Lee Krasner's Story Reconsidered

A writer's assumptions about Lee Krasner's relationship with Jackson Pollock were challenged by a visit to their shared home and conversations with experts. The director of the Pollock-Krasner House and author Mary Gabriel provided a more nuanced view of their partnership.

I knew Jackson Pollock's story well. I knew far less about Lee Krasner. My visit to the Pollock-Krasner House in Springs, East Hampton, began in her studio. It was a small second-floor bedroom. Our guide described how Pollock would displace Krasner to work there when his barn studio was too cold. Krasner would then paint by the kitchen stove.

The guide detailed the challenges Krasner faced. She navigated gender bias and poverty. She managed Pollock's alcoholism. She used her own standing in the art world to promote his work. Their frugal life was supported by his sales. I mourned the paintings she might have made without that burden.

The Barn and the Aftermath

We crossed to Pollock's barn studio. I stared at the bare rectangles on the walls. Fringed with splattered paint, they marked where Krasner's canvases once hung. After Pollock's death, it took her a year to claim that space. When she did, she painted at a sweeping scale. She filled the barn with explosive work. The guide described her grief-induced insomnia. I was confused. Why was she so bereft when she finally had the studio she deserved?

I carried this sense of injustice into the gift shop. An employee and I discussed women painters. He handed me a large yellow book. "This is a wonderful introduction, not just to Lee, but to the other women of Abstract Expressionism," he said. He then introduced himself as Matthew Ward, the director of the Pollock-Krasner House. I bought Mary Gabriel's Ninth Street Women (2018).

A Shift in Perspective

Months later, the Metropolitan Museum of Art announced Krasner and Pollock: Past Continuous. I was seething. I expected Matthew Ward to commiserate when we spoke. He was excited instead.

"A lot of people don't know this, but for two of the most avant-garde artists of their time, they led surprisingly domestic lives," Ward told me. "They slept in separate beds, and they made appointments to visit each other's studios. The romance was in the passion for their art."

He consistently used "they" and "them." He rarely spoke of one artist apart from the other. Every time I steered toward Krasner's sacrifices, he returned to their partnership. "He was the face of their business, but she managed everything. I'm not sure Jackson would have kept painting if it weren't for Lee."

Then he offered a startling thought. Krasner had a habit of destroying and reassembling older paintings that no longer felt true. Ward wondered if she had done the same with her memories of Pollock. She outlived him by almost three decades. Perhaps she revised the relationship to align with the artist she became.

Seeking Further Insight

I still doubted anyone close to Krasner would agree with The Met's joint exhibition. I contacted author Mary Gabriel. She agreed to a Zoom call from her home in Ireland.

Gabriel described the profound artistic dialogue between the two painters. She argued that viewing Krasner solely through the lens of sacrifice was a simplification. Their influence was mutual and complex. The conversation continued to unravel my earlier, simpler narrative.

My assumptions had been flawed. Loving an artist did not necessarily mean disappearing. Lee Krasner's story was not one of simple diminishment. It was far more textured. The evidence was in the barn walls she eventually claimed and in the partnership experts described.