Monday, April 21, 2014

Rothko and this wall

I never understood (the emotions of a) Rothko painting until I kept being stuck in traffic in front of this wall.

The white not so white, the yellow not so yellow, the brown not so brown, the horizontal lines

Repetitively. For it couldn't move me at the beginning, specially if I was having a bad day, (or a too jolly day to see things), but then one day, a good day, I saw it: this sensuality of the expression and the sensation it gives, Rothko spoke about but, I never really grasped. And, from then on, it stayed with me. On a good day, and on a bad day.

The next time you are passing by, art (or a crumbled wall wanting to be art) might make your day better, or maybe just this moment you see it, a sensation of ease and peace will get hold of you, like the effect of a poem, of a musical rhyme, or of rain; of things you understand move you, but not really why.
It will get hold of you, and you will somehow regret the green light obliging you to move, putting an end to your poetic moment, while you will try to hold its effect the longest within you.

sourceWhen I finally had the opportunity of seeing live Rothko's paintings at the Tate Modern, I was able to make that connection between the images of the paintings I had seen in books and online/ the wall of that building in Beirut/ the actual paintings. 

And I wonder:

Will the new building, that is soon going to swipe that one away, be able to create any poetry, any music, any art in our city?

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