Rothko Paints a Flower

This is a tale as old as the hills, of one man's right to dream, to see not only the big picture but also all the little pixels that hold it all together. It is about one man's struggle to be not only an oily painter but also a man. It is about a friendship between that man and another man, a larger, well built, more purposeful man but a man none the less, and how a mutual respect allows them to toilet together without fear of petty reprisals. It is these men, two shiny-headed baldy men in ill-fitting suits and their moustaches, one economy and one business class, each poised on the cusp, between a weak chin and an intermittently dripping nose, and their struggle to simply . . . 'be'.