There's a certain kind of peace that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to replicate that I found in the Rothko Chapel.
Fourteen paintings in shades of purple and gray that have transformed me.
Rothko said that he wasn't an abstract painter, but rather that he was interested in expressing basic human experiences. tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on.
"The fact that people break down and cry when confronted with my pictures shows that I can communicate those basic human emotions… the people who weep before my pictures are having the same religious experience I had when painting them" -Mark Rothko.
I'm at a point in my life where I though I had two simple choices. Stay here or move forward
Sitting in the chapel -where a skylight was the only means of lighting, and the emotions changed with every passing cloud- I realized something.
I have only one option, move forward.
The rest of our expedition was a jumble. A jumble of laughter and songs, a bowl of soup and potatoes at Empire Cafe, a gaze into a mirrored reflection of a broken obelisk, a jaunt into two half-price bookstores, and a tearful goodbye to all of those precious escapades in Rice Village.
Between sorting through postcards, and falling in love with a shelf titled "terror/politics/espionage" I don't feel as though I'm really saying goodbye.
More like hello world-
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