Rothko's Doors to "There"

Recently I was visiting a friend who showed me a painting by American abstract impressionist Mark Rothko that he had acquired. It was one of Rothko’s Gloucester painting done when he summered here between 1932 and 1945. It is a lovely watercolor that borders on the abstract but yet still has enough elements of representationalism in it that you can identify it as being of Gloucester.

I love Rothko’s work and it reminded me of time spent at the Rothko Chapel in Houston where I often went when I needed some space and some peace and some time away from Houston.

The chapel is a unique and stunning space — stunning for its simplicity as well as its majesty. There are 16 paintings by Rothko — the huge panels of color he was known for later in his life. Each is done in dark tones, at first appearing black but then, as you spend time looking at them you see the blues and the burgundies, the grays and the greens. All dark and bewitching and promising worlds within them that one can only access by letting go of everything and just moving into that space.

The chapel itself has a stone floor, rough-hewn wooden benches, iron candelabrum with fat candles in it and light from skylights that had to be modified some years back to preserve the paintings. The Houston sun is formidable.

I once attended an Amnesty International fund-raiser there. I remember the night because it was the only time I’ve ever met a United States President. I got to shake hands with President Jimmy Carter. It came as sort of a surprise. I was facing the center of the room listening to whoever was talking and my date, a very tall guy named Dave something, whispered, “Quick, turn around.” I did and there was President Carter right behind us. He shook our hands and said, “Thanks for coming” and moved on. Wow.

The Whirling Dervishes from Istanbul performed that night and were fascinating. I was already in love with Middle Eastern music at that time because I was studying bellydance. Watching them move as they did, chanting and whirling and moving in a dance of faith and mysticism was mesmerizing. It was one of those moments when you transcend your earthly complaints and enter into that space of otherness when you realize that what we call here-and-now is just our own vanity. There is so much more.

And that’s how I remember Rothko’s paintings, too, as being an invitation to that other place. But, of course, that is what art is all about anyway, creating doors to “there”. “There” as opposed to “here”.

I’ve been thinking a lot about mysticism because of the writing I am doing right now anyway. There seems to be a lot of books lately pompously proclaiming that there is no God and religion is a sham to manipulate and control people. Some religions are, that is true. When the minister or preacher or priest or whatever becomes more important than the message then it is time to run like hell. But what I know about art and what I know about practices like dance and writing and music and other invitations to the mystic is that there is a place beyond the commonplace and in that place there is God.

So it was a happy thing to see my friend’s Rothko and to be reminded of these things. It is helpful to my writing and also to my soul which has been restless lately. But today I am remembering those hours spent in the Rothko Chapel and those 16 doors into “There”.

Thanks for reading.