Reliquary 1   2007

Used metal box, thistle seed, granite, steel wool, magnetic letters, pine cones.

 2007

 

You Can’t Make…(Front View)

Mixed media, 2009

 

You Can’t Make… (Detail)

Sow ears, silk, ribbon, drapery pull.

2009

 

You Can’t Make…(Rear View)

Mixed media, 2009

 

Buttons and Bows   2000

Recycled watercolor painting, acrylic paint, satin, recycled buttons, wire, sequins.

 

Pins and Needles   2000

Recycled watercolor painting, acrylic paint, glitter, pins, needles.

 

Jackson Pollock Chair   2010

Recycled chair, jacket, t-shirt, shoes, paint. 2010

 

Susan Hazard

Reliquaries & Objects

JACKSON POLLOCK CHAIR

Paul Jackson Pollock (January 28, 1912 – August 11, 1956) was an Abstract Expressionist artist. His work began with clearly identifiable imagery, but as he distilled his efforts into pure energy, his paintings became the instantly recognizable images we recognize today. Jackson enjoyed notoriety, despite his reclusive nature, but was bedeviled by alcohol abuse. His single car accident in August, 1956 ended his career as an artist.

The seemingly wild paint drippings and spatters of his paintings intrigued me. I tried his technique, and soon found there was a method to his perceived madness. It was more difficult and challenging than I originally thought it would be, and yet, more enjoyable.

This chair is a tribute to Jackson Pollock’s energy and vision. I had seen a photograph of a pair of his shoes, covered in drippings of over flung paint. This inspired me to provide a resting space for Jackson Pollock, to sit and reflect upon his current project.

Originally, the chair had only the wingtip shoes at the end of the chair legs. I dripped, splattered, flung, dribbled, meandered, flecked, trickled, oozed, seeped, leaked, drooled, slobbered and pinged paint onto the chair and the shoes together, with paintbrushes, paint sticks and sticks, and it was good. It was, however, in my opinion, still lacking personality. I walked away from it for a week or so, letting it sit in my now paint spattered garage, and when I returned, I added a tee-shirt from my well-painted smeared collection of painting clothing, and a man’s suit jacket. Now, it looked as though Jackson Pollock had retired for the evening, stripping off the outer garb of personality, to reveal the real man. Left behind, on the chair, was the public personality of the artist. I feel that he may reappear at any moment, slip on the clothing and the shoes, and pick up the paintbrush and paint sticks once again, to continue the expression he made so identifiably his own.