The Prado

To write my about my time at The Prado is no easy task. To attempt to assign words to the intangible emotions that overwhelm the mind and body with such a feeling of solitude and peace and harmony and love and beauty seems like a futile endeavor. None of the words above even begin to encompass the intangible wholeness one feels when surrounded by so much grace and wonderment in large and small forms in every direction. Even when the words are combined they still do not convey nor equivocate the purity experienced when examining and studying the masterpieces displayed at The Prado. In fact, no words express expressing emotions can capture what I felt. There is no word like void that is highlighted in a positive connotation. Possibly if there is a word that combing void and solitude and quietude and beauty, then that word may be applicable. But I do not believe it exists. This undefined word is the true power of The Prado. I felt the absence of all things. The removal of earthly pain. I could not even sense the weight of my body pressing into the balls and heels of my feet. It was as though I was a heavenly body constricted not by gravity, floating angelically above the ground—where heat nor chill nor simple aches in the joints of my body are were noticed. This is the only way I can think to express the purity The Prado creates in the soul deep inside of me.
As for my external experience I dedicated my time to discovering the genius of Francisco Goya. There is so much to see in the prado. The building is four stories tall with at least six wings and ten rooms within each wing. To see everything in one day is impossible. Impossible in the sense that the mind and body and soul cannot handle that much beauty, it is too much to bear. Yes, one could walk from one room to the next, but to feel each painting is a feat I do not believe I can accomplish in the five months I will be staying here…especially because there are two other museums of equal caliber in Madrid.
When first standing in front of a giant piece by Valezquez, I was stunned by the massive size of the painting. It stood ten feet tall and five feet wide. How an artists could keep the precision to have congruency throughout the piece I will never understand. To keep such a massive work on scale is a talent all in itself. Also, the realization that I was standing infront of the exact canvas that the artist painted on himself was a powerful sentiment in itself. My eyes looked upon the same canvas that Valezquez’s eyes looked upon as well. All of the work in the prado is the same canvas the original artist touched with their own hands. That’s a profound feeling in itself.
I’m not sure why I am so drawn to the work of Goya. His diversity is very appealing to me. He can paint portraits and still life with the utmost of precision. He can paint and draw the absurd, or surreal, equally as moving. I started looking at the dates each was created, which made me wonder even more about Goya the man. The earliest work the prado had were paintings of friends and families celebrating life. Dancing and singing and playing in the outdoors. The blue of the sky were vibrant. The greens of the grass were lush. The yellows of children’s dresses mirrored the sun. The painting, for me, undoubtedly expressed an optimistic tone and a feeling of eat drink and be merry. I have to assume that this reflected the spirit of Goya in his younger years. I can imagine him celebrating life with friends in the country side during summer and stepping back to sketch a scene.
In his middle aged years he became the painter of the king and his family. Many works were displayed or the royal family. The thing I found interesting about this time period is that all the facial expression of the royals were nearly vacant. It appeared their eyes stared at nothing. As though they were calloused to the world. And though they had no emotions left in their hearts. And yet, they still allowed, and probably loved the work Goya had created. Over all, these pieces were my least favorite, however if I understood art more I’m sure I’d get more out of the accuracy in which he created the pieces.
Then in the late years of Goya’s life he created what are now called the Black Paintings. These are what really grasped me. Really made me dumbfounded by the creations of Goya. Black is a good word. Most of the scenes are dominated by dark colors, ash gray, blood red, jetblack. They are dark and oppressive and portraying his fellow Spaniards in such a dark and idiotic manner. To me, it seems he lost all hope and faith in this country me. In one painting, the name escapes me, a giant and omnipotent character stands loominous (not luminous) in the dark sky. He is naked and strong and savage. He looks confused as though he has no intentions of ill will but simply lost in his own head of destruction. In the valley below the sky, swarms of tiny humans flee in fear away from the giant. I took the giant to be time or god or afterlife or what ever eternal question can never be answered by humans.
This sentiment is mirrored in the painting Saturn. Saturn was the god of time and melancholy. Saturn, in Goya, is a beastly figure with a hairy body and wild eyes and bulging naked muscles. He bits the arm off of a body, which has no head and blood running from the neck. Again, I think this is the same sentiment as from above, the fear of death and life and the timid life it can create in the mortal humans.
The rest of black painting, I believe (who can possibly say what is right and wrong?) are derived from these two. They feature caricatures of half ape and half human bodies. In many of the scenes theses devolved creatures huddle together, like conformity, and their eyes express fear and the trembling of bones. Overall, I took that black paintings as Goya’s loss of faith in the Spanish and humanity in general. He was a cynic and viewed the world in such a hopeless light. And, I couldn’t help but think he was working out his own fear of death through these works, alleviating the pain and confusion he felt.
Incredibly lucky for me, the prado is featuring a very small collection of Goya for a short period. It was one of the last things he worked on before his death. He called it, “El Toro Mariposa (the bull-butterfly).” The collection was broken into three categories: Buelan Buelan (they fly they fly), dibersion de espana, and materia para ridiculo. All were done with pencil, some charcoal, and some with a pencial that looked like charcoal but with orange/red lead. Buelan featured men trying to fly. It was symbolic of the futility and foolishness of the dreams of men. Dibersion was all of bullfights. Spaniards stood in large groups laughing and dancing at other men who were being gored by raging bulls. And ridiculo featured more caricatures of the Spanish as beastly and devolved persons. All three helped form my opinions of the black paintings, which I think undoubtedly have to be linked due to their proximity in creating. Oh, and the really cool things about El Toro Mariposa, is that they were small pieces created in a notebook. Some were even done on the back of envelopes and one could still sea the postage stamp on them. I can imagine him carrying the notebook around Madrid, watching his country men, and sketching the tiny pieces in the very plaza I’m sitting in right now. Now, that’s a really cool notion.

huzza!
jake.