I went to the Mark Rothko retrospective at the Tate Modern on Saturday. I shall go again and again.

It is an encounter with the supernatural, but not in the sense of that word as we so often accept it, no, this is transcendental, of glimpses of things beyond. Almost like standing before reflecting pools.

Canvases, the colour of dark, arterial red blood or charcoal greys, with subtle gradations of tone and heat. Floating in the approximate centre of many of his pieces: faint, scarcely visible images of arcane symbols, almost of the type you might expect to find scratched on the surface of some long dead alien world.

Rothko could certainly work a colour field composition. I cannot wait for my next immersion.