Iberian Spring: Day 9 Madrid

Soundtrack: “Spanish Bombs”, The Clash | “Hieronymous”, The Clouds

Today is art day. Madrid’s Museo Nacional del Prado, or The Prado for short, houses some of the world’s most magnificent paintings by white people. It’s amazing how language translation works, here Prado means things of beauty, while in Australia Prado means ugly faux-tank driven by white people. According to google translate, prado actually translates to meadow, which really neither describes a multi-storey building with over 100 rooms full of priceless artworks, nor a metal box that flattens all in its path, plants or otherwise. (Apparently there used to be a meadow where they built the museum, sometimes the truth is boring.)

But before we get to the Prado, I also wanted to see Picasso’s Guernica, which is located in the Reina Sofia just down the road. It’s the whole thing of having one museum for old and classic art, and another for modern artoften but not always starting around the latter bits of the 19th Century, when tea-towel art like the post-impressionists started. I’m no real art scholar (though I do know some, who likely frown and/or shudder whenever I start talking about art) but it does kind of make sense throwing the separation from classic to modern around then: before that time art styles and movements lasted decades if not centuries; after the 1880s or so they’d last about as long as the artist du jour’s attention span: Picasso is lusting after a new grrl so cubism is so last week you know. That kind of thing.

In preparation for this trip I got reading about the Spanish Civil War. The causes still don’t make the hugest amount of sense, because to understand those requires understanding Spanish politics in the 19th Century, maybe even earlier. From what I gather, Spain since the start of the Franco regime has had just about its longest and most stable political eras: 87 years and only one major regime change. It seemed that the hundred or so years before that had drastic regime changes every other decade. The Civil War itself made much more sense, the fascists won because the leftists spent as much time fighting each other as they did Franco’s forces. Of course it helped that Franco was massively backed by the fascist regimes in Italy and Germany, while the Republicans had to deal with Russia and whatever they could get out of France and the UK. It was one of the first wars where civillian population centres were subjected to indiscriminate bombing campaigns, though sadly not the last.

My reading got me interested in Guernica. Even before Hannah Gadsby’s Nannette I knew Picasso was an asshole. A total misogynistic asshole. As for his art, being honest, I’ve never found much inspiration in cubism, dadaism, and associated isms. I can admire the craft, appreciate the part they play in the evolution of art, but i rarely feel anything looking at them. I get no visceral response from being in the presence of so many of these works. But looking at images of Guernica were tweaking a response. Maybe it was from reading the story behind it. There is much disagreement over the number of people who were killed when the Luftwaffe, under the direction of Franco’s Nationalists, bombed the town in April 1937 — the folks who lived there say 1,800, the folks who attacked said about 12, while historians seem to say between 150 and 1,500. If we settle at somewhere around 1,000, that’s still a lot of unarmed civillians. Even 12 is a lot of unarmed civillians. And for once, I think Picasso managed to tap into some human emotions other than lust and power, and produced a work that is powerful, humane, and deeply moving. The guy is an asshole, but for once he got the art right.

(Interestingly Guernica is kicking things up a bit again, as the Basques have asked to borrow it to display in Bilboa for next year’s 90th anniversary of the bombing, though currently Madrid is saying no.)

Fortunately the Reina Sofia had a bunch of other decent art. Some Dali, and while several were totally from his surrealist stuff, it was fascinating to see another that wasn’t; just a decent still life work, recognisably Dali. There was a decent Magritte, Santos’s Un mundo is amazing, an incredible vision, a collection of anti-fascist art from the 1930s was as meaningful as it is today. There was also a bunch of art that I really didn’t get: a major display of Alberto Greco’s work, important pieces in the living art movement, but not so moving for me. Similarly they had an exhibition by another painter, Juan Usle, who apparently was fascinated by a ship wreck as a child and has now spent many years painting from the inspiration: they had a series of photos that helped me see what the artist’s vision was all about, but these were more evocative than the artworks.

The Museo Nacional del Prado was, on the other hand, crammed full of amazing works I could have spent longer than 2 and a half hours admiring. (Though they also had some stuff that didn’t necessarily do it for me, like a stack of de Goya’s dark paintings, where he just seemed to give up making faces at all lifelike.) I’m not overly familiar with the history of Spanish painting, but from what the Prado had on display they generally were doing what other painters were in those times. When other Europeans were painting biblical and mythological stuff, so were the Spanish; when it was time for landscapes, they were painting those too, and when it was baroque in Spain, it was baroque in other places, too. Ashamedly, while I enjoyed a lot of the Spanish painters (even Velasquez with his mis-proportioned shrunken heads) I was there for the foreigners: Titian, Rubens, Raphael, and especially Bosch.

While my favourite Titian still hangs in the Louvre (https://www.slowlyandloudly.com/2025/11/20/buns2025-day-6-paris/) the Prado has a bunch of pretty incredible works on display. His Burial of Christ is one I could stare at for a while. Interestingly, his Adam and Eve hangs next to a knock-off replica by none other than Rubens. Of course Rubens, not happy with just copying the original, then put some of his own embellishments on it like a random parrot, because he could. All parrots aside, there were some pretty amazing Rubens on display. (Tip for visiting the Prado: they don’t allow photography inside the museum, but for an extra 9 euro on the entrance ticket you can get a guidebook that has a lot of info in it, which is great for referring back to when blogging post visit.) Most of the Rubens involved folks in a state of mostly undressed, as it seems that was his thing when not painting European nobility (for all I know he might have also painted European nobility in states of undress). His Adoration of the Magi (low nudity) is stunning, the Three Graces (high nudity) amazing, The Garden of Love (medium nudity) is a treat to the eyes.

Then there’s Bosch. Mr Hieronymus himself. Maybe the most original and unique artist ever. A late 14th century master of the ultra weird: at a time when it seems just about every other artist was painting christ against a backing of gold foil, Bosch was conjuring the most badass images of the fantastic: of the punishments awaiting folks in hell, of strange beasts, wondrous frivolity, of a pair of ears wielding a knife. He was surreal before the surrealists. What’s even more amazing (some may say unexpected) is that a work like The Garden of Earthy Delights survived in Spain to this day, throughout the Inquisition. I can think of any number of regimes, past and current, that would have burned a work like this and scattered the ashes. The Prado isn’t just about The Garden of Earth Delights, there are a couple of other triptychs, Adoration of the Magi and The Haywain, the latter featuring Bosch going to town on visions of hell, as well as some other pieces. All are amazing, and quite popular.

Tired and footsore we headed to the gift shop, where I noticed something quite unusual among the merch . The art kinda looked like the Mona Lisa, but with some obvious differences in composition. So I googled, and it turns out the Prado has a copy of the Mona Lisa done by Leonardo’s studio, likely one of his apprentices (L had noticed the merch too). It’s the same age as the original, and by accounts has aged a little better. It was restored in the last few years which revealed that the background landscape had been painted over when it was at least 200 years old, and the restoration has a lot more colour now. It’s also a lot easier to view than the Louvre version, the crowds are a lot smaller, and you can get up within a metre or two and have a look. Weirdly it wasn’t listed as a highlight in the Prado’s free map and guide pamphlet.

The last thing on the to do list for the Prado was the obligatory pic of me in my green Clouds t-shirt in front of the museum; this shirt has now been to the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, Louvre in Paris, and Prado in Madrid. Today’s trip was a little extra special as probably the best known song by the Clouds is about Hieronymus Bosch, and it was singer/songwriter Jodi Phillis’s birthday.

Full of culture, we headed to a nearby cafe for a sandwich and coffee. The cafe was right near an impressive vertical garden, hence the cafe being the Vertical Patio. They do an excellent jamon and tomato toasted sandwich and bombon coffee.

Between the patio and our hostel I spied a place serving all manner of empanadas, and couldn’t resist trying one. I mean, who can pass up one called carne suave, which was a delicious pastry pocket filled with meat and goodness.

We had a bit of a rest (L’s cold is running about a day behind mine, so while I’m mostly done she’s in the very-symptomatic stage) before heading out for some dinner. We hadn’t had paella yet so aimed to rectify that. Not too far away was the well reviewed Taberna Mas Al Sur. It’s a Saturday night in Madrid, so there are lots of people out, but fortunately they could squeeze us in. We ordered a plate of fried octopus, and a seafood paella. Though busy, they were turning dishes out fairly fast so we didn’t have long to wait. The octopus was fantastic, cooked just right, the perfect mix of tender octopus and a hint of flame charring. The paella was very good too, full of salty marine flavours, though without a crust on the pan which I thought was part of what defined the dish, but maybe that’s a regional variation. Washed down with some more vermouth it was tasty indeed.

Tomorrow’s our last full day in Madrid, so there are a couple of fashion exhibitions/museums we want to get to, hopefully I’ll get to the site where a former deputy prime minister, driver, and car, were launched over a building, and in the evening we have a drag show. Hasta luego!