So…Red

Greetings fellow bloggers, this is Red – glad to be joining as a contributor to The Critical Eye‘s blog… So why Red? Other than being my favorite color, it just stands for so much more. Let me explain:

About a year ago, I saw one of the most captivating plays on the London Stage – a play about Mark Rothko called RED, written by John Logan. Being an avid theatre goer, this was a must see for me. The play was sold out but I somehow still managed to get standing tickets for the closing night performance.. let me just say it was definitely worth every uncomfortable second I stood leaning over the bar, mesmerized by each word that came out of Alfred Molina‘s mouth. It was one of those raw, beautiful experiences which you can only get from live theatre. Brilliant performances & brilliant writing. See below extract from the play:

ROTHKO: What does ‘red’ mean to me? You mean scarlet? You mean crimson? You mean plum-mulberry-magenta-burgundy-salmon-carmine-carnelian-coral? Anything but ‘red’! What is ‘RED’?

KEN: Sunrise is red and red is sunrise… Red is a heart beat. Red is passion. Red wine. Red roses. Red lipstick. Beets. Tulips. Peppers.
ROTHKO: Arterial blood.
KEN: That too.
ROTHKO: Rust on the bike on the lawn.
KEN: And apples…And tomatoes.
ROTHKO: Dresden firestorm at night. The sun in Rousseau, the flag in Delacroix, the robe in El Greco.
KEN: A rabbit’s nose. An albino’s eye. A parakeet.
ROTHKO: Florentine marble. Atomic flash. Nick yourself shaving, blood in the Barbasol.
KEN: The Ruby Slippers. Technicolor. That phone to the Kremlin on the President’s desk.
ROTHKO: Russian flag, Nazi flag, Chinese flag.
KEN: Persimmons. Pomegranates. Red Light District. Red tape. Rouge.
ROTHKO: Lava. Lobsters. Scorpions.
KEN: Stop sign. Sports car. A blush.
ROTHKO: Viscera. Flame. Dead Fauvists.
KEN: Traffic lights. Titian hair.
ROTHKO: Slash your wrists. Blood in the sink.
KEN: Santa Claus.
ROTHKO: Satan.

ROTHKO: So…red.

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5 thoughts on “So…Red

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