In The Late 30s The Name Pollock

I Went Into My Own Black-out Period Which Lasted Two Or Three Years Where The Canvases Would Simply Build Up Until They'd Get Like Stone And It Was Always Just A Gray Mess. The Image Wouldn't Emerge, But I Worked Pretty Regularly. I Was Fighting To Find I Knew Not What, But I Could No Longer Stay With What I Had.

My Own Image Of My Work Is That I No Sooner Settle Into Something Than A Break Occurs. These Breaks Are Always Painful And Depressing But Despite Them I See That There's A Consistency That Holds Out, But Is Hard To Define.

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

I Have Never Been Able To Understand The Artist Whose Image Never Changes.

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.