London as a Mirror

Turner, Rothko, and Richter – on seeing, hearing, and the power of color

Turner, Rothko, and Richter – on seeing, hearing, and the power of color

London welcomed me in the way only London can. Not with silence, but with a constant wave of sound, movement, scent, and color. As a professional, artist, audiologist, and human being, I was immediately touched by the energy of this city. Everything flows together here: the hum of black cabs and red buses, the distinct sound of tube doors, the smell of coffee mingling with street food at the famous markets. Millions of tourists every day. And somewhere in that rhythm lies a destination I look forward to with every visit: the Tate Modern.

My first step into the grand hall felt like entering a cathedral. Not one where you whisper for fear of disturbing, but one that embraces you with a different, almost physical silence. My feet led me straight to the Mark Rothko room. The light was dim. The walls seemed to carry not just paintings, but a presence. Rothko’s works don’t hang as objects to be looked at; they are spaces to step into. Vast, breathing, almost infinite. I stood still and noticed my breath slowing. Not to analyze, but to listen. Because yes, colors have a voice too. In the deep reds and purples, I heard a whisper of deep reverence, an echo that can’t be put into words but resonated within my body.

Rothko’s Seagram Murals carry a story that strikes even deeper. Originally created for the Four Seasons Restaurant in New York, Rothko intended these works to offer a contemplative, almost spiritual experience. He eventually donated them to museums, including the Tate Modern. And it moves me that shortly after completing these works in 1970 - the year I was born - he took his own life. The paintings arrived at Tate Modern on the very day he died. The idea that a human being can leave behind such an emotional and spiritual universe - a treasure that continues to speak long after they are gone - is breathtaking. It makes me reflect on the responsibility and power of the artist - and the parallel to our human ability to create wonders.

Later that week, my visit brought me again to Turner. His works are displayed in both the Tate Modern and the National Gallery - places I always appreciate. But this time I experienced him in the stunning art experience Frameless. Here, the paintings are projected in a room, allowing you to literally step into the canvas. With music in the background, you are completely immersed; it’s a total experience that lets you feel the painting like never before.

This time it wasn’t the brushstroke or detail that moved me, but the sheer scale of the projections. It made it even clearer where my own work comes from. Elements I once used in my paintings - I saw them here again - not in the foreground objects, but in the play of light, air, and space around them. If you look closely, you can recognize the parts that resonate with my own way of working. It’s the atmosphere, the breath of the landscape, that inspires me and forms the essence of what I want to convey in my art.

And that might be the most beautiful thing art can do: reflect. Not only who you are as a creator, but who you are as a human being. You see yourself in someone else's brushstrokes and, at the same time, look at the world through their eyes. I was struck by how differently visitors responded in each room. Some stood motionless, others walked quickly through. Children looked sideways at a piece, and some instantly reached for their phones. It’s the same with listening. Some hear words but miss the meaning. Others pause and let it in.

As I walked the streets of London that evening, I felt I had taken something with me, though I couldn’t hold it in my hands. A deep awareness that my own work - like that of Turner, Rothko, and Richter - is not made of color and form alone, but of experience. Of an invitation to feel, to hear, and to see. And if an art lover or curator is reading this: this is only the beginning. My art is a treasure still buried, a powerful statement about our humanity and our gift to create and transform.

Frameless, the Tate Modern - they let us hear, see, and feel it all. And all of it, created by people, calls for more. For connection with ourselves, for reflection, for awareness. That’s exactly what I want with my own work: to move people, to show them they have strength within themselves, and to invite them to dare to look, listen, and feel. Just as I do in my work as an audiologist: with ACT, with attention, with heart.

In my next blog, I’ll take you to another side of London - a place where silence, sound, and color come together in a way that makes you reflect on the essence of listening, seeing, and experiencing. The story continues - and you are invited.