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When I was a child, my favorite place on earth was the home of my Great Uncle and Great Aunt.  When we were allowed to spend the night, which was quite often, I slept in the ‘yellow room,’ which was also known as ‘Jerry’s old room.’  The room, as I remember it, was painted yellow, with yellow curtains and a yellow bedspread.  When I laid on the bed, I could look out the window and see the headlights of the occassional car as it zipped down Mallard Creek Road.

The room is gone: the house is gone as well.  It no longer exists in the ‘real world.’  What does still exist, somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious, is the feeling of peace and love that I experienced as I slept in that room.  As I look deeply into this Rothko painting, I feel a touch of it.  And that is what art can do.