Mark Rothko, Red on Maroon, 1959 

On level 2 of Tate Modern London wound in with an exhibition called ‘In the Studio’ you come to a very dimmed lit room with these massive paintings of red and black, known simply as the Rothko Room. To some, you walk in and it’s just a dark room full of very odd abstract paintings that seemingly have no effect nor effort, to others the room is a thing of beauty. 

There are a few different Red on Maroon’s in the room but the one I want to specifically talk about is located to the far left as you walk in to the exhibition space. It captures your eye because whilst it is still quite a large painting, it’s not as large as the others in the room but it stands out the most to me because of the extraordinary pigments you can see even from across the room. 

The piece I’m talking about is an 8-foot-tall canvas with a very dark brownish red background that near the centre is almost a very dull saturated red that looks as if the pigment was scraped down to get to that colour like it is worn away, sun damaged almost. Then in the centre of that background is a bright red lipstick coloured rectangle that has a rough edge to it, like the hue has bled out to try and merge with its background. 

I think to most people, they don’t see what’s so amazing about his work. Just a red rectangle on top of a dark red background. But as a huge Rothko fan, never seeing his work before was breath-taking to me and as an artist to see how much effort went in to these abstract paintings really makes them feel more than what they look like.  

There is something about seeing this piece in person than in a photo that is pleasurable, when you’re up close you feel a sense of mesmerisation, something about the rich tones on the canvas capture your gaze and you feel the urge to stand there gazing for what feels like hours as if there is nothing or no one else in the room, a feeling you don’t get from a photo of a painting.