Untitled 1948

Here's a Rothko, made with oils on canvas, like so many of his paintings. It's a world of soft pinks, purples, and oranges, all bumping up against each other. I can almost feel Rothko hovering over the canvas, layering these colors, letting them breathe and bleed into one another. Imagine him stepping back, squinting, maybe tilting his head, trying to get it just right. What does "right" even mean in a painting like this? There's a vibrant orange square towards the top-middle, kind of a concentrated energy. It's not just color, it's a feeling, maybe a memory. These shapes and colors, they're like characters in a play, each with its own voice, its own mood. Rothko's paintings remind me that art isn't about answers, it's about questions, about possibilities. He creates a space for us to wander, to wonder, to feel. We're all just riffing off each other, creating a visual conversation that never ends.