In a day, albeit a long day, we experienced some of Madrid must-see
locations. In the morning, we capitalized on a brief turn of good weather and
went for a walk in the park.
Buen Retiro Park has all of the luxury that a once Spanish-monarchy-only park requires, but with an infusion of fun. While the man-made lake in the centre of the park surrounded by exquisite monuments screams of excess, it is also quirky and unexpected. There are numerous buildings, fountains and statues throughout the park that makes it easy to lose countless happy hours wandering there. It would be a nice place to sit and read, go for an aesthetically pleasing run, people watch, or have a romantic picnic. The park is a perfect embodiment of Madrid’s old world base decorated with new world frills.
After tearing ourselves away from the park, we found a place to eat along one of the main arteries of Madrid. Along Gran Via, one of the main streets (and the best place to shop), the storefronts are all very contemporary, but as soon as you lift your gaze, you are met with architecture belonging to a different age. The juxtaposition is not uncomfortably or unsightly, but rather a welcome reminder of how much history came before this moment, in volumes almost incomprehensible to a Canadian with only a recent history in comparison.
When rain chased us off the streets, we hit the galleries that Madrid offers, starting chronologically with the Prado (I say chronologically, discounting the Debod, as that will be for tomorrow). The Prado houses a beautiful compilation of Spanish art, and tells the story of Spain through the facets of culture and art very thoroughly. It was amusing that even the art work by artists of differing nationalities seemed to be part of Spain’s narrative with some creative background explanations (the work was influenced by, or influenced, painted by or for, commissioned by of for a Spaniard). The only disappointment was in consideration to the curation of the gallery, as occasionally in a series of paintings, another painting would interpose the series, which was a questionable decision. But then, I am no art history major, what do I know?
After saturating ourselves with Renaissance art, we walked down the road to the Reina Sofia, a modern art gallery. Simply put, Guernica by Pablo Picasso was life changing. It almost moved me to tears, if it weren’t for the 30 people crowding around me to get a glimpse. Perhaps most disappointing about this (and I felt the same with the Mona Lisa at the Louvre) was the notion that many of the people were in the crowd to see what the crowd was about. It was as if the crowd was the reason to garner additional attention, not the piece of work itself. Regardless of the crowd’s motive, it could only be beneficial for people to be exposed to Guernica. I have seen pictures in textbooks, and heard reference upon reference to this piece of work, but it was not until I stood in front of it that I felt what it was about: misery, pain, confusion, and chaos. My favourite part, however, was the flower growing out of the broken sword. Amongst this pain portrayed on such a visceral level, amongst the agony and the brokenness and the weapons, was a flower growing. Hope prevails. (I have a tattoo about this, maybe Ill tell you about it sometime.)
Also at the Reina Sofia was an incredible Dali collection. Salvador Dali’s body of work speaks to me as being the most impressive of any by far. Dali has the mastery of art that the Renaissance artists had, yet still imparts large parts of imagination and insanity into his pieces. While Picasso, and the Cubism movement in general, may have been protesting the Western way of viewing the world as if through a window, the whole movement seems absurd because even after the visual effects, the cubist painting still hangs on a window-like frame. While I understand the momentum behind the movement, comparing any piece of cubism to a surrealist painter like Dali or Miro like.
While I sit and write this account with Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises on my bedside table, and facebook open in another window, I can truly empathize with the cubists in their desire for having a new way to express ideas that have not been expressed before; to tell the tale of events that had never occurred before, similar to T.S. Eliot’s need to change the style of poetry to better reflect complex thoughts rather than mirroring an aesthetically pleasing image. Perhaps a Western linear chronology is not appropriate for contemplating a city like Madrid, where the past and present co-exist simultaneously.
Buen Retiro Park has all of the luxury that a once Spanish-monarchy-only park requires, but with an infusion of fun. While the man-made lake in the centre of the park surrounded by exquisite monuments screams of excess, it is also quirky and unexpected. There are numerous buildings, fountains and statues throughout the park that makes it easy to lose countless happy hours wandering there. It would be a nice place to sit and read, go for an aesthetically pleasing run, people watch, or have a romantic picnic. The park is a perfect embodiment of Madrid’s old world base decorated with new world frills.
After tearing ourselves away from the park, we found a place to eat along one of the main arteries of Madrid. Along Gran Via, one of the main streets (and the best place to shop), the storefronts are all very contemporary, but as soon as you lift your gaze, you are met with architecture belonging to a different age. The juxtaposition is not uncomfortably or unsightly, but rather a welcome reminder of how much history came before this moment, in volumes almost incomprehensible to a Canadian with only a recent history in comparison.
When rain chased us off the streets, we hit the galleries that Madrid offers, starting chronologically with the Prado (I say chronologically, discounting the Debod, as that will be for tomorrow). The Prado houses a beautiful compilation of Spanish art, and tells the story of Spain through the facets of culture and art very thoroughly. It was amusing that even the art work by artists of differing nationalities seemed to be part of Spain’s narrative with some creative background explanations (the work was influenced by, or influenced, painted by or for, commissioned by of for a Spaniard). The only disappointment was in consideration to the curation of the gallery, as occasionally in a series of paintings, another painting would interpose the series, which was a questionable decision. But then, I am no art history major, what do I know?
After saturating ourselves with Renaissance art, we walked down the road to the Reina Sofia, a modern art gallery. Simply put, Guernica by Pablo Picasso was life changing. It almost moved me to tears, if it weren’t for the 30 people crowding around me to get a glimpse. Perhaps most disappointing about this (and I felt the same with the Mona Lisa at the Louvre) was the notion that many of the people were in the crowd to see what the crowd was about. It was as if the crowd was the reason to garner additional attention, not the piece of work itself. Regardless of the crowd’s motive, it could only be beneficial for people to be exposed to Guernica. I have seen pictures in textbooks, and heard reference upon reference to this piece of work, but it was not until I stood in front of it that I felt what it was about: misery, pain, confusion, and chaos. My favourite part, however, was the flower growing out of the broken sword. Amongst this pain portrayed on such a visceral level, amongst the agony and the brokenness and the weapons, was a flower growing. Hope prevails. (I have a tattoo about this, maybe Ill tell you about it sometime.)
Also at the Reina Sofia was an incredible Dali collection. Salvador Dali’s body of work speaks to me as being the most impressive of any by far. Dali has the mastery of art that the Renaissance artists had, yet still imparts large parts of imagination and insanity into his pieces. While Picasso, and the Cubism movement in general, may have been protesting the Western way of viewing the world as if through a window, the whole movement seems absurd because even after the visual effects, the cubist painting still hangs on a window-like frame. While I understand the momentum behind the movement, comparing any piece of cubism to a surrealist painter like Dali or Miro like.
While I sit and write this account with Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises on my bedside table, and facebook open in another window, I can truly empathize with the cubists in their desire for having a new way to express ideas that have not been expressed before; to tell the tale of events that had never occurred before, similar to T.S. Eliot’s need to change the style of poetry to better reflect complex thoughts rather than mirroring an aesthetically pleasing image. Perhaps a Western linear chronology is not appropriate for contemplating a city like Madrid, where the past and present co-exist simultaneously.
