Issue 29 - Expression

Hello and welcome to my weekly email newsletter, Deep Life Reflections: Friday Five, where I share five things I’m enjoying, thinking about, and find interesting. I hope you enjoy issue 29 and feel free to share your own reflections.

Here’s my Friday Five this week.

1. What I’m Reading

Rothko. By Jacob Baal-Teshuva.

Mark Rothko is one of my favourite artists and I was fortunate to see of one his original works at the Louvre Abu Dhabi in 2017. Born in Russia and migrating to the United States at age ten, Rothko gained fame for his large-scale abstract paintings, characterised by their bold and brilliant fusion of colours.

Colour plays a huge role in human psychology. Specific hues can evoke powerful emotions, influence moods, and even alter perceptions. Rothko, with his genius grasp on colour theory, seemed to understand this intuitively. When we engage with his works, we don't just see Rothko's vision; we viscerally feel it through the language of colour he uses, making each experience a unique and intimate one.

In Rothko, Jacob Baal-Teshuva charts the artist’s life and his defining philosophy: that true humanity arises when we collectively confront pain with compassion and humility. Rothko’s art reflects the spectrum of life’s emotions, balancing themes of adversity with hope, resilience, and dignity. Each of Rothko’s canvases—like the one featured in this week’s cover photo (“Green and Tangerine on Red”)—is a portal, inviting the viewer to immerse themselves in an emotional exploration of human experiences.

Although Rothko was often critical of sentimentality, particularly the pervasive optimism he observed in American culture, his creations were far from simply bleak reflections. In a world frequently dominated by triumphant narratives, his pieces captured what Rothko viewed as the reality of life: the inescapable challenges inherent to human existence. Therefore, his art offers a refuge from those triumphant voices; a place of comfort. Simultaneously, embedded within his works, is an affirmation of the human spirit and our capacity to persevere.

Rothko’s suicide in 1970 leaves a poignant reminder of the depths of his emotions. While his art couldn’t save his own life, it continues to serve as a meditative experience for others, offering solace and reflection in a very human world.

2. What I’m Watching

The 400 Blows. Directed by François Truffaut.

Recently, I bought Roger Ebert’s The Great Movies and I’ve been working my way through his selections. While many were old favourites, some, like François Truffaut’s, The 400 Blows (1959), were new cinematic explorations. This is Truffaut’s first feature film and one of the founding films of the “French New Wave”—a movement that rejected traditional filmmaking in favour of experimentation and personal expression. Truffaut was its standard-bearer, with his unorthodox techniques, such as on-location shooting, natural light, and improvised scenes.

Set in a gritty, unglamorous Paris, The 400 Blows is about the life of Antoine, a young, resourceful boy who falls into petty crime. Inspired by Truffaut’s own upbringing, the film captures the challenges of adolescence—school struggles, family discord, and the usual trials of growing up. Antoine eventually ends up in a juvenile detention centre, seemingly a lost cause. And yet, Truffaut also gives us the opportunity to see Antoine alone at home, engaging deeply with the work of Balzac, whose writings on daily life helped shape France's identity. Adolescence is complex.

The film’s most iconic moment is its last shot: a zoom into a freeze frame of Antoine, his gaze directly into the camera. It’s another portal into the intricacies of the human psyche.

Truffaut said repeatedly that cinema saved his life; it gave him something to love. Though he died too young, at only 52 of a brain tumour, he left the world a rich cinematic legacy, his work inviting each viewer to reflect on the human journey and experience. Nowhere is this more poignant than The 400 Blows.

3. What I’m Contemplating

Last year, during my visit to Oslo (link to my photography), I explored one of its many art galleries to appreciate the works of Edvard Munch. Munch is most famous for his painting, The Scream (1893). Shortly before his seventeenth birthday, Munch wrote in his diary, “I have now decided to become a painter.” While he took formal painting lessons, he often found himself at odds with conventional teaching methods, making him largely self-taught. Munch, Rothko, and Truffaut all broke away from traditional norms to express themselves. They are also connected by their works being deeply rooted in their lived experiences, emotions, and perceptions. Their art encapsulates the whole human experience.

Recently, there's been much discussion about the advancements in AI, especially its capability to generate art through apps like Midjourney. While AI-generated art is technically impressive, a fundamental distinction remains: AI, as sophisticated as it is—mimicking patterns, styles, and even innovating within predefined parameters—cannot replicate the authentic human touch. It can’t capture the human emotion of art because it can’t know or feel the sensation of pain, despair, or joy. It can’t express the melancholy of heartbreak, the euphoria of first love, or the desolation of grief as a human artist does. Not yet, and perhaps (hopefully), not ever.

Because human art, in whatever form it takes, and in whatever resonates most with each of us, is a reminder of our shared humanity and need for expression. And that’s a connection we can’t afford to break.

4. A Quote to note

“Art is the magic mirror you make to reflect your invisible dreams in visible pictures. You use a glass mirror to see your face: you use works of art to see your soul.”

- George Bernard Shaw

5. A Question for you

If you could witness the creation of any historical piece of art, which one would it be and why?

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Thanks for reading and have a great weekend.

James