It seems to me that many take solace in the concrete , that emptiness and the untranslatable are the true sources of anxiety. Assuming I am no different the average human, then, why am I drawn and take comfort in abstractions and that I can find no obvious meaning? I do not know if I have answer, but it happens nevertheless. No better example is that of standing face to face with two huge rectangles, one of black and one of mottled green on a red background, an experience whose pleasure has only been brought to me by Mark Rothko. The magnitude, the colors, and the roughness contain everything that is of importance – that is, very little but in great quantity and quality. Rothko’s paintings are a complete sensory encapsulation; they leave no room for thoughts besides the immediate pigment and canvas (perhaps this is the concreteness that allows for such ameliorating effects). Rothko rejected explanation of his work, claiming the “silence is so accurate;” it seems to me anything else to be said would be superfluous (as would any more expansion upon the personal appeal of his work).
“Red, Orange, Tan, and Purple,” 1954. From abstract-art.com, in a pretty good gallery of abstract expressionists.
No comments:
Post a Comment