currently my favorite artist. How I wanted to like this play! And how dissatisfied I was. I thought Alfred Molina delivered a steely vision of artistic purpose, but the writing was cliched, and seemed culled then quoted from comments, opinions, and stereotypes about art and Rothko that most of us have heard before.
Just can’t help thinking about Tom Stoppard’s “Arcadia”, a much better play about art.
Rothko committed suicide in his mid 60's, probably his own self-loathing destroying him. The contradictions of possessing such a vision and to be yet self-consuming - withdraw as pale vision and reality dawn.
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