Jackson Pollock paintings are only slightly interesting because they are expressive depending on individual beholder's mood. This goes back to a previous post on Pareidolia - the tendency to find order among chaos. This is why we can see animals in the clouds. I think people are predisposed to see things according to their mood: If I'm happy I see a teddy bear, if I'm angry I see a skull, if I'm ornery - and I am - I see a desperate beatnik attempting something avant-garde so he can afford his next bucket of paint to splash at the amusement of the 1950's socio-elite.
It might appear that his style of art isn't art at all. Just an orchestrated accident. Maybe that was his goal - so that each sorry sap looking at his mess could see what they want to see. It is like a choose-your-own-adventrure book painted on a single canvas.
I'll tell you what, you give me a large pizza, two liters or diet coke, a canvas on the floor and a spoon to gag myself and I can make you a choose-your-own-adventrure painting.
I'll never do this again, because I think it is a waste of time, but here is my hommage to Pollock, minus the chunks of pepperoni. (By the way, I think the painting on my previous post on pain were done by Pollock).
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