NO. 5/NO. 24
MARK ROTHKO, 1948
Two numbers. No name. No. 5. Or No. 24. It's both. That barely counts as a title. Sounds like somebody was keeping track of boxes. Around this time, Rothko starts doing that a lot. The names disappear. He didn't like explaining what the paintings meant. And a title can do a lot of explaining before you've even looked. Call this Sunset and you're done. Orange, sky. Dark thing, horizon. Found it. Call it No. 5... nothing. No hint. No little story hiding in the title. So look. Brown across the middle. Black shapes. Pale color underneath. Orange pushing in around the edges. Your brain can turn those things into whatever it wants. Rothko just isn't helping. Which matters, because a Rothko didn't always look like this. You used to be able to take inventory. Recognize things. Count them. All gone. Now even the name won't give you anything to grab. No. 5. No. 24. Pick one. Either way, you're on your own.