Not to be missed in Madrid, the Thyssen Museum. This was my first real live Rothko and I fell for it, hard. Ambling around the bottom floor galleries, I felt very lost trying to interpret modern art and suddenly, “Heelllooo big guy.” Tall, dark and green, it swept me off my feet. A mesmerizing pool of color. Go ahead. . . stick your toe in the water and swirl it around a bit (the green square is about the size of a plastic kiddie pool). And I’ll tell you how to love Rothko.
First of all, you must ask your mind to step back. This painting is like an “Ohm” in color. A portal into yourself (going where no man has gone before) and if you listen to your brain flip-flopping “What is this. . I can’t understand it . .What is he doing here?” You’ve totally missed it. Don’t try to “figure it out” which is a relief actually. Noggin, take the bench, heart you’re up.
You are experiencing yourself and the color together. What if you become the canvas, feeling the green and purple wash over you and all the emotions that happen. Tip into the green and splash down into it. Let your soul fingers touch the edges where the purpley maroon meet the green shoreline. Feel all the layers of color lap up against you.
Now what do you see? Your grandmother’s green sweater and the smell of her perfume, the softness of your son’s favorite blankie, your lover’s eyes. For me green = life and this makes me desperately want to be “alive.” Rothko invites you on an inner journey. The color, your guide; a baptism in jade. Skinny dipping in a Rothko.