I hate Mark Rothko.
A few years ago, I was visiting the Tate Modern in London, a beautiful museum housed in a decommissioned 19th-century power station that thrusts into the sky like the Tower of Mordor. The effect was stark on that winter evening, and I felt a little overawed, but the weather was so blustery that I would’ve been happy to duck inside even if I hadn’t wanted to look at the art.
I soon discovered that the museum has a “Rothko Room,” meant to let the viewer appreciate the artist’s work in a setting close to the one he would’ve wanted. From the Tate website:
In the late 1950s, Rothko was commissioned to paint a series of murals for the fashionable Four Seasons restaurant, in the Seagram Building on Park Avenue, New York. […] However, the murals were darker in mood than his previous work. The bright and intense colours [sic – Britain] of his earlier paintings shifted to maroon, dark red and black. […] Recognising [sic – more Britain] that the worldly setting of a restaurant would not be the ideal location for such a work, Rothko withdrew from the commission. […] This installation includes all nine of the paintings owned by Tate. Perceived, as the artist intended, in reduced light and in a compact space, the subtlety of the layered surfaces slowly emerges, revealing their solemn and meditative character.
