My cousin used to live across the street from the Rothko Chapel (and Broken Obelisk), so when I lived in Houston I went and saw it one time. Not impressed. Rothko strikes me as another one of these guys who figures out his grift and sticks with it forever. Lichtenstein with the big-dot and ripoffs of better artists, Pollock flinging paint around. Whoopee.

I was at my cousin's place when his friend Richard came over with his dad to move a sofa. They'd just been to the chapel, and his dad was in a very merry mood, finding the whole thing very amusing. I found out later he died of a heart attack less than a day after that, and am at least slightly grateful to the artist for having given him a good laugh before he went.