Bradley's Website

On my semi-weekly saunter from the Clark Street Station in Brooklyn, I spotted an artist selling his work on the sidewalk. His menu was diverse, ranging from watercolor landscapes to surrealist sketches. Hidden in this display was an individual drip-splash painting in the style of Jackson Pollock. The colors were simple, but more than attractive enough to catch my eye— and the size of the canvas was the perfect size to fit a rather barren corner of the bedroom. After talking to him a bit about his work and upcoming exhibitions, I inquired about the Pollockesque painting, careful not to act too interested. 

The figure he gave me was a bold one, even if adjusted for the assumption that I would barter him down. Out of respect for his work, I decided not to engage further lest I insult him with a counter that was more agreeable to an individual in my tax bracket. Nonetheless, I was now convinced that the 18×24 inches of my bedroom was destined to be covered with a similar painting, and I so did what anyone would do: I created a forgery. 

The supplies were easy to obtain. It was a simple trip to Michael’s down the street. So yesterday I watched a few Youtube videos and threw a tarp down in the alleyway behind the apartment. After mixing my paints and taking thirty minutes between each color, here is how it went:

The simplicity of the process was so humbling and the meager amount of time I spent roleplaying as a painter opened up a whole new realm of understanding to me. 

The sixty seconds per color of flinging paint onto the canvas is brief, but packed to the brim with decision. Every pause and shiver is recorded on the canvas, telling a story of splatters and splashes that only CSI agents could dream of interpreting. Yet, the entire process challenged my understanding of what decision even means.

Being a total amateur, the dance I was doing around the painting had little to do with rationality, judgment, or logic. Rather, it was an interplay of instinct, risk, and—I think— balance; because balance is never a static state; it is a continual unfolding of leanings and micro-corrections. What ends up on the canvas is not random, but it is not fully intentional either. It is chaos, but chaos with purpose. To use a term from Frank Ocean, the painting is the result of the wisdom in your movement. And the proof that you were wise is not that the paint fell perfectly, but that there’s Beauty in the finishing. And beauty is much more desirable than perfection. Don’t you agree?

Maybe this thought will change as I learn and become more proficient, but it was certainly a welcome meditation for my weekend. I think I will try my hand at a few more variations before hanging it up permanently. Either way, I hope this gives you a little something to think about this week.