Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner had this intense, tangled relationship that I really wanted to capture. She wore so many hats — agent, lover, friend, mother figure. Their kitchen shadows tell stories — you can't quite tell if they're about to scream or embrace, all while surrounded by their everyday world. The silhouette of him on the porch captures how dark his inner world was, no matter how colorful his canvases got.

In the studio shots, I aimed to capture what it felt like to see them in that space — the motion and movement of their process, frozen in a photo that also echoes in their work. I also aimed to show illuminating fragments of these charged spaces through the eyes of the creative personalities who lived there.

The paint on Jackson Pollock's studio floor was an ever-evolving canvas in its own right, changing and growing each time he painted. And then, suddenly, it all came to a halt. Like a stopped clock, the changing, liquid surface suddenly solidified in time. What we see now is a specific moment when this work and Pollock's life came to an end. We can see this exact moment in the paint splatters that framed every canvas and merged together to create a narrative of his life. We forget that all of this was created at home.

The floors fascinate me — you see outlines of his paintings merging into this deeply personal artwork that connects them both. After he died, Lee took over the studio and added her own marks to that floor.