what criticism

Jackson Pollock was in many ways,
the Beat poet
of quintessentially
-American Modernism. Like Kerouac,

he
moved through the world
bipedally, guided by a binocular
superimposition of imagery
fed to his brain via optic nerve input
from his left and right eyes. Like Bukowski,

he had an almost rude appreciation
for the charged sexual value he saw as
inherent in the female buttocks - and
the vagina, nestled just forward of between
them. Like Ginsberg,

his imagery
defied
attempts
at rational decoding. And like Burroughs,

he was - let's face it - a bit of an asshole. Yet
in at least one critical
aspect,

Pollock

stands apart from all
these iconic figures: he was

a
famous painter.