Rothko in Paris

 
 
 

Everyone has been talking about it. The Rothko exhibit at the Louis Vuitton collection in Paris. The largest collection of his work. For me, the most fascinating was Rothko before he was Rothko. Decidedly figurative, the upright vertical lines of the subway scenes before blurring into mythology then vast abstracts.  Color. Blocks. Intense. Moments of Energy. Happiness Yellow. Orange Enjoyment. Pink. Red. Red means Love, but that doesn’t feel right. I feel emotions. I feel energy. The red feels angry, he uses it with black. But when he uses it with pink, what is it? Pink historically is Kindness, Compassion. It makes me feel good, the pink & red together. I think he must have felt good when he painted it. Was that combination simply compassion for himself? I write to convey emotion. Yes I share my experience. But mostly I share my heart.

I am at my best when I am kind to myself. Patient with myself. Loving of myself. Acknowledging emotion is healing. Rothko was famous for declaring he paints emotion. Tragedy & Doom. Darkness layered in art he was afraid would become living room art. Decorative. Chosen for its colors not emotion. Half way through the exhibition, I tell my friend Anne the last painting should be black. This said after a slew of Morose purples. As we walk through the exhibition, I think about the transition of his work. The stripping away of things so that at the end all that is left is him. His emotion. It’s what I’ve been doing with my life. Running to myself. It’s what I do with my writing. I strip away strip away strip away answering “but how do I feel, how do I feel, how do I feel?” His energy. The last room filled with black & gray paintings before his death. The absence of color. The absence of life. Committing suicide. Apparently Rothko’s last painting, which wasn’t on display here, was an angry red, found next to his body. Emotional lines. What’s the greatest emotion? It’s love. We think of love for another person. But love can also be for self. More importantly should be for self. His last painting. Red. Love & Hate are on the same emotional line. I leave the exhibit not feeling uplifted but disturbed.

We need more Pink.


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Feeding Time for the Elephants