Mark Rothko- No. 37/No. 19 (Slate Blue and Brown on Plum), 1958

Before I saw this painting in person at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, I didn’t “get” Mark Rothko. I had certainly read about modernism. I had seen a good selection of Rothko’s work in art books. I could even tell you about his opinions on primitivism and his belief in art as a non-intellectual experience. With that in mind, I assumed that he was overrated, that other people, inspired by his ideas, had taken them further. You had to be there at the time—that sort of thing.

Then, last summer, when I actually saw the above painting in person, I understood. No matter how many times I read 7’ 11 1/4” x 7’ 6 1/4” in the margins of an art book, that didn’t compare to being dwarfed by the painting in person, feeling small in a tangible but also spiritual way.

I was so overwhelmed by it that I started to cry. And I know how art-fag that sounds, but I’m being honest because I think my reaction was more complex than just the feeling that I would suddenly be engulfed by tertiary colors. I also felt shamed.

I was raised to believe that I could learn everything I wanted from a book, but staring down this painting proved that nothing was further from the truth. It was different seeing how meticulously the brushstrokes were blended and how divinely proportioned the piece was. Slate Blue and Brown on Plum was a humbling experience for me, as if—from the grave—Rothko was laughing at how naive I was.

I had a lot of similar experiences that day. I remember seeing Picasso’s Three Musicians and noticing a mistake. You can clearly see a spot on the table that was originally black, but that he painted over in brown. Picasso made mistakes! They never tell you that in art books. And somehow the painting was more beautiful because of the mistake. But none of those revelations compared to my gut reaction to the Rothko piece, when everything that I thought I knew was proven wrong.

With all of the information surrounding us, it’s easy to undervalue experience. But sometimes you do indeed have to be there.