How My Husband Makes a Jackson Pollock, Catherine Retica

141 ARTWORDS HOW MY HUSBAND MAKES A JACKSON POLLOCK

Catherine Retica Inspired by Marathon, Sam Gilliam

As for paint, any kind of object filled with non-solid matter will suffice. They need to fit comfortably in his hand, which means bigger than a gum ball but smaller than a cantaloupe. But also neither if it’s late enough or early enough or both. Perfume, hot sauce, candles (lit), beer can, shampoo bottle, cup of coffee. These are the guidelines that do neither guiding nor line setting, but they seem to be instinctively followed by him and implicitly by me.

Once you have your paint, it’s time to choose a canvas. For him, a naked wall is usually best. Even a non-naked wall will work since decor can act as targets. Shower curtain, counter tops, television, fridge door, bathroom mirror. These work too. In an exceptional fit of his artistic inspiration, you yourself can also function as a canvas.

Then comes motivation. An artist feels a driving force to create a piece—a great desire to express innate emotions. These will typically be sparked by menial things you do. Stopping somewhere on the way home from work without telling him, meeting a family member, being too late, being too early, eating meals without him, leaving the ice cream pint out for too long. These are a few, but you’ll always discover more ways only after they’ve started the creative process.

That’s how my husband makes a Jackson Pollock. It’s quite easy. How to get rid of these masterpieces, on the other hand, is hard. You’ll need a pen, a new manila envelope (the other has nail polish remover on it). Somewhere else to stay—maybe a friend’s house. A new daycare. A gun for protection. But first, a notary. And a good art dealer.

Marathon, Sam Gilliam, 2003 relief monoprint on paper, 29 5/8 × 39 5/8 inches Collection of the Weisman Art Museum Gift of Steven M. Andersen