If any one or any thing is to blame, then it would have to be the hotel trade exhibition.
It is never a good thing to be shown up in your lack of knowledge about the cultural life of a city of whose cultural life you thought you were the corner stone.
But I was.
Mondays are not good days for culture vultures in Barcelona. The majority of the cultural venues that are worth visiting are closed (much in the manner of the French) and the most you can do is look mournfully through the plate glass windows at the forbidden delights of our artistic heritage.
When one of those closed palaces is MNAC on Montjuic then the view itself is compensation enough. Compensation that has to take into account the somewhat laborious ascent to that pinnacle of Catalan excellence. There is first the long mall-like road whose entrance is marked by two towers in the style of the large bell tower in Saint Mark’s Square in Venice. This mall is flanked by a series of pavilions and the odd fountain until you get to the beginning of the flights of stairs which will eventually (and I really mean ‘eventually’) get you to your destination.
In the best spirit of access for the arts a connected series of open air escalators has been installed to make the long walk as untiring as possible. Admittedly it took me the best part of a year to discover the last link in the chain which deposited my weary feet at the bottom of the last few steps to the actual entrance, but now I can guide guests almost effortlessly from one vista of shining metallic steps to the next.
But not when a massive international hotel exhibition spreads itself over the mall and the adjoining pavilions. Entrance forbidden except to the lost souls queuing to gain their credentials so they could start sampling the freebies.
We were forced to try a flanking manoeuvre to hit the hill at a more congenial point. Judith strode off purposefully with me limping wearily in the background as my hip seems to be trying to make up for its relative quiescence during the whole of my life and now seems to be asking for attention in a tiresome way like a fractious child.
We strode and hobbled past static traffic; ripped up road; indolent workmen and a burnt out flat and then found ourselves gazing at a remarkable building which bore the sign of one of the local banks.
I had previously only seen this building from the lofty prominence on which the grandiose building which houses MNAC sits. I had attempted in the past to take an ‘artistic’ photograph of the pseudo-crenulated brick roof, but I had regarded the building as nothing more than an extra pavilion in the Montjuic complex.
I was wrong.
The building itself is a restored brick built factory designed by the famous Catalan architect Josep Puig i Cadafalch, you can get more information about the building in English at http://obrasocial.lacaixa.es/centros/english/caixaforumbcnbuilding_en.html
What was worse than not realising that the building was an outstanding example of the work of an impossibly famous architect was finding out that the restored building is a positive treasure house of artistic events.
The current exhibition was of the work of Alphonse Mucha (1860 – 1939) it was exhaustive and brilliantly presented. It is always gratifying to leave an exhibition (which was free!) with extra information. Who would have thought that the artist who produced all those Art Noveau posters showing Sarah Bernhardt looking demented and clutching a dagger
actually lived until 1939? And that the reason he died was that he was viciously interrogated by the Gestapo after which he developed pneumonia and died in a few days?
The next exhibition (also free!) opens in a few days time and consists of paintings from the Uffizi in Florence from Botticelli to Luca Giordano.
There are other exhibitions opening, together with music events and readings and debates and all those things that should have been clearly within my cognizance.
And if it hadn’t been for hordes of suited men and women making for the refreshment areas and blocking my usual route to MNAC this cornucopia of artistic delights would have been nothing more than an interesting brick roof!
I have put myself on the mailing list and eaten in the very reasonably priced restaurant.
I am thinking of writing a short monograph on ‘Eating in the Arts’ – I feel it would be revealing and interesting!
Judith has been an excellent companion during the days of her stay in Castelldefels and has made all the right noises about my favourite parts of the city and has exhibited the appropriate degree of envy when contemplating the view from the balcony.
We have eaten out every day; we have sneered at meretricious contemporary art; we have suffered the unrelenting seats of our local bus; we have disturbed the lesser breeds without the law in The School That Sacked Me; we have travelled; we have been (momentarily) placid – and we have talked.
Who could ask for more!
It is never a good thing to be shown up in your lack of knowledge about the cultural life of a city of whose cultural life you thought you were the corner stone.
But I was.
Mondays are not good days for culture vultures in Barcelona. The majority of the cultural venues that are worth visiting are closed (much in the manner of the French) and the most you can do is look mournfully through the plate glass windows at the forbidden delights of our artistic heritage.
When one of those closed palaces is MNAC on Montjuic then the view itself is compensation enough. Compensation that has to take into account the somewhat laborious ascent to that pinnacle of Catalan excellence. There is first the long mall-like road whose entrance is marked by two towers in the style of the large bell tower in Saint Mark’s Square in Venice. This mall is flanked by a series of pavilions and the odd fountain until you get to the beginning of the flights of stairs which will eventually (and I really mean ‘eventually’) get you to your destination.
In the best spirit of access for the arts a connected series of open air escalators has been installed to make the long walk as untiring as possible. Admittedly it took me the best part of a year to discover the last link in the chain which deposited my weary feet at the bottom of the last few steps to the actual entrance, but now I can guide guests almost effortlessly from one vista of shining metallic steps to the next.
But not when a massive international hotel exhibition spreads itself over the mall and the adjoining pavilions. Entrance forbidden except to the lost souls queuing to gain their credentials so they could start sampling the freebies.
We were forced to try a flanking manoeuvre to hit the hill at a more congenial point. Judith strode off purposefully with me limping wearily in the background as my hip seems to be trying to make up for its relative quiescence during the whole of my life and now seems to be asking for attention in a tiresome way like a fractious child.
We strode and hobbled past static traffic; ripped up road; indolent workmen and a burnt out flat and then found ourselves gazing at a remarkable building which bore the sign of one of the local banks.
I had previously only seen this building from the lofty prominence on which the grandiose building which houses MNAC sits. I had attempted in the past to take an ‘artistic’ photograph of the pseudo-crenulated brick roof, but I had regarded the building as nothing more than an extra pavilion in the Montjuic complex.
I was wrong.
The building itself is a restored brick built factory designed by the famous Catalan architect Josep Puig i Cadafalch, you can get more information about the building in English at http://obrasocial.lacaixa.es/centros/english/caixaforumbcnbuilding_en.html
What was worse than not realising that the building was an outstanding example of the work of an impossibly famous architect was finding out that the restored building is a positive treasure house of artistic events.
The current exhibition was of the work of Alphonse Mucha (1860 – 1939) it was exhaustive and brilliantly presented. It is always gratifying to leave an exhibition (which was free!) with extra information. Who would have thought that the artist who produced all those Art Noveau posters showing Sarah Bernhardt looking demented and clutching a dagger
actually lived until 1939? And that the reason he died was that he was viciously interrogated by the Gestapo after which he developed pneumonia and died in a few days?The next exhibition (also free!) opens in a few days time and consists of paintings from the Uffizi in Florence from Botticelli to Luca Giordano.
There are other exhibitions opening, together with music events and readings and debates and all those things that should have been clearly within my cognizance.
And if it hadn’t been for hordes of suited men and women making for the refreshment areas and blocking my usual route to MNAC this cornucopia of artistic delights would have been nothing more than an interesting brick roof!
I have put myself on the mailing list and eaten in the very reasonably priced restaurant.
I am thinking of writing a short monograph on ‘Eating in the Arts’ – I feel it would be revealing and interesting!
Judith has been an excellent companion during the days of her stay in Castelldefels and has made all the right noises about my favourite parts of the city and has exhibited the appropriate degree of envy when contemplating the view from the balcony.
We have eaten out every day; we have sneered at meretricious contemporary art; we have suffered the unrelenting seats of our local bus; we have disturbed the lesser breeds without the law in The School That Sacked Me; we have travelled; we have been (momentarily) placid – and we have talked.
Who could ask for more!
No comments:
Post a Comment