I Am Never Free Of The Past.

I Never Violate An Inner Rhythm. I Loathe To Force Anything. I Don't Know If The Inner Rhythm Is Eastern Or Western. I Know It Is Essential For Me. I Listen To It And I Stay With It. I Have Always Been This Way. I Have Regards For The Inner Voice.

All My Work Keeps Going Like A Pendulum; It Seems To Swing Back To Something I Was Involved With Earlier, Or It Moves Between Horizontality And Verticality, Circularlity, Or A Composite Of Them. For Me, I Suppose, That Change Is The Only Constant.

One Could Go On For Ever As To Whether The Paint Should Be Thick Or Thin, Whether To Paint The Woman Or The Square, Hard-edge Or Soft, But After A While Such Questions Become A Bore. They Are Merely Problems In Aesthetics, Having Only To Do With The Outer Man.

In The Late 30s The Name Pollock Was Totally Unknown And Unheard Of.

Painting... In Which The Inner And The Outer Man Are Inseparable, Transcends Technique, Transcends Subject And Moves Into The Realm Of The Inevitable.