P is for Pollock

I am taking the opportunity in this challenge to learn more about artists, their lives and work.

Today in the A to Z Challenge the letter is P

P is for Pollock


Untitled, by Jackson Pollock, 1948

Jackson Pollock


Paul Jackson Pollock, known as Jackson Pollock, was an influential American painter and a major figure in the abstract expressionist movement. He was well known for his unique style of drip painting. Wikipedia


Tangled trio

Held together by circles

And the ties that bind



Pollock was born in Cody, Wyoming, in 1912, the youngest of five sons. His parents, Stella May (née McClure) and LeRoy Pollock, were born and grew up in Tingley, Iowa and were educated at Tingley High School. Pollock’s mother is interred at Tingley Cemetery, Ringgold County, Iowa. His father had been born with the surname McCoy but took the surname of his adoptive parents, neighbors who adopted him after his own parents had died within a year of each other. Stella and LeRoy Pollock were Presbyterian; they were of Irish and Scots-Irish descent, respectively. LeRoy Pollock was a farmer and later a land surveyor for the government, moving for different jobs. Jackson grew up in Arizona and Chico, California.

In 1930, at age 18, Pollock moved to New York City to live with his brother, Charles who was stuyding art at the Art Stidemt’s League under Thomas Hart Benton. Jackson joined in. In October 1945, Pollock married the American painter Lee Krasner, abstract expressionist painter who had her own recognition for her work. She did have a hand in how his career moved forward. She looked after things.

Pollock’s thoughts on his work,

“My painting does not come from the easel. I prefer to tack the unstretched canvas to the hard wall or the floor. I need the resistance of a hard surface. On the floor I am more at ease. I feel nearer, more part of the painting, since this way I can walk around it, work from the four sides and literally be in the painting.

I continue to get further away from the usual painter’s tools such as easel, palette, brushes, etc. I prefer sticks, trowels, knives and dripping fluid paint or a heavy impasto with sand, broken glass or other foreign matter added.

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  is pure harmony, an easy give and take, and the painting comes out well.”

—Jackson Pollock, My Painting, 1956

It’s funny that he should describe painting as being in it, as this is what I thought when I saw this photo

pollock 2

Artist Jackson Pollock dribbling sand on painting while working in his studio – Photo by Martha Holme

He use house paint for his pieces. He worked on some really large canvases.

Pollock was an alcholic, struggled with it for a long time. He died in a single car accident in 1956. He had been drinking.

pollock 3

This one feels peaceful. The ones with the color with this drip method, I’m not getting. They feels noisy if that makes any sense.

pollock 6

pollock 4

pollock 7

These last four images are from the Museum of Modern Art website. So he didn’t just do the drip method. I read somewhere that is suddenly as he had started that method, he just as suddenly stopped. I think it said he did two more pieces before his death.



a to z




This a link to a short video on the artist on biography.com:




Carpe Diem Time Machine #8, Perfume


Today is the first truly warm day of the spring here. The feel is that we are well into spring yet, because of the severe winter tender petals are still in bud stage. To awaken spring within me and  for a chance to dream of the type of garden I wish for this year I set out for the terminal market.   it is an open air market and everything is in full bloom.  As I stroll down the aisle the very much alive and blooming rose bushes are in competition with the fully blooming hyacinths. It’s a bonanza of colors, and the breeze stirs the pot.

full bodied perfumes

from hyacinths and roses

my senses whirl




Feeling Alone

Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge #81, Yozakura’s “feeling alone”

feeling alone
lost in the woods around Edo –
just the autumn wind
© Yozakura
Host attempt to make the Tan Renga complete:
feeling alone
in the woods around Edo –
just the autumn wind
colorful leaves dancing
through the abandoned city
feeling alone
in the woods around Edo-
just the autumn wind (Yozakura)
birds under thickets hiding
shelter from the whipping wind
Post in response to prompt from Carpe Diem Haiku
follow link for further reading and more responses to prompt


IMG_6980 end lilly pond

Carpe Diem #708, Wisdom

A haiku by Scottish writer George Bruce, on Widom, chosen be our host:
Books — thousands — on shelves — 
Wisdom of ages.
Folly if not in me
Our Host
never forget
that the camel never forgets
and all will be well
I pray for age
so that I might experience
Post in response to Carpe Diem Haiku for further reading on prompt and other responses follow link below

Taking flight

Carpe Diem Ghost Writer #43 and Carpe Diem Special #142, “taking flight” by Kala Ramesh

IMG_8806 full moon

Taking Flight

They were out all day, after dinner they went to the after hour lounge. An eclectic group they were,  Greeks, Americans, Italians, and a Jamaican  all eyes were on them as they entered. The six foot four inch hunk on stage started a sultry tune in greek,. His gaze fixed in their direction, strumming his guitar. They now had the full attention of everyone in the place.  Stares turned to smiles as patrons swayed gently in their seats as the song progressed.  She just knew it was about her. Her ears were getting hot. So she took a deep breath, held a nervous smile and with lips barely moving she asked, “Ok, what is he singing”. The response, “He is serenading you”. Song over and with the whole place watching he left the stage and moved towards them.

Taking flight-
A butterfly shrugs off
Its shadow
Kala Ramesh