But the mood feels obstreperous
and even bitter,
a “take that!” to a mulish
audience. The artist spoke,
cultishly,
of protecting his work from
“the eyes of the vulgar
and the cruelty of the impotent,”
and narrowed his art’s halcyon range
of associated senses –
a visual music conjuring
touch,
taste,
and scent –
to dour monotony.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zh942B0QmRU
Artwork by Rothko,
apparently has a show –
from his dark period –
at some tragically hip venue.
Gibberish,
single sentence unaltered,
lifted directly
from The New Yorker‘s review.
Stay calm
and whatever.