En route to Andalusia I had just a day to spare for the Prado in Madrid — a disservice to one of Spain’s most prestigious museums and perhaps the largest gallery of classical paintings in the world. Nonetheless, on that sunny October morning my brief Prado acquaintance, buoyed by that delightful sense of anticipation and discovery peculiar to encountering museum paintings in the flesh, was bracing and memorable.

Lavish reproductions of masterpieces in publications have familiarised the world with their significance but as Robert Hughes, the most incisive critic of our times, pointed out, “there is no tyranny like the tyranny of the unseen masterpiece”. Face-to-face with masterworks, previously seen only in books or online, is a huge learning experience. Not all great paintings appear incredible, some are disappointing, others more astonishing and new details hitherto unnoticed often jump out and alter one’s understanding of the work altogether. Indeed “The seen and fully experienced masterpiece tends to liberate” one’s preconceived notions.

Pressed for time and unable to indulge in the long look spread over several visits, I opted to relish the delights of instant impact. Brushwork, texture, colour subtleties, range and size of paintings were some attributes that revealed themselves anew in the live encounters. Chromatic profusion and aged brilliance of stunning hues like vermillion, indigo, sienna and ochre prompted reflection on the mineral material of the colour pigments. Generous use of gold in the numerous gilded / illuminated Medieval / Renaissance paintings, panels, pedestals, frames and altar pieces was overwhelming. I learned that the three costliest pigments used in Renaissance art were gold, ultramarine (from the semi-precious Asian stone Lapis Lazuli) and red Lac (from India). In fact, these three colours were so costly that typically their use would be stipulated in the painting contract issued for the commission in question.

Salwat Ali writes about her visit to the Prado Museum in Madrid showcasing an enormous collection of classical paintings

Theatrical narrative was the other magical draw. Outstanding works by some of the greatest masters of European and Spanish art, such as Bosch, Raphael, Titian, Rubens, Velázquez, Goya, El Greco and Van Dyke and the astonishingly rich collection of Netherlandish art were essentially Biblical tableaux, sacred history and mythological stories. With accent on the human body, the figurative compositions capitalised on melodramatic expression and gesture. Centred in pictorially rich surroundings, the figure gained further emphasis through the draped / worn garment. Silk, satin, brocade, damask, velvet, gauze or muslin, the fabric found eloquent address in the hands of the masters noticeably, Raphael (‘The cardinal’) Rembrandt (‘Judith …’) and Flemish painters like Van Der Weyden (‘The descent from the cross’), etc.

Prado’s pride, ‘Las Meninas’ by Velasquez (1657-57) is to the museum what ‘Mona Lisa’ is to the Louvre. But unlike Da Vinci’s rather small portrait there is much happening inside this enormous painting and a prior read up helps. Velázquez’s famous painting is remarkable for the skilful use of perspective and light and the informal staging of his characters — almost like a camera snapshot of a happening moment. Set in a room in the Alcázar, equipped by Velázquez as a studio, it shows heiress Infanta Margarita daughter of Philip IV, with her court.

Never has a painting of an individual of royalty been surrounded by so many activities and objects. Theories also highlight the compositions’ complexity versus mere artistic craftsmanship. The fun is in the guessing game. Picasso was so obsessed with this work that he painted 58 copies of it in his own style.

The other major artist in the Prado is Goya — his works (two Maja’s, tapestry cartoons, portraits and history paintings) make such a large part of the museum that his statue stands outside the main entrance. Goya’s depiction of nudity in the painting ‘The naked Maja’ led him to be accused of obscenity. A repeat composition ‘The clothed Maja’ came soon after. Brilliant, unique and far above his contemporaries in Spain Goya followed the Spanish tradition with Velázquez as his master.

With images of a volatile Karachi still fresh in my mind, I was instantly drawn to Goya’s ‘The third of May, 1808’ painting. On May 2, 1808, citizens of Madrid revolted against the occupying forces of Napoleon. The next day, his troops exacted revenge by killing hundreds of rebels and innocent bystanders. In the painting the shooters are faceless and indistinguishable from one another but the victims are depicted in detail. The white-shirted man is terrified and holds his arms upward, recalling Christ’s crucifixion; the victim in the left foreground, prone in pooled blood, similarly echoes this stance. Diverging from the traditions of Christian art and traditional depictions of war and by drawing from both high and popular art, ‘The third of May, 1808’ marks a clear break from convention.

Until recently, the Prado’s copy of the Mona Lisa — one of many — was not exciting. Museum researcher Ana Gonzalez’s trained eye and expertise with X-rays, infrared reflectography and high-resolution digital images changed that. Darkened by layers of aging lacquer the now restored copy offers details that are obscured in the original Mona Lisa. It shows an armrest where none can be seen in the original, and reflectographs show a much clearer image of her waistline.

General opinion is that the Prado painting was not a copy made by Leonardo himself. While the corrections are identical, the lines are not. It was most likely painted by a pupil who perhaps was sitting right next to Leonardo da Vinci, trying to duplicate his every brush stroke, as he produced his famous lady with the enigmatic smile.

A Dürer self-portrait was unmissable. Its impeccable drawing and a brilliant, gold-toned colour scheme offsetting his elegant clothes and aristocratic bearing indicate Dürer’s wish to show off his social standing. A German inscription on the window ledge, which reads: “1498, I painted it according to my figure. I was 26-year-old Albrecht Dürer”, is a confident declaration of artistic acumen.

The Prado Museum derives its name from the district where it is located, formerly an area of market gardens known as the “prado” or meadow. It was opened to the public in 1819, during the reign of Fernando VII when more than 300 works from the Spanish monarchy were assembled here. The Spanish queen at the time, impressed with the Louvre, wanted to showcase an enormous collection in her own country. The aim was to showcase art belonging to the Spanish Crown and to demonstrate to the rest of Europe that Spanish art was of equal merit to any other national school.  

Possibly holding more works by Titian, Rubens, Velázquez and Goya than any other museum in the world, the Prado currently possesses 8,000 paintings, but lack of available space permits a display of 2,000 only. Among its decorative objects d’ art collection the18th century pietra dura tables and consoles, reflecting Charles III’s passion for this technique, are particularly stunning — but more on this another time.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, November 15th, 2015

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