A solid biography indeed. At times, Breslin has a tendency to become a bit long winded. I noticed that he often draws unnecessary parallels between Rothko's life and his work. This, however, seems to be a rather common fault among biographers. His descriptions of individual paintings are frequently long winded and superfluous. I believe he could have largely omitted these descriptions and instead incorporated more images. But these complaints are of a minor nature. Overall, I truly relished the book. It has indeed deepened my understanding and appreciation of Rothko's work. It provided valuable insights into the artist's creative process and the context in which his masterpieces were created. Despite the few drawbacks, the book is a worthwhile read for anyone interested in Rothko's art and life.

This is the Rothko biography. You won't find as extensive research into Rothko in anything else (that I've seen).

I've been in a bit of a Rothko rabbit hole after I decided to write some poems based on the chapel panels.

I read this hoping to find more details about his personal relationships (especially with Mell and his children). Sadly, there isn't much. Part of the blame seems to fall on Rothko, who, as Breslin portrays him, was a mostly absent father and inattentive husband. Still, I wouldn't have minded seeing these relationships explored more.

The story of Mark Rothko is very much the story of Abstract Expressionism and the rise of American art out of regionalism to "legitimacy," but it is also the story of a human being. There is more ink spilled on Rothko's relationships with painters he met perhaps a dozen times than the woman he lived with for decades.

I did more or less enjoy his readings of the paintings (though they were at times forced). I liked his readings of his commissions (though did feel his assessment of the chapel was bit harsh).

As an interesting counterpoint, consider reading Christopher Rothko's book. It's more an interpretation of Rothko's paintings, but his reads of Rothko's later works, esp. the two-color "horizon" paintings, as well as his personal anecdotes of his father, portray a radically different Rothko.

Both portraits are compelling however. And, again, you won't find this granular level of detail about Rothko anywhere else (unless I'm missing something).

Overall, this biography provides a valuable look into the life and work of Mark Rothko. While it may not satisfy those seeking a more in-depth exploration of his personal relationships, it does offer a comprehensive view of his artistic career and the context in which he worked. The author's analysis of the paintings and commissions is engaging and thought-provoking, and the comparison with Christopher Rothko's book adds an interesting layer to the discussion. If you're interested in Abstract Expressionism or the history of American art, this is definitely a book worth reading.

I'm extremely glad that I dedicated the time to read this book. It has provided me with a significantly better understanding of Rothko's position in the timeline and the individuals he was associated with. This enhanced knowledge, in turn, has greatly added to my appreciation of his works. Moreover, it has also deepened my admiration for the works of those artists he knew, spent time with, had arguments with, and collaborated with in the creative process.

By delving into the details of Rothko's life and his relationships with other artists, I have gained a more comprehensive perspective on the art world during his era. It is fascinating to see how the interactions and exchanges among these artists influenced their creative output and shaped the artistic landscape.

This book has truly been an eye-opener, allowing me to see Rothko's works in a new light and to appreciate the complexity and depth of his artistic vision. I would highly recommend it to anyone who has an interest in art history or in the works of Mark Rothko.

As a young reader, I looked at the American publishing market with envy and the ubiquitous thick biographies there. It then seemed to me that in such a volume the size of an encyclopedia, the whole truth about a person's life was contained, that one could not write more than what was in such an English-language tome. After the book by James Breslin, will other biographers of Rothko have nothing to write about? I don't know. I only know that some of the factual findings made by Breslin could have been commented on more boldly and thoroughly, and some of the analyses could have been deepened. Unfortunately, to the detriment of the author himself and his work, he was unable to avoid self-censorship, especially when it comes to the last years of the artist and the role that his closest heirs played in the deteriorating mental health of the painter. I cannot blame the author more because of this self-censorship, for the Rothko family has not yet decided to deposit the lion's share of the archives of the deceased in one of the respected American institutions and still holds the seal over them. Therefore, anyone who wants to seriously write about the life of Mark Rothko must be held on a short leash by Kate Rothko-Prizel and dance as her or the artist's children will play for him.

The author maintains a disciplined way of thinking, relating Rothko's life story more or less until the 1950s. When the artist manages to achieve commercial success and his fame begins to spread beyond the narrow circle of the artistic bohemia. From this moment on, however, James Breslin begins to struggle with the question of whether he still wants to write a biography of the painter or write about his art. His own interpretations of individual works stretch mercilessly through long passages, adding nothing - neither new nor useful - to the essential corpus of the book, which is the artist's life story. Rothko's art did not have a confessional character, unlike, for example, the painting of Frida Kahlo. If the critical American editor had decided to cut out all these fragments, the thick volume would have gained reasonable dimensions and would actually have been a biography of a real event.

When analyzing Rothko's art, unfortunately, the author sometimes writes under a thesis. The gradual change of the palette to a more dark or cold one is, in Breslin's assessment, evidence of deepening depression, the result of which was the painter's suicidal death. The problem is that this kind of argument is supported only by a known detail from the artist's life, such as his problems with mental health. Since Rothko suffered from depression, he must have expressed it in his art and the change in the color scheme of his paintings best suits this thesis. However, on the same basis, one can put forward any thesis. It is known that in his youth the painter was a student of a cheder and struggled with his faith for most of his life. It is enough, therefore, to combine this biographical detail with Rothko's paintings, in which ocher, bile, orange and red dominate, under the thesis of a deeply theosophical, vanity tone of his art as being permeated with a fear of passing and death, expressed in a palette of colors reminiscent of hellish fires...

To the extent that as a reader I must forgive the author for the self-censorship for the reasons mentioned in the introduction, to that extent making Rothko's biography into something like a hagiography is already a difficult thing to forgive. Breslin's book fits into the trend of works emphasizing the nonconformist, independent artistic stance of the painter. In this spirit, the biographer describes Rothko's resignation from decorating the walls in the Seagram skyscraper. Meanwhile, in 1958, when the order was placed, the artist was already acting through agents and dealers. As in any business transaction, both sides sat down at the table and agreed on the terms of the order. The painter knew, therefore, at the stage of accepting the order, who the customer was and where his canvases would be exhibited, the size of which, incidentally, was adapted to the dimensions of the restaurant walls. It was no secret that the Seagrams had made their fortune on the vodka trade, not on devout people, and they wanted to decorate their very expensive joint with Rothko's paintings, the clientele of which would be more interested in the "decoration" of plates and glasses than the interior decoration. Rothko accepted the order for reasons known only to himself and then, for reasons also known only to himself, he canceled the contract. A "manifestation of artistic" label was attached to his decision: here is the inspired painter who created canvases worthy of a temple of pride and preferred to give up the contract, returning a hefty deposit rather than pauperize his art. And indeed, Mark Rothko returned a check for a nice few thousand dollars, and the three paintings that he painted with the Seagrams and their restaurant in mind were sold by his dealers to three museums: the Tate Modern in London, the Kawamura Museum in Japan and the National Gallery of Art in Washington. Rothko lost a few thousand dollars, but to the price of all the paintings, thanks to the "artistic manifestation", one could calmly add at least one zero. Cynical, but effective. Marketing tricks cannot be bad for either the artist or his dealers. A work of art, when it enters the market, becomes a commodity and a source of livelihood for the artist and dealers. However, it can be bad if such tricks are based on fanatical indoctrination. Breslin subjects the reader to such indoctrination, for its purpose is to create in the reader the conviction that the artist was a deeply spiritual person and, therefore, his work must also have spiritual depth.

Rothko is an artist whose life and art still await an author or authors capable of casting a fresh, clear gaze on them. In contrast to the vast majority of abstractionists, whose popularity was blown up by criticism, during his lifetime Rothko did not have good press, and his commercial success is the merit of well-chosen dealers and intermediaries. The most interesting things were written about him by Robert Goldwater and Dore Ashton, but even Ashton, who was his close friend and later wrote a book about him, was very cautious. She could write about Philip Guston, for example, but about Rothko she only mentioned at most on the principle of "our great Mark Rothko". But why is Rothko great? - this question still demands an answer, which Breslin gave only with a hint and very reluctantly.

Excellent. Breslin's biography offers a captivating look at the life of Mark Rothko, a pioneer in the Abstract Expressionist movement of mid-twentieth century American art. It introduces the reader to a misfit immigrant who arrived in Oregon as a young boy and followed his artistic path across America to New York, where he discovered art and his true vocation. Rothko, not always a happy man or painter, nevertheless created some of the most sublime works of art. Reading this book, I learned that my feelings for his paintings often contrasted with his own, which was a bit disconcerting. Regardless, his paintings provide a special experience. In Washington, DC's Phillips' Collection, there is a small collection of his canvases that used to hang in a small gallery with a bench in the middle of the room. It was a place I would visit just to admire the Rothkos. Each visit evoked many conflicting thoughts and emotions in me. Breslin's biography not only explores what it means to live as an artist but also delves into Rothko's personal life, including his marriage and two children. This balance between the genius and his struggles and joys in creating a body of work that still affects art lovers today makes the book a wonderful read. If you're interested in Rothko and the business of art, I would recommend reading \\"The Legacy of Mark Rothko\\" by Lee Seldes, an expose of the \\"greatest art scandal of our century.\\" The first edition dates back to 1978, and there is a second edition that continues the story of the scandal to its final outcome.

I'm a die-hard Rothko fan, and my curiosity simply compelled me to eagerly devour this detailed and extensive biography. However, it might prove to be a bit overwhelming for those readers who aren't as passionately obsessed with Rothko as I am.

Overall, a vivid picture of a complex man with opposing extremes has emerged. The initial chapters meticulously trace his evolution as a painter. But what I truly relished were the chapters dedicated to his later group mural projects, namely the Seagram paintings, the Harvard murals, and the Rothko Chapel. The Rothko room at the Tate Modern, where some of the Seagram group are showcased, was an absolutely extraordinary experience.

Rothko's later and most momentous works predominantly consist of monochromatic panels with minimal form or color variation. Appreciating them can indeed be a formidable challenge. Breslin, through this biography, has unveiled the man who crafted these masterpieces and has effectively assisted the reader in grasping the profound forethought and intentionality that lie behind them.