Contemporaneous and the Irondale Center present

DAY OF IMAGINATION

Saturday, September 18, 2021 | 2pm. 5pm. 8pm.
The Space at Irondale | 85 South Oxford Street | Brooklyn, NY

Notes on the program

Libretto:

PORTRAIT AND A DREAM

by Brian Petuch

With sincerest gratitude to Jeffrey Potter, who I consider an equal contributor in the opera’s conception.  Thanks to his extensive and meticulous commitment to thorough journalism, I had access to extraordinary insight and perspective from those who knew Jackson and Lee best.  Heartfelt thanks to Helen Harrison and the Pollock-Krasner House and Study Center, especially for Helen’s support and granting special access to the Potter interviews.  Lastly, thank you to Contemporaneous for commissioning and producing Portrait and a Dream.  

ACT 1

Prologue

(Projected text)

      To tell about a man’s life by anecdote is swinish – yet history is now beginning to file away those peculiar sentiments that make glamour out of unhappiness, and unhappiness out of art.

      With Pollock, we have a double tragedy – both death and a life in the art world came too soon.

      Jackson, oh Jackson – we did not know you. Why do we feel it is our fault. Why is it that we make this terrible separation from what a man does and what a man is, from what a man should do, and from what a man can’t do. And how we watched you, El Matador, waiting for the slaughter or the glory.

-Morton Feldman


The Flame (Interlude)

Pollock’s Monologue


Going West



Man with Knife



Male and Female



Stenographic Figure

The Flame, by Jackson Pollock

Mural, by Jackson Pollock

Mural

Krasner: It was painted in one night. 

Krasner: It was painted in one night. 

Krasner: It was painted in one night. 

Krasner: It was painted in one night. 

Krasner: It was painted in one night. 

Krasner: One night. One day.

Krasner: It was painted in one day, one night. 

Krasner: It was painted in one day, one night. 

Krasner: It was painted in one day, one night.

Krasner: It was painted in one day, one night.


Guardians of the Secret

Guardians of the Secret, by Jackson Pollock

Pollock: If you work from within, you create an image larger than a landscape.
                         
Hofmann: Do you work from nature? You should work from nature.

Pollock: I am nature!

Discredit “that’s not what one does”

Hofmann: But if you work from inside you will repeat yourself.

Hofmann: You should work from nature.

Pollock: When you work from within, 

Pollock: you create an image larger than a landscape.

Hofmann: Do you work from nature? 

(overlapping) Pollock: I am nature! 

Hofmann: You will repeat yourself.

Pollock: I am nature!



ACT 2

Shimmering Substance, by Jackson Pollock

Sounds in the Grass

Krasner and Pollock: Let it live (repeats) 

Pollock: I choose to veil the image.

Shimmering Substance

Summertime

Krasner and Pollock: I can control the flow of paint. There is no accident, no beginning and no end.

Krasner and Pollock: I can control

Krasner and Pollock: Sometimes I lose a painting, but I have no fear of changes,

Krasner and Pollock: of destroying the image.

Krasner and Pollock: Because a painting has a life of its own I try to let it live. 

Krasner and Pollock: let it live. [repeats]

Hans Namuth Film Shoot (No. 29)

Namuth: Okay Jackson, and...now! 

Pollock: My home is in Springs, East Hampton, Long Island. I was born in Cody Wyoming 39 years ago. 

Namuth: Stop! 

(overlapping) Namuth: Okay, start...now! 

Pollock: I don't work from drawings or color sketches, my painting is direct. 

(overlapping) Namuth: Hold on! One more time.

(overlapping) Namuth: Now!

Pollock: I don't work from drawings or color sketches, my painting is direct. I usually paint on the floor. 

Namuth: Stop! Say that line again.

Pollock: I usually paint on the floor.

Namuth: Stand there.

Namuth: Okay Jackson, go...now!

Pollock: Having the canvas on the floor, I feel nearer, more a part of the painting.

Namuth: and...cut!

Pollock: This way I can work around it, work from all four sides, and be in the painting.

Namuth: Hold on! 

Namuth: Do that again

Namuth: Now!

Pollock: I like to use a dripping fluid paint. I also use sand, broken glass, 

Pollock: pebbles, string, nails, or other foreign matter. I want to express my feelings rather than illustrate them.

Namuth: Stop right there! Repeat that part.

(Jackson repeats the previous action)

Namuth: Okay Jackson, keep going. Start...now!

(Jackson, becoming more frustrated, scowls at Hans, doesn't paint yet)

Namuth: Now!

[In defiance, Jackson continues to hesitate]

Namuth: and...now.

Pollock: I can control the flow...

(Hans interrupts)

Namuth: Good! 

Namuth: One more time.

Pollock: I can control the flow of the paint. 

Namuth: Good. [Hans Namuth points] Stand there.

Pollock: There is no accident, 

Pollock: just as there is no beginning and no end. 

Namuth: Cut!  

Paint...now! Just like that. Now stay right there! Great! Do that again! No no! Like you did before.

(overlapping) Namuth: Fine.

Namuth: Now!... Jackson, now!

Pollock: Sometimes I lose a painting, but I have no fear of changes, of destroying the image. Because a painting has a life of its own I try to let it live.

Namuth: Again!

Pollock: I try to let it live.

Namuth: Again!

Pollock: I try to let it live.

Namuth: Again! 

Pollock: I try to let it live.

Namuth: Good.




The Deep

(Jackson sings)

Text from Moby Dick, Chapter 132: The Symphony

by Herman Melville

It was a clear steel-blue day. The firmaments of air and sea were hardly separable in that all-pervading azure; only, the pensive air was transparently pure and soft, with a woman’s look, and the robust and man-like sea heaved with long, strong, lingering swells, as Samson’s chest in his sleep.

The Deep, Jackson Pollock

Hither, and thither, on high, glided the snow-white wings of small, unspeckled birds; these were the gentle thoughts of the feminine air; but to and fro in the deeps, far down in the bottomless blue, rushed mighty leviathans, sword-fish, and sharks; and these were the strong, troubled, murderous thinkings of the masculine sea.

Autumn Rhythm (Thanksgiving Dinner)

Pollock: This one is for you.

Pollock: Dammit we need it!

Namuth: What’s the matter?

Namuth: Why so upset?

Krasner: Ha! You have no idea. 

(overlapping) Pollock: Now? Now?! Now?!

Pollock: Now?! [Jackson swings the sleigh bells towards Hans]

Namuth: Stop this! Put those down.

Krasner: [Looks to Jackson] Knock it off. [Looks to Hans] Just let him be.

(overlapping) Pollock: You think I’m a phony?

(overlapping) Pollock: You think I’m a phony?!

(overlapping) Pollock: You think I’m a phony?!!

Namuth: That’s enough!

(overlapping) Pollock: I’m not the phony. 

Pollock: YOU’RE the phony!

(overlapping) Pollock: Now?

Namuth: Jackson.  

Pollock: Now?

Namuth: Jackson, no!

Pollock: Now?!

Namuth: Jackson, STOP!

Pollock: NOW?!?!

ACT 3

Pioneers! O Pioneers!

(Baritone sings)

Text from Pioneers! O Pioneers!, from Leaves of Grass

By Walt Whitman

Come my tan-faced children,

Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,

Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?

Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,

We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,

We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheavving,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

O to die advancing on!

Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?

Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill'd.

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Till with sound of trumpet,

Far, far off the daybreak call—hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind,

Swift! to the head of the army!--swift! spring to your places,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Black & White

No. 26A: Black and White, by Jackson Pollock

Blue Poles

Blue Poles, by Jackson Pollock

To a Violent Grave

Search (Epilogue)

Ocean Greyness / Prophecy

(Lee sings)

Text from A Season in Hell, by Arthur Rimbaud. 

Translation by Louise Varèse 

Where are we going? To battle? I am weak! The others

advance. Tools, weapons...time!...

Fire! Fire on me! Here! Or I surrender.---Cowards!---

I'll kill myself! I'll throw myself under the horses' hoofs!

Ocean Greyness, by Jackson Pollock

Enough! Here is the punishment.---Forward, march! 

Ah! My lungs are on fire, my temples roar! In this

sunlight night rolls through my eyes: Heart…

limbs…

Do I know nature yet? Do I know myself?---No 

more words. I bury the dead in my belly. 

Shouts, drums, dance, dance, dance, dance!

Forward! The march, the burden and the desert, 

weariness and anger.

To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast

should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What

hearts shall I break? What lies should I uphold? In 

what blood tread? 

”Bad Blood'' by Arthur Rimbaud, translated by Louise Varèse, from A SEASON IN HELL & THE DRUNKEN BOAT, copyright ©1961 by New Directions Publishing Corp. Use by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.

This program is made possible in part by the New York State Council on the Arts, with the support of Governor Kathy Hochul, the New York State Legislature, the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs Cultural Development Fund, the Aaron Copland Fund for Music, the Alice M. Ditson Fund at Columbia University, and the Amphion Foundation.