Original subtitles

The story goes that in 1947, Pollock threw his brushes and pallets aside, grabbed some sticks,

and started flinging paint directly onto a canvas on the floor, instinctually inventing

a new kind of energetic, artistic, expression and changing the course of contemporary art.

Except he didn't invent it. Pollock's signature style wasn't his invention at all, and the drip

painting technique already existed. One of the earliest proponents and a major influence on

Pollock was the forgotten woman of art history Janet Sobel, a self-taught Ukrainian-born artist

who also happened to be a grandmother when she first took up painting in 1945. Sobel was already

exhibiting her drip paintings in New York when the influential art critic Clement Greenberg,

who would become one of Pollock's greatest supporters, described her work as "the first

all over compositions with abstract rhythms that span the entire canvas". In 1946 she was given a

solo show at Peggy Guggenheim's gallery, and we know Pollock visited the exhibition and even

admitted her work had made an impression on him. Shortly after that, he produced his

first drip painting. There were other lesser-known artists who used the drip technique even earlier,

but it's important to state that Pollock's achievements weren't just in the technique

that he employed, but in the radical nature of the works he produced with those techniques.

In 1945, Pollock and Krasner had moved to East Hampton where he created that first

drip painting in a converted barn behind their farmhouse. Pollock finally had the studio he'd

always wanted, the space, the quiet, and the distance from the bars of New York gave him the freedom to

go further than ever before. Now he had the room not only to work on a much larger scale, but also

to place those large canvases on the floor. Without that barn there would likely be no "Number One 1949",

no "Autumn Rhythm", no drip period. Thanks to Krasner, Pollock had his drinking sort of under control -

at least for now. Whilst not entirely sober he was less erratic and these years proved to be

his most productive. During this time, he would produce some of the greatest works, thanks to a

unique combination of physical space, emotional calm provided by Krasner, and creative freedom,

all of which he desperately needed after years of chaos, instability, and urban distractions.

In the summer of 1950, at the height of his career, Pollock created one of the most

iconic paintings of the 20th century - "One number 31, 1950" is vast - over 8 ft high and 17 ft wide.

It dominates the room and sucks you in. The work is sometimes described as the result

of accidents, but Pollock bristled at that word.

In fact, he poured enormous energy, both mental and physical, into creating unique paintings that held

meaning for him. If we compare two paintings of his, for example this one from 1948, and this one

painted 2 years later, the contrasts are striking. Both use similar materials and methods, but each has a distinct tone.

By the time he came to paint "One number 31" he had already abandoned the easel for the floor.

He used oil, enamel, and aluminium paint, dripping, flicking, and pouring it directly from the can or

off the end of a stick. Squeezing it directly from tubes and even using a turkey baster. Pollock also

used his hands to lightly smear colour across the canvas. There are no figures, not even veiled ones

as in earlier works by Pollock, but the painting still feels composed. A series of strong black

lines dances across the surface, creating a sense of rhythm and order that holds the flurry of marks

together. The quality of Pollock's lines were shaped by a range of physical and material

factors which he could adjust in countless ways. These included the thickness and flow of the paint,

which he manipulated by adding thinner, the angle and speed at which he poured it, and the physical

gestures of his body - particularly the motion of his wrist, arm, and shoulder, which functioned

like a seismograph, capturing the emotional and physical energy of the artist's gestures.

Pollock also enhanced his compositions by flicking, splashing, or dabbing secondary colours onto the

primary network of lines. He orchestrated every element. His all over style defied traditional

composition: there's no focal point, your eye doesn't know where to settle - but that is the

point. You move across the surface, treating every area as equally important. The result is immersive.

Pollock embraced the physicality of his materials, paint sits thickly on the canvas, bits of sand,

cigarette butts, enamel, and wood shavings. We can even find an unlucky housefly embedded in

the surface. Some areas he just left bare. The whole thing crackles with energy and texture, and life.

In 1950, Time magazine published an article describing Pollock's work as "chaos", he was infuriated and

wired back "NO CHAOS DAMMIT". And he was right, it's not chaos, and it's not random. Some people

say it's easy to fake a Pollock painting, but it's not. In person, his drip paintings have an

emotional pull that's hard to reproduce. Scientists think the reason might lie in 'fractals' - complex

geometric patterns that repeat at different scales. They're often seen in nature, in tree

branches, coastlines, and snowflakes. Studies show that looking at fractals activates areas of the

brain linked to aesthetic judgment and emotional regulation, making us calm. In 1999, a peer-reviewed

scientific paper revealed that Pollock's seemingly chaotic compositions actually contain these same

fractal patterns. His brush work has a hidden order, one that mimics the natural world. Forged Pollocks

by contrast tend to lack this quality. This might explain why his paintings can evoke the same sense

of awe and introspection we often feel in nature? Seen in this light, Pollock's statement from 1946

"I am nature" makes perfect sense. The artist was at the height of his fame; a denim-clad, camel smoking

poster boy for the abstract expressionists. His growing reputation caught the attention of

photographer Hans Namuth, who had taken photos of Pollock already, but now wanted to make a film of

him at work. The artist was hesitant, he worried about performance interfering with authenticity.

Painting for him was a private process, not a show. In the end, he agreed to be filmed by Namuth. It is

one of the most important films in art history, and it was said by some to be the end of Pollock.

VO: "Under the protection of our freedoms, American labour, management, and capital - the greatest

production team in the history of mankind..." By the late 1940s the Cold War between the United States

and the Soviet Union was hotting up. The Soviet Union was already using art and culture to promote

communism worldwide, with state sponsored socialist realism. In contrast to the rigid propaganda used

by the Soviets, the CIA, through covert programs wanted to show that America fostered freedom

of thought and creativity - key democratic ideals. And abstract expressionism with its nonconformist

avant-garde style, became the ideal symbol of American cultural freedom. These explosive, emotive,

canvases spoke of a society where artists were free to explore, to rebel, and to show individuality.

You may not like abstract expressionism, but it really didn't matter, because it was sending a

clear signal that in America everyone is free. This was a sharp contrast to what was being

produced in the Soviet Union. The paintings were unpredictable, wild, and deeply personal, everything

that would not be allowed under communism in the Soviet Union. And so, in a strange quirk

of art history, it came to be that the CIA quietly supported the international promotion of abstract

expressionism, as a weapon in the ideological battle between the US and the Soviet Union.

Institutions like the Congress for Cultural Freedom, secretly funded by the CIA, helped showcase

the works of Pollock, Mark Rothko and others around the world, by funding institutions like

the Museum of Modern Art's International Program. It was ironic, as the great majority of Americans in

the 1950s disliked or even despised modern art, and many of the artists were politically left-leaning,

anti-establishment, and in some cases outright hostile to US government's authority, and had no

idea their work was being used as propaganda. And it wasn't just fine art - the CIA supported a whole

range of activities. They financially supported a literary magazine, modern dance, performances, and

other forms of avant-garde artistic expressions - to further demonstrate the diversity and freedom of

American culture. Let's finish this strange chapter of art history, by making it clear that abstract

expressionism was already established as the most exciting and influential art movement of its time.

The CIA didn't invent it, but they recognised its power as a propaganda tool and helped

amplify its reach. If anything, it complicates the story - but for me, that contradiction is

part of what makes it so compelling! VO: "The Guggenheim Cylindrical Museum, just opened in

New York..." Abstract expressionism became part of the story of how America didn't

just grow into a military and economic superpower, it became a cultural one too.

Pollock's fame exploded in the late 1940s and early 1950s, especially after a 1949 Life magazine

article asked "Is he the greatest living painter in the United States?" This publicity turned him

into a household name almost overnight.

There were many great painters around at the time of Pollock's rise, but in an

era of great patriotism, the myth of a so-called self-taught cowboy painter from the Midwest, was

the perfect fit for the great American artist. The image of Pollock as a rebellious, macho,

hard drinking genius, aligned with post-war American ideals of individuality and innovation, turning

him into an embodiment of the new American avante-garde. Hans Namuth's 1950 film of Pollock

painting, was a pivotal moment in his career, but a deeply destructive one on a psychological and

emotional level, although it helped to cement Pollock's status as a modern art icon. It also

played a role in his creative and personal unraveling. The film, visually solidified the

myth of Pollock, the tortured genius, but also turned his private intuitive process

into a spectacle. Pollock had always seen his studio and practice as sacred and solitary,

and by turning his art into a public performance he felt it had alienated him from the very act of

painting. He worried that he had become a parody of himself. The fallout from the film contributed

to his resumption of heavy drinking. And his personal life and artistic output deteriorated

quickly. His relationships suffered, and his work lost its earlier energy and confidence. In the

end, Pollock's fame immortalised his contribution to modern art, but also intensified the personal

struggles that would ultimately lead to his tragic death in a car crash at the age of 44.

After Peggy Guggenheim left New York in 1947 for Venice, Pollock began exhibiting

at the Betty Parson's Gallery, where he first unveiled his drip paintings.

His early shows were well received, both critically and commercially, but after 1951

things began to unravel. The sudden fame brought on by Life magazine and Hans Namuth's documentary

unsettled him, and he lost the therapist who had been helping him manage his alcoholism.

That year's solo exhibition at Parsons was a financial failure. For Lee Krasner, life at

home became increasingly difficult - as her own work started to get the attention it deserved. Pollock's

resentment grew, he became angry, destructive, and emotionally abusive to Krasner. He was involved in

several car accidents, often driving in drunken rages. Then in 1956, Pollock had begun an affair

with a much younger admirer, Ruth Kligman. Krasner, the woman who had supported, loved,

and promoted him for 15 years, had had enough, and flew to Paris. On the night of the 11th of August,

Pollock, drunk and agitated said he would drive Kligman and her friend Edith Meztger to a party.

Pollock and Metzger were killed instantly. Kligman, was thrown from the car and survived.

Krasner was visiting friends in Paris when she received the call.

Clement Greenberg phoned the apartment, but she didn't need to hear the words.

The look on her host's face as he heard the news, told her everything.

Before anyone could speak she said: "Jackson's dead."

After his death, the myth of Jackson Pollock solidified. The media image of the rugged,

all-American cowboy painter, took hold. A man of instinct and action, seemingly inseparable from

his wild gestural canvases. But the reality was so much more complex. He was a fragile, volatile

man, plagued by self-doubt, driven by an intense need to express, but terrified of being seen too

closely. His vulnerability, his fear of failure, his brittle masculinity, all these have been

overshadowed by the legend of the tormented genius flinging paint in a heroic frenzy.

Ironically, that story, which is often narrated through the lens of masculinity, is a story built

on the labour and support of women: His mother encouraged his creativity from a young age,

Peggy Guggenheim provided critical financial and professional support, Janet Sobel, often

overlooked, pioneered techniques Pollock would later make famous, and Lee Krasner,

a great artist in her own right, tirelessly supported his work, managed his career, and

ultimately preserved his legacy. Without them, there may have been no Pollock as we know him.