Think Tank Thursday: Jackson Pollock

This week for Poets United, I chose an artist for our prompt, #104.  The controversial artist Jackson Pollock.  I was on the fence about selecting him, this is when I knew I must.

Paul Jackson Pollock (January 28, 1912 – August 11, 1956), known as Jackson Pollock, was an influential American painter,  in the abstract expressionist movement. He was nicknamed 'Jack the Dripper', for his painting style.  He didn't use brushes, but sticks, trowels, and knives. He would cut and pour paint out of paint cans. He used linseed oil and enamel paint, mainly.  His painting was called action painting. He taped canvas onto a floor and then would move around it.  For me, I see it as a dance of emotions bleeding on the canvas. Whatever memory struck him was how he applied his next layer.  This is my opinion from what I have read about the man and his style.  He was also known for adding dirt, broken glass and other fragments, to his art.  His abstract style was a form of action painting. Pollock is most celebrated for this form, abstract expressionism. He would splash, dribble, drip and pour paint onto his canvas.  He described his abstraction, as  "an attempt to evoke the rhythmic energy of nature."  You can read more about Pollock here.

fall n' flow gravity lends a hand

  black n' white drips cast

shadows n' light

formed from granite memories

fractured shards of glass blur

the veins of gold

     like a blindsided dance crimson drips

the residue of life

fossils still remain in

  beveled edges of youth

          revealed in genetic coding

        bits of darkness scatter

        across the extended lines of my day

        oils and spirits dance like

       a measured earthquake

      a map of life

           illuminated with draped ribbons

 of light

       trying to block the black holes

            deep amber like weathered copper 

   displayed against

   long black branches that extend and twist, 

like trees in a storm

 blue notes lift like a bird trying to soar

its life flowing out

whispers of stars dot the landscape

     Secret signs among the layers of wrestled mood

lightning strikes me like

a chimed clock I perform

I remember the string of Ma's glass beads

 always worn on Sunday 

the homemade honey dripping on my plate

the bolts of white light across a humid indigo velvet

yellow leaves dancing in the wind
 playing in the autumn sky

like a veil of crooked trees against fenced in dreams

I fly through pigment of cosmic tears

twisted ivy pulls me towards my roots

memories made in wet muslin

kinetic forces between the lines

subject to your interpretation

my map, my memories

gravity took over

 and the star exploded