Red

I went to NYC on the weekend and saw "Red" a play about the artist Rothko. This was a beautifully sculptured extremely contemporary rant by the renowned artist Rothko played by Alfred Molina. The bearer of Rothko's constant rages and musings is the thoughtful yet feisty studio assistant Ken played by Eddie Redmayne. I am not an art critic but I come away from this play with a few personal insights spurred on by this interesting performance.
One. Red is one of my favorite colors and I use it as much as possible when I paint. I derive great joy from the color red and get extremely happy when I buy a new tube of red paint. It always reminds me of kindergarten where the red, blues and yellows were stored in plastic cups and issued along with big brushes for liberal and sometimes diabolical use. Throwing great globs of red paint on a paper pad along with paste eating are probably the highlights of my elementary education.

Two. My mother and grandmother insisted on painting their kitchen cupboards enamel red. Grandma Black embellished her cabinets with a jungle scene complete with spider monkeys and my mom stuck to the brightest china berry red she could find. I think both of them used the red color to jolly their selves into the room that demanded they exercise the most constant boring daily cooking chores and to make a statement about the importance of their domains.

Three. I have tried really hard to wrap my head around Rothko's majestic sense of himself and his art. I have tried by taking off my glasses and squinting, by taking deep breaths and finally facing the damn paintings down. I have also tried comparing his work to the old masters and looking for clues of luminosity, color and tone. In the end I bless him for his efforts and wish him great attention in the after life.

Four. He simply reminded me of Rudy, my last boyfriend's grandfather a sweet man when he wasn't screaming about life in a abrupt Austrian Viennese accent. Rudy would also rant about social injustice and the perfection of his ecology based poetry. Somehow I couldn't buy his greatness then and I suspect if I had known Rothko..... well who can say? I still love red.