Picture perfect: the Museo d'Arte
Tom Eccleshall recounts a picture perfect memory of his visit to a Spanish art museum.
Whilst in the city of Madrid (I was learning Spanish; it seemed most appropriate), I spent an afternoon at the incredible ‘Museo de Arte’. It was a warm, sunny summer’s day; the bustling city trudged merrily along in the warm rays cast by the magnificent sun. Bizarrely, the sun almost seemed bigger here, as if it scaled depending on the heat put out by it. Alas, not actually the case. I found myself queuing in an enormous line snaking all the way out of the museum to the square out front and beyond. I dreaded being stuck here in some sort of hellish purgatory: would I ever escape the hot outdoors, into the cool interior of the museum? I think the queue gods disliked me. It took us three hours to get to the front entrance. I am almost certain they did this merely to spite me - I specifically asked (although admittedly in my head, so perhaps they did not hear me) not to be standing around for three hours. |
Inside the museum, I was struck with amazement: massive corridors, with painting after painting lay ahead of me. The floors were a stark white, I remember clearly. Aside from the awesome museum itself, I was also baffled by the sheer amount of people who had taken time out of their day to come here - I am sure there must have been more than 1,000,000 people there! Well, my childish self thought so anyway.
I spent hours and hours looking at the different paintings, examining each one, looking at their composition, and how they were made. As someone who is objectively terrible at art, I found them all fascinating. The oranges and the reds and the blues and the greens - is there any point in me continuing? All manner of colours were present in the wide variety of paintings. I saw paintings that made me smile with joy, and paintings that made me want to cry with sadness; there were paintings for all!
But then, I saw it. After all my time spent waiting to get into the museum, queueing to get in, and then queueing again to get through the security, and then going around and inspecting every art piece around, I saw it: the most beautiful, magnificent, gorgeous, incredible, fabulous - well, you get the picture. Honestly I could not believe what I was looking at. I genuinely was speechless - it was a painting, by none other than Federico de Madrazo, of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen: Amalia de Llano.
My life was complete now I had seen this - I could die happy.
I was mesmerized by her mysterious looks. Who was she? Why is there a painting of her? I had so many questions, and very few answers. Well, I thought, she must be rich, based on her attire, and also the mere fact she had someone paint a portrait of her, given that that was an expensive activity to partake in. She was probably a writer of some sorts, for she had a quill in her hand. And if she was that rich from writing, then she must have been highly successful. (l later discovered that I was partially incorrect, as to say she had been successful as a writer would have been more than generous - she was just born into a very wealthy family, with only one book ever being published, to mixed reception).
Everything in this painting was just perfect. It was a very peculiar feeling. This was unprecedented territory for a young boy such as myself (at the time). The gorgeous blue dress, which stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the musty browns and yellows behind it. The mysterious gaze the woman herself had, the immaculate posture she had. I just loved everything about this incredible piece of art.
I set to work establishing my evil plan - I would sneak in at night, disengage the security system mainframe, drop in, a la mission impossible, and swipe the painting. It would be mine! - insert evil laughter - . Ah, who was I kidding? I was a kid, it was just my imagination going at it. I would never be able to do this.
Instead, I would have to settle for a €5,00 replica of the painting, about A5 sized, bought from the gift shop.
And to this very day, I have it framed, and on my bedside table, and every time I look at it, I remember the fabulous experience I had in the Museo de Arte, in the wonderous city of Madrid.
Tom Eccleshall, Y12
I spent hours and hours looking at the different paintings, examining each one, looking at their composition, and how they were made. As someone who is objectively terrible at art, I found them all fascinating. The oranges and the reds and the blues and the greens - is there any point in me continuing? All manner of colours were present in the wide variety of paintings. I saw paintings that made me smile with joy, and paintings that made me want to cry with sadness; there were paintings for all!
But then, I saw it. After all my time spent waiting to get into the museum, queueing to get in, and then queueing again to get through the security, and then going around and inspecting every art piece around, I saw it: the most beautiful, magnificent, gorgeous, incredible, fabulous - well, you get the picture. Honestly I could not believe what I was looking at. I genuinely was speechless - it was a painting, by none other than Federico de Madrazo, of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen: Amalia de Llano.
My life was complete now I had seen this - I could die happy.
I was mesmerized by her mysterious looks. Who was she? Why is there a painting of her? I had so many questions, and very few answers. Well, I thought, she must be rich, based on her attire, and also the mere fact she had someone paint a portrait of her, given that that was an expensive activity to partake in. She was probably a writer of some sorts, for she had a quill in her hand. And if she was that rich from writing, then she must have been highly successful. (l later discovered that I was partially incorrect, as to say she had been successful as a writer would have been more than generous - she was just born into a very wealthy family, with only one book ever being published, to mixed reception).
Everything in this painting was just perfect. It was a very peculiar feeling. This was unprecedented territory for a young boy such as myself (at the time). The gorgeous blue dress, which stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the musty browns and yellows behind it. The mysterious gaze the woman herself had, the immaculate posture she had. I just loved everything about this incredible piece of art.
I set to work establishing my evil plan - I would sneak in at night, disengage the security system mainframe, drop in, a la mission impossible, and swipe the painting. It would be mine! - insert evil laughter - . Ah, who was I kidding? I was a kid, it was just my imagination going at it. I would never be able to do this.
Instead, I would have to settle for a €5,00 replica of the painting, about A5 sized, bought from the gift shop.
And to this very day, I have it framed, and on my bedside table, and every time I look at it, I remember the fabulous experience I had in the Museo de Arte, in the wonderous city of Madrid.
Tom Eccleshall, Y12