How have I gone this many blog posts and not talked about Rothko? An artist that was probably the first to really create a piece that completely astounded me in it's simplicity yet profoundness. But alas, that work is for another post.
This post is about the Rothko Chapel in Houston Texas, and although I listed the date as 1971 it should be noted that Rothko committed suicide in 1970, so actually wasn't alive to see his work come to fruition.
Mark Rothko, Rothko Chapel (completed 1971) Oil on canvas |
I think the choice of Houston, Texas, as a place for a chapel is extremely interesting. I mean at this time, New York was the happening place to be in terms of culture and art. Why choose a place so far away from this audience? What would drive Rothko to seek an audience so unlike that which he had previously encountered? I've done some reading into it, and I'm still not too convinced on many of the arguments offered. Some say it's like a 'pilgrimage' for those who wanted to see his art, but I don't know. Maybe Rothko wanted to separate his work geographically from the booming art in New York and create something separate, away from any sort of artist or commercial competitiveness. I'm really not sure.
Rothko made 14 canvases in total for the chapel, with many being made by his assisstants under his supervision. Does this take away from the art? That it was not his hand that created it? Again, I'm not sure. It's something I'm torn about, is it the hand or the mind that makes the art? So many implications with either argument.
I haven't visited the chapel, but it's on my bucket list. Just look at those looming pieces, I can never figure out if they're comforting or terrifying. They make me want to smile and they make me want to start weeping. Not really crying, weeping is the closest I can come to it, almost a mourning.
On one hand they they're this place of silence, a place of meditation. A place to thoughts and inner peace, to find contentment and happiness within yourself. I feel a sense of satisfaction with this, almost like it's a warm blanket I can wrap around myself and just lose myself in. Somewhere to unravel lifes complexities, the deepest thoughts and emotions. It this description sounds emotionally intense, it's because it's meant to be. It's where you can be by yourself and meditate, find peace and happiness.
But then I can also see another side. Those looming hues are a void, the absolute lack of anything. Emptiness. Nothing. Bare. Hopelessness. It's devoid of any hope, like the inevitability of an end and everything that an end brings with it. Maybe it's the realization that ignorance is not bliss, that we must accept an end, or the possibility of everything being meaningless.
Are they really separate concepts? Happiness and hopelessness? Or are they just two sides of the same coin? I love Rothko because of this very reason, using such simplicity to bring out such intense emotions and thoughts. It's a place of equal footing for every religion maybe because we all need to tackle the same issues, regardless of background.
My brain hurts. Is ignorance bliss in regards of such deep thoughts? Ignore it and maybe it'll go away? I'm going to take my hot water bottle and curl up in bed. See if it works for the night.