Two Figures [verso] c. 1930

Mark Rothko's "Two Figures," made with white paint on a black background, feels like a ghostly encounter, a memory half-formed. The stark contrast really throws the process into sharp relief. Look at how Rothko uses line here – not to define, but to suggest. The figures emerge from the darkness, almost like they’re trying to climb out of it, or maybe sink into it. The white paint, applied with a kind of urgent tenderness, creates a texture that's both delicate and raw. Notice the way the lines thicken and thin, how they sometimes break apart, leaving gaps in the form. It reminds me that artmaking isn’t about perfection. It’s more of a record of a dance. I see something of Picasso in Rothko's simplification of form. Both artists share that urge to strip away the unnecessary, to get at something more essential. It's like they're asking: What does it mean to be human, to be seen, to be felt? And can a painting ever truly answer that?