Photo Essay

FLEUR: A PAINTING, A STORY, AND SOMETHING IN BETWEEN

DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY

Dyutiman Mukhopadhyay; ‘Fleur’ (2023, 45 in x 20 in);

Enamel Wall Paint and Acrylic on Paper;

Photographed (along with close-ups from current and earlier iterations) by Dyutiman Mukhopadhyay;

Kolkata & Bangalore, India; October 2023

‘The She-Wolf’ by  Jackson Pollock (1943)

A work of Pollock not done using his widely known drip-technique. The inspiration for the work is shrouded in mystery as Pollock never wished to disclose it. The wolf in this painting may allude to the animal that suckled the twin founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus, in the myth of the city's birth; Style: Abstract Expressionism; Gouache, Oil, and Pastel on Canvas; Location: Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), NY, US.

Source: Wiki Art (https://www.wikiart.org/en/jackson-pollock/the-she-wolf)

(B&W, low-resolution image of the artwork is for purposes of critical commentary on the specific work in question and qualifies as fair use under United States copyright law)

‘Every good painter paints what he is… The source of my painting is the unconscious… They work from a different source… They work from within… When I am in my painting, I’m not aware of what I’m doing… The painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through.’

— Jackson Pollock (1912–1956)

In psychology, synchronicity refers to the phenomenon of significant coincidences that lack an apparent causal connection. These events appear linked by meaning rather than cause and effect. The core idea behind synchronicity is the coexistence of diverse elements within a unified framework. Carl Jung developed and formally introduced this concept in his later works during the 1950s.

In La Peau de Chagrin (The Wild Ass’s Skin, 1831), Honoré de Balzac told the tale of Raphaël de Valentin, a young man who acquires a magical wild ass’s skin that grants wishes but shrinks with each fulfilment—shortening his life in the process. It is a story of ambition, excess, and the cost of desire, one that secured Balzac’s literary legacy. The end of La Peau de Chagrin (section ‘L'Agonie’) is nothing short of haunting. With his prized chagrin skin being reduced to the size of a periwinkle leaf, Raphaël is visited in his room by Pauline Gaudin, who is the young woman in the story representing pure, selfless love and devotion. Pauline, professes her love for Raphaël, but when she learns the terrible truth about the skin and the part she has unknowingly played in his decline, she is overcome with shock and despair. Raphaël, unable to resist his longing for her, reaches for Pauline, prompting her to flee into an adjoining room in a desperate bid to save his life. He pounds on the door, fervently professing both his love and his readiness to perish in her embrace. Meanwhile, she, tormented by guilt, attempts to take her own life to release him from his consuming desire. In a final, desperate act, he breaks down the door, and in a moment of blazing passion, they unite—only for him to collapse and die in her arms. In real life, Balzac’s novel initiated a years-long correspondence with Polish noblewoman Ewelina Hańska, trapped in an unhappy marriage to an older, melancholic husband. Hańska, enchanted by Balzac’s words, first wrote to him anonymously. When they finally met in 1833, their relationship deepened, though years of legal and financial complications delayed their union. It was only in 1850, after years of longing, that they married. Five months later, Balzac was dead. His wife was not by his side when he took his last breath. Some speculate that his relentless coffee consumption—reportedly over 50 cups a day—contributed to his deteriorating health, though no proof exists. Eveline Hańska remained best known for her second marriage to Balzac.

In 1934, Austrian physicist Wolfgang Pauli was on his honeymoon with his second wife when his car inexplicably failed. It wasn’t the first time mechanical devices had malfunctioned in his presence. Colleagues joked about the Pauli effect, a phenomenon where delicate equipment would break or refuse to function whenever he was nearby. Unlike the Pauli Exclusion Principle—his famous scientific contribution—this effect had no logical explanation. It was simply observed, a pattern without an apparent cause. Pauli’s curiosity led him to Carl Jung, with whom he began an intellectual exchange in 1932 that would span decades. Jung saw the Pauli effect as a prime example of synchronicity—a theory he was developing, describing acausal yet meaningful coincidences that seemed too precise to be mere chance. Their discussions blurred the lines between physics and psychology, as they sought to understand whether certain events, bound by neither time nor logic, could still carry significance.

In 1935, Dr Joseph Breur’s patient and Freud’s subject of case study—Anna O (Bertha Pappenheim)—finally destroyed all relevant documentation of her treatment and stay in Vienna between 1880 and 1882. Bertha, known in medical history as ‘Anna O,’ was not just Sigmund Freud’s (Breur’s colleague) most famous case study—she was touted as the very foundation of psychoanalysis by Freud. Yet, the official version of her story concealed as much as it revealed. In 1880, while caring for her dying father, Bertha began experiencing what was then termed hysteria—a range of mysterious symptoms, including temporary paralysis, hallucinations, and the inability to speak German, her native tongue. Her physician, Josef Breuer, discovered that her symptoms seemed to subside when she recounted past experiences uninhibitedly. Bertha herself called it the ‘talking cure’, unknowingly setting the groundwork for Freud’s later theories. But there was no miraculous recovery. According to Ernest Jones's biography of Freud, Breuer abruptly ended his therapy sessions with Bertha Pappenheim in 1882, primarily due to his wife Mathilde's jealousy of the strong bond he had developed with his patient, as well as Bertha's symptoms of pseudocyesis (false pregnancy, where she believed she was giving birth to Dr Breuer's child), which led Breuer to abandon the treatment (this has been debated, though). Bertha’s condition, in reality, worsened, leading to her being institutionalised, where she was administered large quantities of morphine and chloral hydrate during treatment. This likely complicated her symptoms—the hallucinations might have been drug-induced. Some scholars argue her condition was iatrogenic (worsened by the treatment itself). The widely accepted narrative—that she had been ‘cured’ by therapy and lived a normal life—was largely a fabrication. She struggled for years before eventually reinventing herself as a feminist and social reformer. Interestingly, as Bertha dedicated herself to supporting women and children, she gradually distanced herself from psychoanalysis. She never publicly acknowledged her past as ‘Anna O,’ possibly to dissociate from that identity. Records indicate that in her work with traumatised young women, she actively opposed the application of psychoanalytic methods—perhaps a sign of her ambivalence toward Breuer’s treatment and Freud’s adaptation of her story. She showed little enthusiasm for Freud’s growing movement. Ultimately, Pappenheim redefined her own legacy, transforming from the so-called ‘hysterical’ patient into a figure of resilience and advocacy. Decades later, Carl Jung would openly challenge Freud’s version of events, stating that the famed ‘Anna O cure’ was ‘nothing of the sort,’, challenging Freud’s glowing account.

By 1936, Jung had formalised his theory of the collective unconscious, a concept he first presented in a London lecture that year. While Freud viewed the unconscious as a storage unit for repressed desires, Jung saw something deeper—a shared reservoir of inherited memories and symbols. The two had once been close. Freud saw Jung as his intellectual heir, but their break was inevitable. It had begun years earlier, in 1912, when Freud visited a colleague in Kreuzlingen but did not visit Jung in nearby Zurich. Jung called it the Kreuzlingen gesture, a symbolic rejection. In November 1912, Jung and Freud convened in Munich alongside other distinguished colleagues to deliberate on psychoanalytic publications. During a discussion on a newly presented essay about Amenhotep IV, Jung shared his perspective on its relevance to ongoing tensions within the psychoanalytic community. As he spoke, Freud unexpectedly lost consciousness, collapsing mid-conversation. Jung quickly intervened, lifting him onto a couch. Their final meeting was in Munich, in September 1913.

In 1936, Jackson Pollock participated in an experimental workshop under the guidance of Mexican muralist David Alfaro Siqueiros. There, he first experimented with liquid enamel paints and techniques that would later define his famous drip technique. Critic Clement Greenberg suggested that Pollock had been influenced by artist Janet Sobel, but another influence had already shaped him—his sessions with Jungian analyst Dr Joseph Henderson. During therapy between 1939 and 1940, Pollock produced a series of ‘psychoanalytic drawings,’ tapping into the unconscious through art. His later drip paintings were not just techniques; they were believed to be psychological excavations, as Pollock himself said: ‘The source of my painting is the unconscious.’

In early 1938, Jung embarked on an extensive tour of India, accompanied by Fowler McCormick. Unlike his experiences in Africa, where language barriers had restricted his interactions, India allowed him to engage deeply with the local culture. He later reflected that, for the first time, he felt profoundly influenced by a foreign tradition. Hindu philosophy significantly shaped his views on symbolism and the unconscious, though he deliberately avoided meeting the Advait sage and mystic Ramana Maharshi, whom he perceived as entirely immersed in ‘the Self.’ During his travels, Jung visited the Vedagiriswarar Temple, where he discussed the meaning of its sculptures and symbols with a local expert. This conversation later found its way into his book ‘Aion: Beiträge zur Symbolik des Selbst (Contributions to the Symbolism of the Self).’ However, his journey was not without hardship—he fell seriously ill and spent two weeks in a state of delirium in a Calcutta hospital. After this trip, his travels remained confined to Europe.

In 1938, Sigmund Freud wrote ‘Splitting of the Ego in the Process of Defence’—an unfinished paper published posthumously that examines the concept of disavowal and its role in fragmenting the ego, particularly in relation to the castration complex and its effects on behaviour and mental processes. Written around Christmas 1937 and dated January 2, 1938, the paper builds upon Freud’s earlier studies on fetishism, neurosis, and psychosis. He describes disavowal as a psychological defence mechanism in which an individual rejects or denies an aspect of reality that is too distressing for the ego to accept. This, in turn, leads to ego splitting, where contradictory perceptions or beliefs coexist within a person’s psyche, resulting in a psychological duality that shapes their mental and emotional state.

On September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland, initiating World War II in Europe.

By mid-September 1939, Freud was in unbearable pain from inoperable jaw cancer. He had once made a pact with his physician, Max Schur: when the suffering became too much, he would not be left to linger. On September 21, Freud reminded Schur of their agreement. His daughter, Anna Freud, wanted to postpone the decision, but Schur convinced her that prolonging his suffering was futile. Over the next two days, Freud was administered increasing doses of morphine until he drifted into unconsciousness. He died in the early hours of September 23. His death remained surrounded by contradictions. Some accounts suggest that the final dose was not given by Schur but by Dr Josephine Stross, a colleague of Anna Freud. The time of death, too, remains disputed—some say it was around midnight; others place it closer to 3 AM.

New York, September 23, 1939, Night:

In a cramped Manhattan apartment studio, Jackson Pollock sits hunched on the floor, back against a paint-splattered wall. It is late, and the only light comes from a flickering candle and the neon glow of a distant sign seeping through the window. Pollock’s sketchbook lies open on his lap, blank pages taunting him—and his canvas on the floor. A bottle of bourbon stands half-empty at his side. He runs a trembling hand through his dark hair and takes another burning swig, trying to silence the anxiety and demons of alcoholism that plague him. At 27 years old, Pollock is a talented but troubled artist undergoing Jungian psychotherapy to tame his inner turmoil. For months now he has met regularly with Dr Joseph Henderson, a Jungian analyst, to wrestle with the unconscious forces that seem to burst forth in violent rages and paralysing depressions.

Pollock isn’t much for talking about his feelings; instead, at his therapist’s urging, he pours his feelings into drawings—bringing sketch after sketch to therapy as a basis for Jungian active imagination, which allows a more dialogical and immersive engagement with the unconscious rather than Freud’s free association. On good nights, these drawings feel cathartic. Tonight, however, inspiration eludes him. He feels only frustration and shame at his earlier drunken outburst in therapy, and a raw yearning to break through the haze in his mind. Pollock squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears of inadequacy. As he gulps another mouthful of bourbon, Pollock’s vision blurs. The candle flame sputters and stretches shadows across the ceiling. He is about to pass out in an alcohol-fuelled slumber when a chill wind rustles the papers on the floor. The candle flame bends, nearly extinguished by an invisible gust. Despite the humid late-summer night, the room has gone cold. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson sees a silhouette near the doorway. ‘Who’s there? ‘... Sande, is that you?’ he calls, wondering if his brother might have come home. There is no response from the darkness. Pollock fumbles for the light switch, but the bulb only fizzles and dies, casting the room back into a flickering shadow. In the gloom, a figure resolves into view: a man in a suit, beard neatly trimmed, eyes sorrowful beneath a furrowed brow.

A painted woman’s eyes flicker open on the canvas lying on the floor—and then she steps out, her form rippling like oil on water as she lands soundlessly on the black glass floor. Pollock’s breath catches. Before him stands a vision rendered in smoke and paint—a woman sculpted from shifting hues, her body shimmering with something alive, something breathing. Her face is familiar yet elusive—she has the high cheekbones of a former lover, the stern mouth of Pollock’s own mother, and the hypnotic dark eyes that remind him oddly of a feminine archetype—Dr Henderson often spoke of—Jung’s Anima. Her gown is deep crimson, the fabric taut against her torso, arched with liquid grace, the soft lines of her form catching the candlelight structured to accentuate every curve. Black lace frames her throat, winding down her bodice like creeping ivy, its intricate webbing hinting at bare skin beneath. The high collar lends her an air of severity, but the sheer lace at her décolletage reveals the tease of throbbing flesh—warm, beckoning, forbidden. Pollock staggers back. In the periphery, he is vaguely aware of the man watching—like a big, blind spider—lone and sad—intently, as if observing an experiment. The woman—this apparition, this waking dream—smiles, and Pollock feels his body betray him. Her full lips, edged in shadow, part slightly as though tasting the very air between them. Her dark eyes—bottomless, liquid—trap his gaze. He cannot move, cannot think. ‘Jackson…’ she murmurs. Her voice is velvet, laced with something darker, something deeper, resonating through him like a hundred whispered confessions.

She glides toward him, her movements slow, deliberate—each step an invitation. The heavy skirt of her gown sways, revealing glimpses of the tight-fitted silhouette beneath and the soft whisper of lace against her thighs. The rigid boning of her bodice forces her shoulders back, her form poised between restraint and abandon like a woman bound by decorum but steeped in raw, unspoken desire. Pollock is drawn as if by an unseen force. Heat rises between them. The scent of aged silk and something darker—like charred roses and candle wax—fills his lungs. She lifts a hand, gloved in lace, and lets her fingertips ghost over his chest, down his sternum. The brush of fabric against his skin is electric. His breath shudders. The air tightens. Her smile shifts—something in her eyes gleams, turning sharp. And then—this beauty twists into something voracious, and before he can react, she drops to all fours. The lace along her throat splits as her body convulses, arching. A guttural sound escapes her lips—half moan, half growl. The deep red silk of her gown ripples like muscle reforming beneath the skin. The whites of her eyes flash yellow. As if, in an instant, the seductive muse has transformed into a feral creature with her back arching grotesquely. A snarl rips from her throat. She lunges at Pollock, knocking him down. He lands on the hard floor with a cry. In terror, he throws up his arms to shield himself. Yet, even then—she seems so soft—like petals of a flower—her breasts pressing on his chest—dripping in lust and anger—hot breath washes over his face. He gasps, as her body—warm, heavy, untamed—presses him into the cold floor. Her primal scent floods his senses. He cannot tell if he is prey or her prayer.

The big, blind spider watched all along.

Years later, when asked about his painting ‘The She-Wolf’ (1943), Pollock responded cryptically:

‘She-Wolf came into existence because I had to paint it. Any attempt on my part to say something about it, to attempt an explanation of the inexplicable, could only destroy it.’

P.S.

1. The last book Sigmund Freud read before his death by euthanasia was Balzac's La Peau de Chagrin.

2. On 15 March 2025, the shocking news came out that Daniel Kahneman (Nobel Prize-winning psychologist best known for his book Thinking, Fast and Slow) actually died by assisted suicide on March 27, 2024, three weeks after his 90th birthday, in Switzerland, though the manner and location of his death were only revealed to the public on March 15, 2025.

3. On 15 March 2025, I completed the first draft of this essay, which I had been working on for weeks.

4. My short story at the end is inspired by the Netflix TV series ‘Freud’ (2020) and by the character of Fleur Salomé (who is also the inspiration for the title and my painting) played by the haunting Swiss actor Ella Rumph. ‘Freud’ is an Austrian-German crime thriller television series directed by Marvin Kren that has created a fantasy tale reimagining the life of a young Sigmund Freud. The series produced eight episodes and was first aired on ORF (Österreichischer Rundfunk) on March 15, 2020.

— by Dyutiman Mukhopadhyay; March 16, 2025.

—With help from Open AI, Google, Freud, Jung, Pollock, Anna O, Fleur Salomé, and

Master Blender’s Signature Rare whisky with a pinch of salt.