ArtGrams: The Rothko Room

Welcome to the first of our newest monthly blog series, ArtGrams, where we feature our favorite Instagrammed pictures taken around or inspired by the museum. We love seeing you create your own works of art using unique perspectives, strategic crops, and the funkiest filters.

Each month, we’ll feature a different theme based on trends we’ve seen in visitor photos; first up, The Rothko Room. The room’s bold colors and shapes have inspired these great shots. Be sure to hashtag your images with #PhillipsCollection or tag your location for a chance to be featured.

Rothko Room_1_allwegrow

Via Instagrammer @allwegrow: “We spent our 3 year anniversary visiting the Rothko Room”

Rothko Room_2_jamellita

via Instagrammer @jamellita: “American Living: ‘Luna and me in Rothko’s room’”

Rothko Room_3_mrscis

Via Instagrammer @mrscis: “Admiring the beauties of the centuries”

Rothko Room_4_pennykim

Via Instagrammer @pennykim

Rothko Room_5_pootie_ting

Via Instagrammer @pootie_ting: “Feeling Red. Rothko Red.”

 

 

Listening to Rothko

In a stimulating Duncan Phillips Lecture, “John Cage and the Question of Genre,” which served as a keynote to this year’s International Forum Weekend dedicated to the confluence of art and music, the novelist and musician Rick Moody praised Cage’s chance works, such as his ineffable composition 4’33”, as a “a breath of fresh air in the midst of bourgeois individualism.” According to Moody, Cage disregarded any notion of genre in favor of “creative work whose primary intention is simply that it is creative, so that it might simply give a name to creativity itself.” 4’ 33”, first performed in 1952, was designated by Cage as a “composition for any instrument (or combination of instruments).” It consists solely of potential sound: the random noise that occurs during the duration of its “silent” performance.

Halfway through, Moody intermitted his lecture with a cunning act of bravura by playing the sounds of paintings and photographs he recorded in various museums with his iPhone: the incidental noises created by the crowds moving past them.

Afterwards, Moody took me aside and asked if he might be able to spend a few minutes in the Rothko Room in order to record the sound of Rothko’s paintings. I happily obliged, and we both intently listened to the paintings. Rothko may have approved: he once compared his paintings to the voices in an opera. And for a moment, ever so faintly, I thought I heard Rothko’s beloved Mozart emerge from the depth of the silence in the room.

Rick Moody in the Rothko Room

Rick Moody recording the sound of the Rothko Room. Photo: Klaus Ottmann

Reflections on Glass

Philip Glass playing his own compositions at Phillips Sunday Concerts 2011. Photo: James R. Brantley

On Sunday, October 2, 2011, renowned composer Philip Glass performed a concert at The Phillips Collection to benefit the Phillips’s Sunday Concerts and FRESHFARM Markets. Photo: James R. Brantley

American composer Philip Glass has been at the forefront of modern classical music for several decades. A pioneer of what became dubbed “minimalism,” his output is vast and covers a huge variety of media: opera, theater, chamber music, solo pieces, and work for film and television. He is also one of the great symphonists of our time; just this year his Ninth Symphony was debuted by the Los Angeles Philharmonic. His epic four act opera Einstein on the Beach is currently being revived by the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Add that to the prestigious Praemium Imperiale award, given to Glass by the Japan Art Association, and it’s easy to see why 2012 is rapidly turning into a momentous year for the composer.

Glass, however, takes his fame and public image with a grain of salt and is well known for frankness in conversation. In the 2007 documentary A Portrait of Philip in Twelve Parts, he says: “You know, there’s a lot of music in the world, you don’t have to listen to mine. There’s Mozart, there’s the Beatles, listen to something else.” His matter-of-factness is refreshing; it is, after all, born out of rather inauspicious beginnings. He famously drove a New York taxi and worked as a part-time plumber to earn enough to pay members of the Philip Glass Ensemble, the group he formed in 1968 to perform his experimental music. The group is still going strong today.

Philip Glass’s Sunday Concerts 2011 season opener drew a full house to the Phillips Music Room. Photo: James R. Brantley

It was with characteristic coolness and self-assurance that he spoke and performed at the Phillips on October 2, 2011, to open last year’s Sunday Concerts season. Contrary to Glass’s public-facing opera, film, and symphonic work, the packed Music Room was treated to his more inward and poetic pieces for solo piano. He performed six of his Etudes (1994‒); Mad Rush (1979); and four works from the Metamorphosis cycle (1988).

Glass sees his piano music as an intensely private affair, and his performance gave a rare glimpse into that most direct conversation between composition and composer. His works for larger ensemble demand strict rigidity in rhythm and meter, without which the often hypnotic sense of repetition and motion gets lost. However as a solo performer Glass’s playing emerged with more than a touch of romanticism. His extensive use of rubato—the stretching or relaxing of musical phrases and rhythm—and his elasticity with dynamics and pedaling showed just how personal his playing can be. The piano works are rich in polyrhythmic intricacy, but the overwhelming sense of these pieces comes from his use of melody. Glass is a confessed lover of Schubert, and these works are abundant with a sense of Schubertian harmony. In listening to these piano pieces, you feel a sense of lineage with a musical past but are unable to define where it all fits together. His music resists historical imperative.

After the concert Glass explained how he is attracted to the ageless quality that music and art can possess, where you may hear, see, or feel an association, but the work of art itself emerges with mystery or detachment from formal understandings. In his visits to the Rothko Room, Glass reflected that Rothko’s canvasses seem at home and at ease on the walls, both now and 40 years ago when he first visited the Phillips as a student. He remarked how they don’t appear to possess a particular or definable age and still feel strikingly modern. Glass’s piano music does too; it evokes the same sense, where finite beginnings and conclusions are obscured, like colors merging into one and other. Music and sound is set within a constant state of motion, moving through an infinite present.

Jeremy Ney, Music Consultant