Jackson [Pollock] had tickets to a play.
Jackson [Pollock] had tickets to a play. "I've seen this play before, but it's so good I want you to see it. It's by a very important Irishman named Beckett. Waiting For Godot is the most important play I've seen. It's abstract."
We had dinner in a place close to the theater and found our seats about middle orchestra. The theater was not full... I didn't get the point of the play but Jackson did. Every line made him cringe, he got more and more into the play, and by the time Alvin Epstein came out as Lucky in the most thrilling performance, Jackson was beside himself. He started to cry.
People around us were shushing him, turning around. It was a quiet play, only two characters on stage, and every sound was noticed. He started to cry, really cry, and then the crying turned into sobs and then it went into heartbreaking moans. He was out of control. I grabbed his arms, pulled him up out of his seat. His eyes were closed. He was lost, not realizing we were in the theater. "Jackson, come, let's go home," I said. I somehow got him out of the theater and into a taxi, and as we walked out of the theater his crying was so loud it was as though his heart was breaking...
Nothing would make him stop. I tried to think about the play and what had set him off, the futility of no one coming. "I'm here. I'll be there when you need me. Don't be so sad please." "It's not that. It's something else. I can't explain."
- Love Affair, Ruth Kligman (68-69)