As an artist, do you ever know when a work of art is truly done?
An interviewer once asked Jackson Pollock how he knew when he was finished with a painting. Pollock’s infamous reply was, “How do you know when you’re finished making love?”
I have always loved that answer. There is so much deliciousness to chew on here, especially when one explores other people’s musings on when a work of art might have reached its climax.
Taking Pollock’s reply, literally, I suppose he means that ‘you just know’. But there is more to it, isn’t there…
Our tempestuous and splashy painter’s cheeky and fully-loaded response also implies that a painting is basically never finished. Love-making is pleasurable (a bit of an understatement, but best to stay above board here) and wouldn’t we all want to continue with, or repeat, or indeed tweak and perfect, something lovely like that. So, like sex, painting isn’t finite and apparently it’s enjoyable, or so he appears to be intimating.
However, Pollock likening painting to love-making is something I find difficult to get my head around. Us ‘real’ painters (she chuckles) know that wielding a brush across a canvas is closer to slow torture than pleasure. Mostly it feels like being dropped into a cauldron of boiling oil with the lid slowly coming down on top of us. Or is that just me?
Translating an idea or emotion, whether it be an abstract one or not, onto a blank canvas takes Leviathan courage and a certain feral abandonment of one’s senses. And a small slice of madness.
Then again so does sex, I suppose.
Pollock is expressing so cleverly that in love-making, as in painting, one intuitively knows when the act, or opus, has come to its fruition. And as a couple settles into post-act pillow talk (or one darts into the shower)(or falls asleep)(or strikes again)(ok I’ll stop), the artist also then puts down his brush, stands back and for the following days, like a wolf observing his prey, prowls around the oeuvre, nose close to the ground, contemplating on whether to leave this one be or strike. It could all end terribly if it is pursued further… just like the sex.
“If you cannot see a clear way to improve the painting, then the painting is done,” said someone artsy once. Now… this would be considered a bit of a cop-out in the middle of love-making. A bit abrupt really. Whatever happened to harnessing some imagination and curiosity? Not to mention passion. But mostly, why does it have to be so perfect anyway?
That opinion gets a ‘nope’ from me. There is always a way to improve a painting, but not necessarily a need to. It’s a big difference.
Another clever clogs, called da Vinci, said “Art is never finished, only abandoned”. Again… tsk-tsk on the sex front. Truly deplorable behavior, Leo! But after Lord-only-knows how many years spent on La Gioconda, I can kind of relate to the desire to throw his brushes up in the air and shout, “Finito e basta!”, probably followed by a Renaissance-worthy expletive like “Madonna!” (which has curiously managed to survive until today).
How does Twombly know when he has completed his giant scribbles that leave much of the canvas untouched? Is his giant gestural vocabulary in fact an abstraction of sexual organs and he is ‘making love’ throughout his process (especially as he was sitting on an assistant’s shoulder while he painted)?
Sir Matthew Smith offers, “In painting, the gravest immorality is to try to finish what isn’t well begun. But a picture that is well begun may be left off at any point.” That doesn’t bode terribly well for love-making either, but he has my full agreement on stopping short of completing a work as this introduces a mouth-watering intrigue, inviting the individual to complete the narrative.
My personal favourite is, “Stop painting an estimated half an hour before you intended to. Let the viewer supply the punchline and the painting will always have that necessary element of tension and intrigue.” I think I’ll let you ponder on that one yourself. Suffice it to say that what intrigues me most about this asinine comment is how an artist would know when he was going to stop? I wonder what Michelangelo would have thought of that three years and 364 days into the Sistine Chapel.
But for today’s winning entry, I give you Georges Braque: “The painting is complete when the idea is obliterated.” Considering his contributions to the development of Cubism, I guess that makes a lot of sense. The violin and candlestick may have had something to say about being obliterated though.
Personally, I would never want to finish making love, just to be clear. But I usually know when one of my paintings is completed: It slaps me and warns me to leave it alone as it has now found its place in this world and is saying all that it needs to say. Basta.