Artful reflections.

10.02.2007

Quote of the entry, that I steal here from some graffiti viewed from Parc Guëll in Barcelona: “Why call it tourist season if you can’t [even] shoot them?!”

Most of you know, I was in Spain last week, for 8 days. This entry will treat the subject of art—not the art of living, that’s what I usually write about; rather, art in its visible form.

I could write and talk about all the architecture I saw, but I won’t bore you all (or at least most)…I have pictures to do that for me. 2 notable mentions: Antonìo Gaudi, from where the word ‘gaudy’ comes from, was a genius, I now contend. If you don’t know him or his work, look it up. I also bought a little book so I will show it when I come back. 2^nd mention—the city of Toledo in Castilla-La Mancha (not in Ohio), a complete medieval treasure with streets narrower than the hallways in my house and great hills, skyways, churches, synagogues…

But, back to the subject at hand.

I don’t really know what it is: Russian intelligentsia education, my AP art history class, some sort of elite snobbishness, etc. All of these help explain why I go to art museums or museums in general. Perhaps it’s my quest for knowledge or something.

In any case, I managed to see at least 7 museums in 8 days, if not more (with so many, I may be forgetting). One thing to note. In the US, each painting/work of art has damned near an essay written next to it. I always that that was a good thing, up to a point, but really I was taught that nowadays one was supposed to appreciate art by looking at it and not learning about it. That’s not to say that I don’t read the notes. On the contrary, knowing me, I do. Not only do I read the notes, I play a game with myself trying to guess the name of the work, the artist, date, city even…
In Spain (and in France for the most part) there are no explanations. Hell, there frequently aren’t even signs telling who and what, which really helped me feel the artwork. Now I don’t mean ‘feel’ in the ‘small American liberal-arts college’ way, but to really react to it. That’s really all it takes to appreciate it.

I’ll try to be brief, but there are a lot of museums to go through, so please be patient. Notable omissions: Museu Xocolatica in Barcelona. Yes, unfortunately the Chocolate Museum closed at 3pm on Sundays (probably for siesta) and I was unable to visit it. Apparently there was also a Dalì (Domenech) museum somewhere in Barça, but I didn’t really see it. Also, the Nou Camp stadium where Barcelona plays, though I did see the Santiago Bernabeu stadium where Real Madrid plays, if only from the outside.

We’ll go in chronological order to simplify:

1. Museu Picasso—Barcelona’s version, because really every culturally self-respecting city has one. Like everything in Barcelona, they focus on the artist’s work in Catalunya, and not really anywhere else, go figure. Still, a cool old building and a large collection yielded for a good overview of all of his different styles from childhood to modernism and surrealism before his death. No real chef d’oeuvres (on the ‘you damn well better know this’ level).
2. Fundacìo Joan Mirò—Barcelona in Parc Montjuïc. I like some modern stuff, so this was pretty good. Miro is perhaps the best-known Barcelonan artist. It helps that I did a project on him in Art History at MHS. He’s pretty surreal and expressionistic, so Ben and I decided maybe one time was enough. Still, it’s famous. No real chef d’oeuvres.
3. Casa Mila or La Perdera—the Gaudi architecture museum, inside this masterpiece. This was awesome because it really showed how he used non-Euclidean surfaces to build in a new style. The roof rocks and it kind of looks as if one is on Easter Island, standing on it. A chef d’oeuvre in itself.
4. Victorio Macho and El Greco museum—Toledo, in a beautiful Spanish-style (duh) villa overlooking the Tago river. Frankly, this was kind of a small collection. For as well-known and prolific of an artist as Domenikos Theotokopoulos (El Greco), I kind of wanted more. Still, beggars (tourists) can’t be choosers. One of the views of Toledo was there, and a bunch of portraits of Saints** (see below). No chef d’oeuvres.
5. Museo Sefardi—Spain’s Jewish Museum. Little did I know, this was probably the best (probably) Jewish museum I’ve ever been to. Located in an old synagogue (Synagoga La Transito), because Toledo had a large Jewish community before the expulsion and all that. Never mind that it was all in Spanish, the exhibits were truly well put, well done, and quite interesting. I managed to learn a lot and really improve my reading Spanish.
6. Museo de Prado—the jewel of Spanish museums and universally renowned. Let’s be honest, the outside looks like shit. Unimpressive is an overstatement (think the Met, the Hermitage, the Louvre…even the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, come on people. Then again, their royal palace in Madrid looked like someone had just hung it out to dry, not pretty). Inside though, it was wonderful. Imagine a museum where there were really only artists you knew, liked, and wanted to see; and what’s more, a lot of the works you liked and styles too were there. That’s the Prado. Though focusing on Spaniards mainly, the Prado does a great job of showing a lot while not showing too much, and of course, no explanations. I can go on and on, but chef d’oeuvres: 1) El Bosco’s (Hieronymus Bosch’s) Garden of Earthly Delights, definitely as cool as it looks in the books; 2) Velasquez’s Las Meninas, pretty cool, though I kind of like it better in print; 3) Francisco Goya’s May 1, 1815 (the one with the shootings and the martyr-looking peasant), definitely cool.
7. Museo de Reina Sofia—Madrid’s MOMA. All the modern art, specifically Spanish, with some post-modern mixed in. Lots of Picasso, Dali (full name, interestingly: Salvador Dali Domenech), Man Ray…even Henry Moore (hearkening to the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden) and a Kandinsky that I didn’t think was really Kandinsky. If you like modern art, it was great. But, as Igor wisely, or perhaps unwisely said about a 1/3 of the pieces there, “[with some work], I could do this myself.” Chef d’oeuvres: Pablo Picasso’s Guernica, epic and cool better than in the books.

Well, this concludes the guided tour of multimedia Mavis Beacon.

Hope y’all aren’t asleep yet. I do appreciate the random emails, messages, wallposts, and etc. Even if they’re just to bitch at me for not blogging (khem Ilya).

I want to send a shoutout to all the MMSSers and AEPiers reading this (for no good reason really). And also to all those who have commented on the blog. You all rock.

And I conclude by wishing all a happy new year, once more, and a happy Tabernacle: that is to say, a swell festival of Booths. (Edwin and John Wilkes of course).

The first two days of spain

Some have complained I don't update frequently. You're right. enough said.

25.09.07

Oh Barcelona, Barcelona.

As usual haven’t written in a while, so apologies…

I have reached that intermediary period in my France-borne education where I’m not quite not a student, not yet a worker (yes, pun on horrible Brittney Spears song/album). That is to say, my vacation.

Why of all places am I going to Spain? It is cheap-ish. I have 2 very close friends there, Ben and Igor. I am bad at planning—didn’t buy my ticket back until 1 day before I left, nor did I reserve lodgings for more than one night at a time, nor did I think about what I was going to do until the night before the flight (or should I say mere hours before a flight). But, so far so good.

First to tell of getting there. To dispel some myths: low cost travel does not mean bad travel, it means inconvenient, though cheap travel. Hence a 9am flight necessitates a 5am awakening, a 5:40am metro train to the edge of town (Paris that is, not the Paris MSA), a 1.5 hour, 13Eu bus to Beauvais (read middle of nowhere), in a different Région (read state), 70 kiloms away. The airport, though reminiscent of Arlanda in Stockholm, in a bad way, could double as a large house, small warehouse, or medium-sized restaurant—it is tiny. At least there are a lot of people who do things as crazy as I and fly RyanAir. Surprisingly, the flight landed in Barcelona (Girona) 10 minutes early! But wait, 12Eu and another 70 kiloms and same 1.5 hour bus ride later, I’m in the center of Barcelona with hot weather and facing its very own Arc de Triomf. (Needless to say, all of this was fun on 3 hrs of sleep and Yom Kippur the day before).

To stop my patter…Barcelona is beautiful: palm trees, pretty girls, nice architecture, public art…and I happened to come in the middle of the year’s biggest deal—the festival of Mercì, an ancient Catalan tradition.

Before going further, I must clarify: Catalunya the province/region where Barcelona is located believes firmly in autonomy (understatement). Now, I’m all for regional movements, especially with their own languages, cultures, traditions, and cuisines. This is not regionalism, people; this is se-pa-ra-tism. But enough said.

This means, everything is written in Català, the local tongue, and sometimes Spanish, and generally not in English. Now some of you know, my knowledge of Spanish is limited to reading, and to very select 1^st grade vocabulario. So, I’m doubly screwed. Thankfully, Ben’s Spanish is good and we can get around.

In my absentmindedness, I left the address of my hostel, along with the list of attractions I had written out the night before, at home, in Paris. So, I proceeded to traipse from the bus station to where I perchance thought my hostel might be. I wasn’t completely poking in the dark as I knew the street name, Carrer d’Arago, and I knew the number was in the 200s somewhere. Needless to say, the first 2 times of walking through the 10 blocks that make up the 200s didn’t get me anywhere. I was really starting to feel like an idiot (well more than starting), and then Ben called and everything was ok.

Happily my phone is now out of minutes so don’t try calling/texting until I’m back in Paris, another one of those happy traveling moments.

Now for the good news: my hostel, Omni house, once I found it, is sweet. The people working are genial, breakfast is included, the cost is cheap, the lodging effective…

The festival that’s going on means all the locals don’t have work today, Monday, so Ben doesn’t have class. Also, there is live music and performances outside all over; many museums are free; fireworks and live shows every night.

Highlights so far—

o Museu Picasso—the Picasso museum. Definitely worth it, and it was free. It gives a great view into the art most people don’t know about: the very early, the very late, and the sketches, as wells as some ceramic pieces. A chronological arrangement, lending itself to learning about the artist’s life, introduced us to his Barcelonan presence and his earlier work which is an interesting mix of 1850s realism and 1940s-1950s American Regionalism, in my opinion. And we saw some famous ones too: Margot and the las Meninas sequence (a huge derivation on Velasquez’s work).

o Fireworks show(s), especially today’s at Avengida de Reina Maria Cristina, and Parc Montjuïc. Not only were the fireworks sweet, and I judged pretty shrewdly, but there was also a ‘tribute to pop and rock music’ playing in the background, which did everything from contemporary hits such as ‘Jesus of Suburbia—Green Day’ to name a good one, or ‘Girlfriend—Avril Lavigne’ on the other side of the spectrum, to ancient things. There was a water show with a large ornate fountain and a castle in the near background involved too. And did I mention the crowds—this makes Parisian riots seem miniscule.

o La playa—the beach. Lots of beachfront, though somewhat rocky, on the ever-beautiful Mediterranean. Lots of people tanning and some swimming. The setting is surrounded by apartments, modern 5* hotels, and odd looking modern public art (then again when is modern public art not odd looking?). Ben and I tanned and relaxed for a little and then we swam. The waves were rather large and the water rather salty, but fun anyway. Also, did I mention top-less was more than accepted here? Enough said.

That’s a good note to end on for now, that’s always a good note to end on.