No. 8 1964

Mark Rothko’s No. 8, is like diving into a pool of pure feeling, made with oil paint, probably sometime in the late 1950s. The surface is velvety, built up of thin layers of dark, moody color, where the process feels more like an unveiling than an application. You can almost feel Rothko coaxing the color out of the canvas. Look closely, and you'll see how the tones shift and breathe – it’s not just one flat field but a hazy, hovering world. It’s a painting that asks you to slow down, to feel the weight of the color pressing in on you. Rothko’s work reminds me of Agnes Martin, both artists are exploring the sublime through these expansive, almost meditative fields of color. It's less about what you see and more about what you sense, a space where questions linger and answers dissolve.