Field of dreams

El Prado is arguably Madrid’s top tourist attraction; and without a doubt one of Europe’s leading art museums.  Located in between the Retiro and the Paseo del Prado, it lies in what is generally held to be one of the richest areas of art display on the planet.  Indeed the Reina Sofia and the Thyssen art museums lie not fifteen minutes walk away and form, together with El Prado, the so-called Golden Triangle of Art.  Although the two former museums also hold more than impressive collections, El Prado is unrivalled in terms of world-wide reputation as well as the sheer size of its collection.  It contains an astonishing 7800 paintings, of which only about 900 are on display at any one time, which is anyway a lot more than can be seen in one visit.  And in the unlikely event of an indifference to all of 700 years of European painting, there are also a further 10 000 drawings, prints, statues, sculptures, coins and other decorative objects.  This almost ridiculous amount of art, spanning from Roman statues to early nineteenth century painting, resides in a 200-metre long red brick structure along the West side of Madrid’s main artery, the Paseo del Prado.  The architecture, if grand in an antique column kind of way, is unremarkable, and puts one more in mind of an American high school than a tribute to the vast collection of art it houses.  Madrid’s 17^th-century answer to the Tardis, it consistently seems larger when seen from the inside; and invariably transports the visitor (and his awed assistant) to distant times and places.

The building was commissioned by Charles III in 1785 in his ambitious project to, somewhat anachronistically, ‘re-urbanise’ the Paseo del Prado.  The project was interrupted at the death of the king and did not resume until the end of the Peninsular War, under Charles’s grandson, Ferdinand VII.  The museum opened in November 1819, and was renamed as Museo del Prado, after the meadow the museum had originally been built in, when it was acquired by the state in 1868.  Its royal collections soon grew and the museum was expanded in 1918.  El Prado has since experienced multiple expansions and renovations over the course of 190 years of history, and is now a veritable labyrinth of artistic excellence.

The collection sprawls over two floors, both divided into countless rooms and corridors.  The paintings are at regular intervals on a plain background, presented in a tasteful understatement of priceless works on display.  Information panels inform the visitor, in miniscule Spanish text, that the painting on show ‘depicts a woman and her baby’, with no indication as to whether this is a unique jewel or one of the museum’s lesser exhibits.  If anything, this only amplifies the dizzying effect of El Prado, especially for the relative philistine I am as far as Art History is concerned.  The museum almost seems designed to lose the visitor in its maze of masterpieces, each room more impressive than the last.

Much like El Retiro, the Prado museum has become one of my favourite places to go during my free mornings.  Not only does it provide me with my pretence of intellectual stimulation for the day, it is also another blissfully peaceful place to walk around in.  At least, until the coachload of six-year-olds on a school trip arrives, at which point I scurry off to seek refuge in one of the more hidden away Goya rooms.  El Prado is a great place to have some quiet time, and has endeared itself to me further by virtually falling over itself to get me in free of charge.  I have got in for various reasons: being an under-25 citizen of the EU, being present on the 190^th anniversary, coming on a Sunday afternoon, and, most commonly, for being under 18.  So, having given up on ever being able to discover all of El Prado’s secrets, I content myself with a relaxing wander ever now and again and wonder what might have been, if only I had read Gombrich’s Story of Art.