Mark Rothko’s Room

I haven’t explained to many people why my English name is Mark. In fact, the reason I chose “Mark” is because I see a strong similarity between myself and Mark Rothko. Rothko’s large-scale, “singular” color abstract oil paintings often astonish the general public, who frequently question, “Are you sure these are artworks? It’s just color! I could do that too.”

My friend, before jumping to this hasty conclusion, why not listen to something I want to share—and then reconsider? This quote comes from my once-favorite artist, Zao Wou-Ki, who said, “Writers write journals in their own way, and painters, likewise—their paintings are their intimate journals.”

With this insight, let’s consider Rothko’s abstract oil paintings as reflections of the artist’s inner world at the time of their creation. According to information I found online, this group of Rothko’s works at Tate Modern had been “on the road” for years—loaned to other museums—and even displayed at Tate Britain for a time, only returning home earlier this year. According to the label at the entrance, this series was originally commissioned for the fashionable Four Seasons restaurant in the Seagram Building on Park Avenue, New York, in the late 1950s. However, when Rothko completed the works, he realized that the worldly, luxurious setting of a restaurant was not suitable for them, so he withdrew from the commission and eventually donated the series to the Tate Gallery.

Tate places great value on these works, which is evident in how they curate them. Presented just as the artist intended, the paintings are deliberately displayed in reduced light and within a compact space, creating a solemn and meditative atmosphere for viewers to reflect and contemplate. This forms a creative contrast with the Rothko room at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., where his works are shown in a brightly lit white room. Yet, there is one Rothko painting I particularly like—its colors are black and a subtly dim purple at the boundaries of the color blocks.

Rothko room at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C.

Rothko Room at Tate Modern

Back to the main topic: what do these intense crimson tones suggest? The mystery of Rothko’s art can only be truly experienced in person—no screen can replicate the feeling. Some people have said the Seagram Murals (the name of this series) are too depressing and suffocating. They might reflect Rothko’s psychological state at the time, especially considering his later suicide. As Rothko said, “I am interested only in expressing basic human emotions – tragedy, ecstasy, doom.” These blurred, blood-red shades easily give viewers a negative impression.

However, the essence of Rothko’s work lies in the emerging boundaries between different colors. That subtlety is the most worthy of contemplation—and it’s also my favorite part. If you look closely at how the blocks of color melt into each other, you’ll notice that some of them radiate a sense of vibrancy. This is what I call the underlying hue of life.

A critic who once visited Rothko’s studio described the colors of the Seagram Murals as “darkly luminous”—a perfect description. Though the overall tone is somber, there is still a glimmer of light. This is why I feel a connection with Rothko: I believe we are both sensitive to the world, easily noticing its subtle changes and differences. Yet at the same time, we express our true thoughts in a reserved and veiled way. In other words, our ideas require careful thought and interpretation.

In today’s world, this trait might be seen as a weakness. After all, society can be indifferent, and few people are willing to spend time trying to understand you. But perhaps being understood isn’t the most important thing. What truly matters is that we once expressed ourselves—that we once existed.

(Off topic: as I left Tate, I didn’t feel well—I had a slight headache and felt like vomiting. I don’t know if it was because of the power of Rothko’s art (I also listened to the music mentioned on the label—the music Rothko listened to while painting), or if I was just exhausted from carrying my heavy backpack.)