The Day I Met Mark Rothko
Not too long before he took his own life in his studio in February 1970, I happened to be walking down East 69th Street in the afternoon, as my business took me to that area from time to time. It was a beautiful fall day and as I approached that carriage house where he had his studio, who do I see but the man himself standing outside smoking a cigarette!
I knew who he was of course and our eyes met as I approached him. He had a pleading look in his face for human contact and I stopped and introduced myself and said how much I enjoyed his work. He asked me if I would like to come in and look! It was really hard to believe because I always thought him to be rather aloof and introspective, not outgoing, but there I was. Maybe he was teetering on the brink of eternity and needed someone to talk to. Inside it was a cavernous room with extremely high ceilings. The room was partitioned and I heard some classical music playing softly on the other side. There were huge paintings everywhere but otherwise a very orderly studio.
He asked if I would like some tea he was making in an aged burnt out pot--not too appealing, but I said “Yes, thank you.” He opened a folding chair and I perched myself on it. The conversation (all on his part), as he had a need to talk to someone, centered around his success late in life (he was 66 at the time). He said he longed for a personal acceptance for his accomplishments. It seemed his ego needed a “star studded” response from females and people in general. He expressed a need to be recognized more in public, like at the restaurants he frequented, he felt invisible--not the supposed famous person he was in print.
He was not an attractive man: Flabby, balding, thick glasses that made his eyes bulge, sloppy looking, not someone women were going to be inspired by and pursue. He obviously was very lonely and what he needed his money couldn’t buy. I had very little to say; I just listened and didn’t fully understand him, now that I’m older I do.
When I left, I thanked him for his hospitality and we shook hands. I noticed an infirmity in his arm and grip. Total time elapsed about 20 minutes. It was a very sad encounter and not too long after that he ended his life in a horrible fashion.
I knew who he was of course and our eyes met as I approached him. He had a pleading look in his face for human contact and I stopped and introduced myself and said how much I enjoyed his work. He asked me if I would like to come in and look! It was really hard to believe because I always thought him to be rather aloof and introspective, not outgoing, but there I was. Maybe he was teetering on the brink of eternity and needed someone to talk to. Inside it was a cavernous room with extremely high ceilings. The room was partitioned and I heard some classical music playing softly on the other side. There were huge paintings everywhere but otherwise a very orderly studio.
He asked if I would like some tea he was making in an aged burnt out pot--not too appealing, but I said “Yes, thank you.” He opened a folding chair and I perched myself on it. The conversation (all on his part), as he had a need to talk to someone, centered around his success late in life (he was 66 at the time). He said he longed for a personal acceptance for his accomplishments. It seemed his ego needed a “star studded” response from females and people in general. He expressed a need to be recognized more in public, like at the restaurants he frequented, he felt invisible--not the supposed famous person he was in print.
He was not an attractive man: Flabby, balding, thick glasses that made his eyes bulge, sloppy looking, not someone women were going to be inspired by and pursue. He obviously was very lonely and what he needed his money couldn’t buy. I had very little to say; I just listened and didn’t fully understand him, now that I’m older I do.
When I left, I thanked him for his hospitality and we shook hands. I noticed an infirmity in his arm and grip. Total time elapsed about 20 minutes. It was a very sad encounter and not too long after that he ended his life in a horrible fashion.
