The Prado Museum
Museo del Prado, Spain’s national art museum, is one of the most prestigious (and highly visited) art museums in the world. The Prado focuses on European art from the 12th to the early 20th centuries.
From our hotel, we walked down the Gran Via to the Paseo del Prado, a wide, tree-lined boulevard. Dating back to the 16th century, it was the first public green space in a European capital. In mid-February, the tree branches were bare, and the gardens were just freshly tilled earth, waiting for flowers to be planted. Still, the carved stone fountains and ornate buildings were beautiful. (Along with Retiro Park, Paseo del Prado is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.)
The Prado is HUGE, and many visitors pay for guided tours. We chose to use the official audio guide instead, available for just 5€. We explored the museum at our own pace, and played the audio guide on demand by keying in the number posted next to each artwork. To save time, we used the museum’s paper map to navigate through the maze of galleries, focusing on just the artists we wanted to see. After about 2.5 hours, we felt satisfied that we’d seen enough for one day.
The Prado’s collection of masterpieces by the Spanish masters was vast, almost overwhelming. (Click on the links to view the works and learn more.)
I easily recognized El Greco’s by the elongated figures and bright colors, as if the sunshine of his native Greece could not be dimmed by the dark pigments fashionable in Italy and Spain. I noticed his signature on one painting and realized that I didn’t know El Greco’s given name before. It’s Doménikos Theotokópoulos.
El Greco’s painting of Saint Sebastian was an example of how paintings were sometimes altered for now unknown reasons. The canvas was cut up in the late 19th century, and reconstructed in 1987, when the lower section was recovered.
I was struck by two things about Velázquez’s iconic masterpiece Las Meninas: It’s an immense canvas, but the figures occupy barely the bottom third of the space - why does that work so effectively? The painter himself is part of the scene, as if poking fun at his role. (I saw later that other masters also included themselves in their paintings.)
Velázquez’s The Crucified Christ was mesmerizingly beautiful. I liked the unusual portrayal of Christ with hair covering half his face.
Goya’s The Naked Maja - displayed next to The Clothed Maja - was perhaps not the most technically skillful portrait. But I found it interesting because of the smile (seductive, satisfied, or something else?) and the mystery (who WAS she, and why did Goya paint the two versions?).
The Spanish masters were certainly impressive, but my favorite works at the Prado were iconic paintings by Dutch/Flemish artists Hieronymus Bosch (“El Bosco” in Spain) and Pieter Breugel the Elder. The large, chaotic scenes were packed with tiny figures, each carefully illustrated in vivid detail. It was hard to know where to look, and impossible to stop looking. They were both fantasies and cautionary tales, both comedic and tragic. They would reveal new secrets even after viewing them for an hour or for the tenth time. (Click on the links to zoom in and view these amazing works in more detail.)
Bosch’s iconic The Garden of Earthly Delights is a triptych. When the side panels are closed, there is a large, monochromatic painting of the Third Day of Creation, when God separated the heavens and the earth. When the panels are opened, the bright colors are revealed. On the left is Paradise (Eden), on the right is Hell, and in the center is the titular Garden of Earthly Delights. There are nude figures cavorting (in a PG-rated way), strange giant fruits and animals, and fantastical beasts.
There were many other intriguing works by Bosch, every one of them telling a story. The Haywain Triptych was like a vividly illustrated children’s book that needed no words. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then one by Bosch is worth at least a million.
Breugel’s Triumph of Death shows a village under attack by an army of skeletons. It’s a macabre scene, until one notices the pair of lovers in the bottom corner. But wait - just behind the lovers is a skeleton playing the violin! Yikes!
Breugel’s The Wine of Saint Martin’s Day, shows the annual festival on the saint’s feast day, when free wine was given to people outside the city gates. At the center is a crowd climbing atop one another to reach the big wine barrel. At right is Saint Martin, famous for cutting his cloak in half to help a ragged beggar in winter. At left are some people who clearly have had too much wine!
A confession: I broke a rule. Photography is not allowed in most sections of the Prado. In my defense, I didn't know this until well into our visit. And in general, while I love to take photos in art museums, I also take time to appreciate the work with my own eyes and try to imagine what the artist wanted me to feel. I think the art museums that still disallow photography want visitors to experience the art in real life instead of through a camera lens. Mea culpa to the Prado.
