Ruth Fremson/The New York Times
A few days ago I read an article by
Carol Vollock in the New York Times about Jackson Pollock’s One: Number 31,
1950 (NYT, “A Pollock Restored, A Mystery Revealed,“ May
26, 2013).
Abstract Expressionism is a school of
art I adore. As is Jackson Pollock’s
work.
During my years experimenting with
artistic expression on canvas, I threw paint across blank canvases, convinced
that Jackson would approve. I mixed dirt
with paint, laid canvases on the ground & tossed the mixture across the page.
Always building on what came before.
Some may argue that I write that way.
In Carol Vollock’s article, I learned
that in cleaning & restoring Pollack’s 1950 work, the MoMA in New York discovered
that layers had been added by others.
Long after the work left Pollock’s studio, long after Pollock died.
The goal, it seems, was to restore One, Number 31, 1950 to its original composition, removing what was
added.
And I wondered.
Was One: Number 31, 1950 any less a marvel for the added layers? Is it any more a marvel for their removal?
If all text is rewoven from bits &
pieces of previous texts & music is reformed from the music that came
before – does artistic expression in all mediums emerge the same way? On canvas, on the dance floor, on the stage, on
a piece of stone?
On the side of the highway, on a
sidewalk, in a quilt, knitted into a scarf, a mosaic, scrapbook page, an editorial in a high school
newspaper, a post on Facebook, a child’s drawing?
I understand the need to preserve a
work of art. To remove the damage done
by time & history & soot & smoke & gas lights & neglect
& too many flash bulbs.
But what if we stripped all artistic
expression down to its origins? Instead
of reveling in the result of reweaving, reworking, rethinking, recreating?
What wonders would we miss?
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