You’ve probably seen it. Maybe on a screen, maybe in a textbook, or maybe just as a punchline to a joke about how "modern art is a scam." It looks like a dense, chaotic nest of brown, silver, and yellow. To the uninitiated, it’s a mess. To the art world, Number 5, 1948 is basically the Holy Grail of American Abstract Expressionism.
Honestly, it’s a bit of a miracle the thing exists at all. Most people think Jackson Pollock just threw some paint at a board and called it a day, but the history of this specific piece is filled with near-disasters, secret repaints, and a price tag that once made the entire world gasp.
Back in 2006, the news broke that David Geffen—the Hollywood mogul—sold it for $140 million. At the time, that was the most anyone had ever paid for a painting. Ever. People lost their minds. How could a 4-by-8-foot sheet of fiberboard covered in "splatters" be worth more than a small island?
The Secret History of the "Double" Painting
Here is the thing almost nobody talks about: the Number 5, 1948 we see today isn't actually the original version.
In early 1949, a collector named Alfonso Ossorio bought the painting for $1,500. Not exactly $140 million, right? But when it arrived at his house, it was a wreck. A chunk of paint—basically a "skin" from the top of an old paint can that Pollock had incorporated—had flaked off during shipping. Ossorio sent it back to Pollock’s studio in the Hamptons for a quick patch-up.
Pollock didn't just patch it. He got frustrated or inspired—maybe a bit of both—and he basically repainted the entire thing.
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When Ossorio came back to pick it up, he was stunned. The painting was different. It was denser, more complex. Pollock famously told him that no one would ever know the difference because "no one knows how to look at my paintings" anyway. It’s kinda funny when you think about it. The world’s most famous Pollock is actually a Pollock-on-top-of-a-Pollock.
It’s Not Just "Splatter"—It’s Physics
If you think you could do this in your garage, you're probably wrong.
Scientists have actually studied the way the paint moves in Number 5, 1948. A team at Brown University discovered that Pollock had an intuitive, almost supernatural understanding of fluid dynamics. They looked at the "coiling instability"—that thing that happens when you pour honey on toast and it curls into circles.
Pollock moved his hand at a specific speed and kept his "brush" (which was usually just a stick or a crusty old basting syringe) at a specific height to avoid those curls. He wanted long, unbroken filaments of paint.
He used:
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- Synthetic gloss enamel (basically house paint).
- Oil paints (for the thicker, textured bits).
- Aluminum paint (to give it that weird, metallic shimmer).
He didn't use an easel. He laid the fiberboard flat on the floor because he wanted to be in the painting. He’d walk around the edges, stepping onto the board, flinging paint from all four sides. It was a dance. It was "Action Painting."
Why the Numbering?
People often ask why he didn't give it a "real" name. Like, why not call it Autumn Nest or Electric Chaos?
His wife, Lee Krasner (who was a brilliant artist in her own right), said he switched to numbers because they are neutral. He didn't want you looking for a hidden dog or a mountain in the drips. He wanted you to look at the paint for what it is: pure expression.
By the time he got to 1948, he was done with titles. Number 5, 1948 is a take-it-or-leave-it statement. It’s about the energy of the moment it was made, not a "picture" of something else.
The $140 Million Question: Who Owns It Now?
The ownership of this painting is shrouded in more mystery than a spy novel.
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For years, everyone assumed the buyer in 2006 was Mexican financier David Martinez. But then his lawyers put out a weirdly specific statement saying he didn't own it. Some people think it's still in his collection and he just wants privacy; others think it’s hidden away in a high-security "freeport" in Switzerland where rich people store art to avoid taxes.
Currently, it's listed as being in a "Private Collection, New York."
That’s the frustrating part about these mega-expensive masterpieces. They disappear. While you can go to the MoMA and see One: Number 31, 1950, Number 5, 1948 is essentially a ghost. It exists in the public imagination, but the actual board—the one Pollock stepped on, the one that was accidentally broken and then reborn—is behind a locked door somewhere.
How to "Read" a Pollock Without Feeling Silly
If you ever find yourself standing in front of a real Pollock (or even a high-res print of Number 5), don't try to find a shape.
- Look at the layers. Notice which color is on top. In Number 5, the yellow and white "webs" are the final layers that hold the whole thing together.
- Follow a single line. Pick one silver streak and follow it until it disappears. You can see how fast his hand was moving.
- Check the edges. Pollock often left the very edges of the board slightly cleaner, or the drips would wrap around. It shows the physical limit of his reach.
Basically, stop trying to "get it." There’s nothing to get. It’s a record of a human being moving through space. It's a snapshot of 1948 captured in hardened house paint.
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world of Abstract Expressionism, your best bet is to visit the Pollock-Krasner House and Study Center in East Hampton. You can actually walk on the studio floor where he painted. You can see the original paint splatters on the floorboards—the "ghosts" of paintings like Number 5. It’s the closest most of us will ever get to the real thing.
Check out the MoMA’s digital archives for high-resolution scans of his other 1948 works. It helps to compare Number 5 with something like Number 1A, 1948 to see how his style was shifting in that one single, explosive year.