distinction between art and craft
lies in the varied desperation of the former
and the accrued "knowledge" of the latter.

by all accounts, Pollock was so deeply flawed,
he had no choice but to search…

i've limped the road of stone
to understanding that what i paint
matters little compared
to what a painting becomes…

i like to think of Pollock's perception
of nature and the turning of that to art…

yesterday was a hell of a day in the studio.
i hope Jackson found
that unique solace at times--
in his small space
with the wood burning stove--
the rope of black enamel
held, for a second,
above the cotton weave...