The Mark Rothko Show

We went to the gallery after the night of the expensive Heinekens.
There was a massive queue so we just joined it.
About an hour later we got into the gallery. It cost us twenty Euro. It was worth it. You have probably seen Rothko's work at some stage, and maybe thought, "That just looks like someone has taken a roller and painted a couple of rough rectangles on on a canvas." Which sort of is what it looks like. Especially if you are just looking at a print or a poster. But the real things are spellbindingly mesmerising. I normally fly round art galleries. It takes about five seconds to look at a painting. There's a Tintoretto, yeah, pretty good. There's a Titian, nice sky. There's a Francis Bacon. That's just shit, basically, isn't it?
But Rothko. There was something about it. There were people of all ages transfixed in front of what amounts to nothing more that a few blurry squares of colour. But they really are amazing. And this isn't just me being an arty smart-arse. This was everyone. Everyone spent a ridiculous amount of time looking at the paintings. Some of them looked like they were almost hypnotised by them. I don't know what it is that makes them good. Maybe just queuing for an hour and paying twenty Euro makes you think they're good. But I don't think so. There really was something about them. And that's always the art I like the best. The art that you like, but you can't even understand yourself why you like it.
As we left the gallery through the side door, we noticed lots of French people just walking in, not having to queue up at all, and not having to pay. All you had to do was know the side door was there and you could walk straight in for free.
I love the French. How cool is that?