❌Not A Rothko❌
This is NOT a Rothko. A lot of people out there are claiming it was painted by the King of Color Fields. Nope, I do like it, but it's obviously not a Rothko.
Neither are the two below
Not a Rothko, but I love it! Luckily I was able to find out who painted this one. Her name is Susan Wolfe Huppman and the title of her painting is "Pink Rothko." I think she's a lot better than the first artist.
Susan Wolfe Huppman - "Rothko Wall Candy" - 2019 - Oil on canvas - 36" x 36" - It's cool, but Pink Rothko is my favorite of her color fields.
This is another of her color fields titled "Karma" - oil on canvas - 48" x 36" 🔽
She is really good, here's more of her stuff 🔽
Susan Wolfe Huppman - Everyday -2023
acrylic on canvas - 48" x 48"
Can't put my finger on it, but there is something I really like about "Everyday." & "Carousel" -> below 🔽
Carousel - 2017
Acrylic on canvas - 60" x 48"
Susan Wolfe Huppman - Flower Bomb - 2023
Acrylic on canvas - 58" x 58"
Susan Wolfe Huppman - Pay Attention -2018
oil on canvas -48" x 36"
🔼 This is one of her chromas - Life On Mars - 2020
oil on panel - 28" x 24"
Another chroma - Night Lights - 2018
oil on canvas - 30 x 30
One more from her Chroma gallery:
Nothing is the Same - 2020
oil on canvas - 30" x 30"
I was surprised to be so transfixed by one of her neutrals 🔽
Tone Poem - 2020
acrylic on canvas - 36" x 36"
Susan Wolfe Huppman
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For Black History Month, here's a recording of jazz legend William Parker reading an excerpt from his 1995 self-published story/tone poem, Music and the Shadow People, with backing music produced by Andrew O'Connor. Transcription below the cut – the book is long out of print and copies are extremely rare, so paragraph/line breaks (and any mistakes!) are mine.
Full play adaptation with band here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_vpXgd85A4
Chapter 3: Intuitive Tomorrow
One tent of a three-ring circus remains standing
All the horses have run away
The ringmasters were strangled by their own hands
The countryside smells of a battle
That has taken place long before
A brown, light-footed charger
Leads the weary soldiers
Into the maple forest
They wear dirty grey uniforms
Trudging along like sharks
They smell blood
Their faces are masked with red anger
Still other faces overflow with despair
The trees seem to get stronger
You can almost feel yourself
Going up to the top of one
To kiss God on the forehead
This is the setting outside
Inside
This is a living spirit world
The place where babies live
Before they are born
It is the place they return to
After life
The language spoken here
Is a cosmic sound language
A word is a sound
A sound is a vision
The centre of the universe is the periphery
Sometimes for a half a second
We see a blur that contains all the stories
If we look inside while producing
Sound vibrations
We see the horizon
There are thousands upon thousands of orchestras
in the tone world
There is an orchestra of raindrops
And one made of snowflakes
There is an orchestra made of all kinds of light
There are tunnels that lead to the colour world
And the trance world
With continuous sound
And continuous silence
Existing at the same time
There is an orchestra of dolphins and whales
There really are no names
No categories
It is about the one big shape
And the trillion little shapes
That make up the shapeless
timeless space
The naked eye cannot see
The melody or harmony that is present
It constantly speaks about
The intuitive tomorrow
There is a huge silver disc in the sky
It is a message from the father
of sound
It is about vibration
The sky is a burnt blue wall
A curtain of water erupts
To the left of the disc is a fire-red
Planet, a rope ladder
Dangles from the moon
Stars fill the galaxy
A bridge of shells holds
Three hundred prophets
Riding on goats
They dismount and walk towards the sun
Their footprints turn into clouds
Someone is knocking on the yellow birth-door
The doorman who is both male
And female opens the door
A bluish-purple flame
Spirals and laces
The embryo still in the womb
Now droplets of stone
Pour from the opening
At the top of the world
The story is in the strong music
The thunder-drummers produce
I am a wholewheat dumpling
Sauteed in blood
The angel says it is time to go
Blue-white flames line the birth passage
I see no colour
I feel nothing
Grains of sand turn into ants
Why do I leave my eternity
To be with you?
A bolt of lightning
Stretches across the vast darkness
The sun resounds
Like a huge gong
The wind whistles through the holes
In the sky
Trees are strung with sinew
The earth is a soundbox
Of six million birds
Singing six million tones
Simultaneously
Spirit tones float in lava
Ice castles melt
Forming huge lakes
The seeds of oceans
Water tones begin to sing
The thunder-drummers take
Two steps forward
And spin
The earth opens up
And swallows the sound
Tear tones slide down
The bamboo stick
Silver peacocks
Place their hands
On the unwashed altars
In the rice fields
Bell tones of sound
The house of the creator is the body
The altar is the heart
It is also the creator's drum
The rhythm is a lifeforce
The vibration of temples
The green mountain
The worm digging in soil
Children collapse in the bushes
They use leaves as pillows
The pillows turn into light
Then to eternal happiness
Then to stars
Oak and maple harps are plucked
The long breath is held
The tail of the dragon is caught
In the lid of the upper lip
Stone fingers flap
Like skin
Peeled
And placed over gourds
Branches tremble from the corner of the eye
Shadows sparkle
In the golden wetness of visual
touchable dream zones
Every lie that has been told
Since creation
Is written in huge letters
Over the black-purple horizon
The drone begins
Thick rosin dust
Over a field of dandelions
Singular tones bounce
Over low ocean waves
The same song
God is the master of masters
The composer of life
And all that elevates
The instrument is all creation
The creator
Is the improvisor and the player
The spirit that causes all things to dance
Human beings create
Only through the grace
Of the creator
Sound exists
As a force of nature
That leads us
Back to the creator
The intuitive tomorrow
Does not last
It is not about that
It is about the signs that inform
It is about the senses that do not touch
It is about unearthly realities
That science does not understand
Nor chooses to accept
It is about the death of death
And the life of life
The taking away of fear
It is about filling souls with compassion
To sweep one's entire being
With hope
And belief in truth
Leaving this vessel
When we meditate
On peace
Finding the lost children
Who seek passage
On this ship, the ark,
The psalm, the last sunset
One day
The sun will be late setting
This will be the sign
Please
Have all pains eased
All hurts soothed
Wrapped in love
In the peace
Of acceptance of salvation
Every sound must be filled
With truth and love for all
Creation, the intuitive tomorrow
May last a lifetime
What shall we do
when we cannot hear the silence?
The intuitive tomorrow will solve the mystery
It is today
It is yesterday
The intuitive tomorrow
Is another name for the music
It is the life
It is the dance
It is the prancing pony
Soon to be stallion
It is the doe we saw that morning
On the way to Vermont
It is the shirt off my back
Onto yours
It is the birthday party
The river
Mixing with the ocean
The intuitive tomorrow
Is the kind nurse
Who gave you that sip of water
After your operation
Within the intuitive tomorrow
The deaf hear
The crippled walk
The pain of famine vanishes
There is no war, guns or missiles
The sky is deeply concerned
And buckles and caves in
Due to the weight of these elements
It's as if the seat is the volcano
When its crust cools
It will be the new landscape
The playground for the little ones
The point tone
Split and stretched across time
The nail of the finger of the valley
Is one million times
The size of one million
Galaxies.
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