Mark Rothko - Blue and Grey
quem por aqui anda há mais tempo, sabe que x é algo obcecada pelo trabalho do Rothko. hoje, x tem a cabeça enfiada num universo assim: azul petróleo e cinza. ainda há luz, mas é ténue. ainda não está dentro das telas negras, mas saiu de rompante das vermelho sangue ou amarelo luz ou rosa vida ou branco céu. x hoje está num universo baço e escuro.
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Em tempos, publiquei este texto lá no meu espaço. É longo, mas acho que se adequa aqui, também.
One morning in the spring of 1970, I went into the Tate Gallery and took a wrong, right turn and there they were, lying in wait. No it wasn’t love at first site. Rothko had insisted that the lighting be kept almost pretentiously low. It was like going into the cinema, expectation in the dimness.
Something in there was throbbing steadily, pulsing like the inside of a body part, all crimson and purple. I felt I was being pulled through those black lines to some mysterious place in the universe.
Rothko said his paintings begin an unknown adventure into an unknown space. I wasn’t sure where that was and whether I wanted to go. I only know I had no choice and that the destination might not exactly be a picnic, but I got it all wrong that morning in 1970. I thought a visit to the Seagram Paintings would be like a trip to the cemetary of abstraction - all dutiful reverence, a dead end.
Everything Rothko did to these paintings - the column-like forms suggested rather than drawn and the loose stainings - were all meant to make the surface ambiguous, porous, perhaps softly penetrable. A space that might be where we came from or where we will end up.
They’re not meant to keep us out, but to embrace us; from an artist whose highest compliment was to call you a human being.
Simon Schama
"A space that might be where we came from or where we will end up."
é isto mesmo! :)
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