Mark Rothko

Mark Rothko

Dear Diary,
The room is much darker than any exhibition I’m accustomed to. I feel the intimacy, the spirit of the dark boudoir-like colours: the tranquil. Some on-lookers do as I; sit on the benches. They seem to be gathering their thoughts, admiring the paintings, some simply to rest, or to tie-up shoelaces. The lines are systematic calculated but without restriction and explanations (literally). They are huge Muriels of window-like outlines constructed with steady, basic strokes. Black squares on a deep wine background. The lighting, atmosphere and mood seem to have changed in comparison to the outside world. Perhaps, this is the meaning- to physically draw you in. I believe it is more than the art which attracts and sustains my glare. A sense of relaxation overwhelms me. Subsequently, my butt remains on the bench, the most comfortable marble bench. The room contains art, but is in itself art. Why do I feel like it’s quite a sexy atmosphere? I could bring a date here. These paintings can de translated and transported into any surrounding. ‘That looks like the twilight zone’ I hear a young student say. So the feeling is not mutual then, I thought. They dismiss the room, after a few glances and proclaim, BORING, Let’s go. Do not admire just the art, I mean the whole room has its own ambience. The archway which is the main source of light- The room has no door, but still manages to feel completely separate to the rest of the gallery. If this is the mood Mark Rothko aspired to achieve, then I would love to visit his house, his room, his world. Don’t know if I am doing this stream of consciousness exercise right but here is my attempt anyway P.s I need to find if this Mark guy is single.