If Jackson Pollock was still — and still is a state Jackson Pollock was rarely in — dancing with a loaded brush around a canvas today, it would be to the tune of “Happy Birthday!”
He would be one hundred and two. That’s like a gazillion and two in paint spatter!
I don’t like to let these occasions pass without acknowledgment so I’d have Jackson over.
Of course he would bring his talented wife Lee Krasner
too.
And we’d talk art critics, because all joking aside, I always wonder what the artist is thinking when you have one critic like Clement Greenberg who says “I knew Jackson was the greatest painter this country had produced.”
While at the same time you have Robert Coates calling Pollock’s work “mere unorganized explosions of random energy, and therefore meaningless.”
Shoot. I’d throw more than paint at that!
Then we’d have a couple of shots of whiskey and a couple of pieces of this wonder bar:
And then I’d probably suggest a nap because by the time you’re 102 you’ve earned one.
HeARTy Birthday Jackson Pollock!
