Mark Rothko, 'Light Red over Black', 1957

My eye is not drawn to the painting itself but the title of the painting, 'Light Red Over Black'. We would automatically think that the black is on top of a red background, but Rothko has flipped this around, subverting the title just like he subverting the meaning of what it was to be an artist and what Art actually was. During this time, art was going through rapid changes, with abstract expressionism coming into full force (Rothko, Pollock). But Rothko showed that all this change was for the good, even if for him, it was short lived.

The colour red in this painting is searing and the black struggles to fully cover this velvety border, especially at the bottom of the canvas. Unlike the black squares which have a hazy quality to their edges, the red is clear and impregnable. It is hard to figure out what this represents - the Tate has suggested a window perhaps, but if it is a window then what are we looking out into? Perhaps it is night, or perhaps the viewer is catching a glimpse into Rothko's mind. Rothko was depressed, and committed suicide at 66, cutting short his career. The sudden blue slashes in the black expanse could suggest a conflicting mind, thoughts trying to invade a bleak mindset. However this is abstract, it does not need to look like anything. Instead, the focus is on the colour and how somehow Rothko has managed to blend red and black into each other, even though they are such contrasting colours. This creates a sense of movement in the piece that can be fully appreciated once one stands back and takes it all in. It almost looks as though there is a source of wind that is blending the colours together with each glance the viewer takes. This links back to the Impressionist movement, where artists such as Monet and Renoir used brushstrokes and colour that make the viewer's eye do the blending for themselves. The more you look, the more that gap between the two panels of black begins to disappear.

Nothing Rothko does seems to be finished. If you look closely, there seems to be another panel at the top of the painting that has not been filled in black like the other two 'windows'. Perhaps the artist thought about a panel here and sketched one out, before deciding he liked it better without. Or perhaps it can be linked to Rothko's state of mind again, so many swirling thoughts but also empty, like he truly was not working to his full potential. This piece was created in 1957, so he would have at least a decade more of painting to do before he ended his life. What we see in the late sixties (Untitled 1969 for instance) is the work where he could truly express himself and show who he really was.

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Guccio di Mannaia, 'Chalice for Pope Nicholas IV', 13th century

As the only work remaining of Sienese goldsmith Guccio di Mannaia, the chalice he created for Pope Nicholas IV in the late thirteenth century is an incredibly important work of art. Not only does it highlight the rich, opulent nature of papal commissions, but it proves the talent of Sienese goldsmiths and their resulting influence on painters and sculptors of the period. The chalice is innovative in shape and form, but it is striking first and foremost through the use of gold. It is an object that deserves to be viewed in the flesh, because of its reflective and therefore mimetic potential – like a bronze sculpture it is activated by light and should be experienced in the round as a three-dimensional, highly decorated art object. Its complicated design features an almost architectonic base, star-like as it spills out towards the viewer. The base builds up into the stem of the chalice which is decorated with an array of enamelled plaques featuring saints, prophets, angels and furt...

Cellini, 'Perseus with the Head of Medusa', 1545-1554

My eye is immediately drawn to the head of Medusa. At first glance it looks gruesome, as though Cellini has captured the moment just after the head has been decapitated, and it oozes blood and bodily matter. However the viewer then notices the similarity between that and Medusa's hair. Maybe it is just her hair after all. Cellini has cleverly enticed the viewer in here, to take a closer look and therefore involved them in the sculpture as a whole. Once they do come closer, they begin to notice other things such as the similarity between Perseus' hair and Medusa's snakes. Hero and monster are not so separate. Even the features of their faces are very similar. Perhaps Cellini wants to suggest that evil can often wear the mask of good. Or he could even be implying that everyone has some evil within them, even the hero Perseus. One of the good things about sculpture is that the viewer is able to walk around it, and fully immerse themselves in the piece. Cellini has used this...

Marianne von Werekin, 'Sunrise', 1920

An endless line of men that tug the rope of a small boat soon disappear into murky, burning red waters beyond. Colour is fantastical, mystical and otherworldly, producing an atmosphere far from reality. This is the Symbolist work of Marianne von Werefkin, part of the German Expressionists that worked in Munich from the 1910s. A movement so often dominated by the male names of the time – Kandinsky especially – Werefkin was a vital participant, expanding the range of art produced and displayed, complementing her work with art theory and written sources, as well as creating her own Salon upon her arrival in Munich. It is easy to get lost in biography with a piece such as this. Wasted, human potential seems to be at the heart of this work, signalled by the endless line of men pushing forward towards the edge of the picture plane. There is a sense of struggle and a universality to the suffering through the portrayal of faceless men in similar blue tones. Looking at the date produced o...

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