Rothko’s Room on the River

“A painting is not a picture of an experience; it is the experience.”
– Mark Rothko

London is glorious this April. 

The weather seemingly slip-streams from California. 

Royal Tulips are odes to Spring in public spaces along the Thames Embankment. 

London’s visionary guardians have bequeathed countless monuments which provide welcome dignity to the momentary. Stately statuary and architecture are silent ushers to our daily excursions. 

One of our favorite cultural touchpoints, the Mark Rothko Room, at the Tate Modern (in an old power house) has moved across the water to the British Tate (built on an old prison). We were determined today to see one of our favorite artists in this renewed setting. 

What’s the big deal? Well…

Let’s start at the beginning. 

In 1959, at the rise of Rothko’s career, he accepted a $35,000 commission from New York’s newly constructed Four Seasons restaurant in the glass and chrome Seagrams Building. 

“As he worked on the murals, Rothko increasingly concentrated on a sombre palette of reds, browns and blacks. A critic who visited his studio described the colours as ‘darkly luminous’.”*

Not surprisingly, he “became increasingly doubtful that a luxury restaurant with its wealthy patrons was the appropriate venue for his art.” He withdrew, somewhat contentiously, canceling the prestigious project. 

Rothko’s ambition was to have a “permanent setting for the works so they could always be shown as a group, in an immersive environment.”

In 1970, “he presented the paintings to Tate largely because of his admiration for the work of JMW Turner (1775–1851)”. The subtle similarities between Turner and Rothko surprisingly became apparent to us on our current visit. 

For over 50 years, the (now titled) Seagram Murals have been displayed in specially designed rooms in both Tate Museums with protective light and atmosphere. These solemn rooms have held a unique, almost mystical, appeal to us. 

It’s so easy to just think of Rothko as this kind of museum postcard image of a red picture, or of a red-and-yellow picture. But there’s this other side of Rothko, rich deep layers of color that arise slowly, and demand more of our time. 

I never tire of these collected monolithic paintings. They seem to evoke our primal feelings of tragedy, ecstasy…perhaps, doom. I almost hear chords of a gigantic imaginary organ sustaining just perceptibly in the darkened chamber. 

Visiting the British Tate this year, we practically had the collections to ourselves (an unappreciated aspect of Covid). We noticed another gentleman who spent hours meditating in the presence of Rothko’s mastery… and (in my crass accounting) a billion dollars of art.

These museums and public spaces continue to provide us a template for our appreciation and gratitude for the privilege of travel. 

*Information sourced from Abigail Cain/Artsy Editorial; National Gallery; Tate Gallery

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