Just read that Guardian article. According to the feller who wrote it, they're masterpieces:
Rothko's murals tantalise us with architectural allusions, the idea of space, of windows, doors and portals leading into the great purple yonder, but there is nothing here but two-dimensional colour on vast tracts of canvas.
I love the verbal contortions that these culture vultures go through to justify the emperor's new clothes scenario.
Interesting that he originally painted them for a New York restaurant. There were a couple of Rothkos in that caff in the Arndale that closed down. I suppose after they'd shelled out for the paintings, there was nowt left to run the business.
