Mark Rothko: The Seagram Murals at Tate Britain

This past Monday, I went to the Tate Britain in London. There is a single dim-lit room with Mark Rothko’s work, the Seagram Murals.

It seems these paintings were originally commissioned for a restaurant in New York! He eventually withdrew the commission and donated the paintings to the Tate, in honour of William Turner.

The expansive dimly-lit room creates an imposing atmosphere.

The photos below don't do nearly enough justice to the paintings. The paintings are huge and consume a large part of one's field of vision. The colours are strong and intense, and layered. There are faint layers of colour underneath the outermost coatings. When I looked closely, I noticed you can almost feel the texture of the canvas beneath in the bumpiness and unevenness. The net effect is an imposing depth to the colours (as if they soften as one's perspective changes).

There is a void or hollowness at the heart of most of these paintings. The intense, strong inexorable colours (pitch-black and blood-red) attest to some sombre heaviness. These paintings remind me of a recurring nightmare during my childhood. In the dream, I am surrounded by total darkness. I feel myself moving or falling. I cannot see the ground. I am not even sure there is a ground. I am completely consumed by darkness. I can't even see my own hand - even if I bring it to my face. I'm suspended, and the longer it goes on; the blacker-and-blacker it gets around me. Soon, it becomes so dark and black that I'm filled with panic as if I'm going to be lost in it. Then, I'd wake up in a sweat. 

Red on Maroon 1959

This painting looms over you as you enter. It’s nearly nine feet high. The painting itself is enveloped by its surrounding darkness of the room.

Black on Maroon 1959

Panoramic. Colossal. Engrossing. It's enormous.

This mahogany blood red can feel like unearthly & gaseous (planet Saturn?) and separate from the pulsing black form.

Interesting. A portal? What's on the other side? 

Rothko is a master of colour. Though he did say he was "no colourist", he wanted his paintings to constitute a 'spiritual experience'. And, in a funny way, having spent a few hours in the gallery, they tune out the noise and confusion of the outside world, and project an atmosphere of peace and calm. People seem to enter the darkened room solemnly.

Black on Maroon 1959

The fact that Rothko makes the black brush into the different intensities of red, gives the black a misty evanescent feeling. Like ripples on the surface of the sun. The black stirs with the red, and, at points, melts and evanesces into it. Look deeply and it can feel pulsating. 

Black on Maroon 1958

Energy being squeezed? Life being pressed? Windows narrowing? Feeling enclosed? Nothingness? Colour itself dissolving.

Black on Maroon 1958

Intimidating. Uncomfortable. Feeling ensnared and out of time.

Red on Maroon 1959

Another panoramic vista. My photo doesn't do justice here. There is a bench directly in front of this canvas. It takes a while to acclimatise to this one, but this is really special. Just as someone turning off the light, the eyes need a minute to adjust. 

For me, this is serene. Like you want to be alone. 

When I took this photograph and then looked at it on my phone, I whispered ‘wow’ to myself. It really is so beautiful. 

Black on Maroon 1958

I am not sure about this yet. In the face of the heavy pitch-black shadows, my natural impulse is to recoil. But the middle patches of maroon are somehow interesting, pulling you in? Like finding hope amid despairing?