El Prado

Originally el prado (meadow) de los Jerónimos, which is what this place was when construction was begun at the end of the 18th century with the intention of creating a natural history museum. Almost before it was completed it was taken over by the French in what the Spanish call the War of Independence and we and the British call The Peninsular War. The building was trashed by Napoleon's cavalry and then restored at the end of the war and it's mission changed to exhibit the art collections of the royal family; which were considerable owing especially to the connection Phillip II, (Felipe el hermoso (beautiful), had 200 yrs. earlier to both the riches of the Americas and to Flanders - the latter being makers of both fine fabric and fine art, the former being the means of acquisition. Felipe was born in Flanders, part of the Spanish crown, and found it inconvenient to have to reside in Spain as monarch. He took as much of Flanders with him as he could. Consequently El Prado has wonderful collections of both Spanish and Flemish painters and good representations from Italian painters too.

I've been here before - long ago. Museums this size are hard to manage. You can take the nickel tour in which they try to show you everything and you see nothing. Or you can wander about until something holds your interest and you don't want to leave. I did that the last time I was here and bumped into Velasquez. I didn't see anything else and not much of that. So much to do, so little time.

This time I came with a different strategy. I wanted to see Goya and Rubens then probably El Greco, Bosch, Brueghel, that would be enough.

Goya - amazing. There is no way that somebody like myself is going to put this in words but he drew heavily upon Velasquez using similar compositions more than once. Mounted portraits are common (but then they all did that).

Velasquez seems always enthusiastic about his subjects, always cognizant of his market and always puts his subject in a favorable light even when the inbreeding is so apparent as to be.... Ms MP said, "the horses show better breeding". Goya, not so much. If Goya didn't like you it would show. Not in a way that would have him hung. It's always subject to interpretation - subtle. They wouldn't allow me to use the camera or I would have put up some shots here. But there was one portrait of Fernando VII (Ferdinand) big butt, insolent expression, awkward, vacuous; stuffed into a majestic costume. Maybe google can help you find it. Amazing. Goya was an intellectual. He expected more majesty. And it shows even more in his later work. He was traumatized when the French, who he admired so much, invaded and shot this place up. Two works, "The Invasion of the Marmalukes" (sometimes called May 2, 1808) and the other May 3, 1808 showing executions of common people mark a change in the way he painted. Everything after that is dark, (I think everything, not sure) dramatic and trending toward impressionism. These are screams. There is no heroism in Goya's war.

Well, that's the way I see it. It's subject to interpretation.

Rubens - I love Rubens. It's a Rubens at the top of this page. Beautiful. I can't tell you how powerful it is to stand in a room full of canvas some of which measure 4m across. Powerful isn't quite the right word. It's the paint that's powerful. I'm in the presence of greatness.

El Greco - I was disappointed. Funny, I always liked what I knew about him and the forms are truly wonderful but the color is garish. He should have painted Elvis.

Brueghel - only a couple of pieces here. I want to see more.

Bosch - Garden of Natural Delights and about 2 others. Amazing vision which points to Dali, but on this day when I've seen so much I just can't bother to contemplate it.

Surprises - Raphael. I didn't even come for this and it might be best of show.

Please try to look this up. Antonello da Messina, "The Dead Christ Supported by an Angel". This is a comparatively tiny canvas, about 60x100cm. how anybody could paint heartbreak like that blows me away.

We were constantly walking into rooms of paintings that we had never heard of and just struck dumb.