Diptych 1991

In Sean Scully's "Diptych," two distinct yet connected paintings face each other. The piece feels very formal. The deep earth-red square on the left plays host to a ghostly window, lined with cool horizontal bars. To the right, bold orange and yellow stripes stake their claim, making it a visual conversation, almost an argument, in color and form. I imagine Scully, brush in hand, feeling the weight of each stroke, the give-and-take between intention and accident. It’s like he's saying something about perception, about how we divide and then try to piece together our experiences. The textures aren't wild, but you can still feel the paint, thick enough to hold a memory of its making. I see echoes of Rothko's solemn blocks of color and I can sense the conversation across time, artists pushing and pulling at the edges of abstraction, each one leaving their mark.