Rothko as my Collector? Pinching Myself!
Lori Cohen and Christopher Rothko walked in together, hand in hand, arriving for a private weekend viewing of The Long Horizon. Both of them exquisite.
The Brink welcomed them. Sixty by sixty inches, the piece first on view at The Long Horizon: my solo show.
Each of them said it, individually: “I have to purchase this piece.”
Bought my artwork. On the spot.
MY ART! I’m PINCHING myself!
Steady hands, outwardly. Underneath, something closer to combustion, contained, but only just. Actually, Pinching myself doesn't cover it.
They want to support my art. And they know exactly what the Rothko name carries.
Yes, that Rothko.
In the blue chip art world, no name holds more weight.
Asked if they wanted the sale kept private. An NDA, the quiet route?
Christopher Rothko said “No.”
No NDA.
They want my work seen. They know what the name Rothko means in our art world, and they're lending their name, deliberately, in full view.
I’m crying with happiness and gratitude.
Mark Rothko's son, standing in front of The Brink, choosing to bring it to their home, and choosing to be named a Collector of Robbi Firestone.
Sit with that sentence.
I’m.
Kinda.
Dying.
Right.
Now. ….