Bosch

Wednesday, April 8

Walked to the Prado down poetry street, stopping for my café con latte and mini croissant at Le Bon Bon. I am now a regular – they get out the to-go cup and had my favorite croissant in the bag. Paused to gaze adoringly at the statue of Velasquéz at the entrance.

Nabbed my no-line entry ticket and checked my raincoat – cool enough to need an extra layer this morning, but the Prado is always toasty inside. Instead of finishing upstairs, I went straight to The Garden of Earthly Delights.

It’s twice as large in person as I imagined it was, just like Durër’s self-portrait is half as big.

The impact of scale is one of the reasons I don’t content myself with looking at art online, however closely gigapixels can get me.

I was a little stunned by Bosch, I’ll admit it. The impact of the pretty pinks and blues and greens in the center panel depicting utter weirdness – vicious imaginary creatures, surreal buildings, and humans tortured by monsters – is like listening to Hannibal Lector whistle Mary Had A Little Lamb. Jarring.

My eye skips around, and only slowly begins to really see what’s going on. There are nightmare hybrid creatures devouring humans that are trapped in a variety of inventive and horrifying way. In the third panel, Hell, it gets deeply gruesome, repugnant, repellent and fascinating.

If you are wondering what a ‘fate worse than death’ could be, you need look no further.

Couple of things; the room has other works by Bosch, but The Garden of Earthly Delight is the 800 pound Gorilla that siphons off the majority of the tourists, leaving his other disturbing works available to view in peace. The Haywain is my favorite.

After a while, a sense of horror sets in. What kind of sick, twisted, malevolent bastard invents this stuff?

Here’s my theory. Bosch was a third generation painter, he had skills, his work sold well, and like Petruchio, he wived it wealthily. He had strong faith but was not merely credulous (he was comfortable criticizing the clergy’s excesses – see the pig in a nun’s habit in hell). He was an esteemed member of The Illustrious Brotherhood of Our Blessed Lady. When Bosch died at the ripe age of 66 the society paid good coin for his funeral mass which included music and bell ringing and special prayers. He never had to declare bankruptcy, there is no record of lawsuits or criminal behavior.

I’m thinking he was like Stephen King, a popular guy who exorcized demons by for a living and went home at night happy man, easy going, kind to children, loved by his dog. Luckily for me, since they don’t have many facts about his personal life, I can think whatever I want.

If, like me, you’d like to learn more about the social context of the painter Hieronymus Bosch and the Delights of Hell. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bRBpg6eYac

It took quite a few rooms of excellent Flemish and Italian paintings to shake the spell of Bosch – it burned itself into more than my retinas.

Left at 2pm for a bite at the bakery I’ve seen more than one of around town and has been consistently tasty – little bites of cheese and ham, peach glazed cookies, hot chocolate. Proteins seem to escape me. Afterward, I walked over to the Fernan Gómez gallery to view A Su imagen; arte, cultura y religion. It’s an underground venue, literally, and across the street from the national library. Though I cannot read Spanish any better than I speak it, I took a photo of the library because you know, books.

I didn’t have high expectations of this exhibition, but I was happily surprised. All religious in theme, and much more accessible than work at the Prado. No crowds which made the work easier to spend time with, but also almost no security, which made ma a little uneasy for these works by Murillo, Goya, José de Ribera, Rubens and other masters.

There was one small work of Saint Joseph walking with his stepson that reminded me of my beloved spouse, who has been such a wonderful father; patient, loving, and devoted.

Started the long walk uphill to the apartment. Feel asleep at 8 with the computer open on my lap, watching the movie on Bosch. Got into bed at 8:30, and slept through until 7am. I think I might have turned the time zone around. I feel truly rested for the first time in a week.

Thursday, April 23

Listening to an audiobook as I roam around is a big part of my experience. It’s the way I cope with long weeks of silence, the kind that comes with not knowing the language. Writing scratches the itch I have to communicate beyond ‘I want to buy ten stamps, please,’ but I also want to hear English. Intelligent, lively, thoughtful English. Joanna Bourne’s http://www.joannabourne.com/ books are excellent for this since she’s as much adventure as romance, it takes place on the peninsula, and the audiobook reader is superb.

Today my destination was Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga, in no small part because they have a major Bosch triptych, The Temptation of St Anthony.Think back to my experience of viewing the Bosch in Madrid – vying with the crowd for more than a glimpse. Not here. People came in twos and threes, and in between I sat before it, alone. Examining a painting this complex and rich, with time to view each detail and then step back and see it as a whole, is a genuine luxury.

A few details;

After an hour, I drifted through the other rooms, soaking in the peacefulness of art viewed without jostle. That’s not an unmixed blessing; these storehouses of treasures need supporting, and seeing the other patrons was like looking in a mirror – definitely senior and preponderantly female. I winced a little bit, not because of aging, per se, but because I belong to an identifiable type; formerly fierce, once-upon-a-time outrageous women, now earnest, harmless, and gray-haired. Grandmotherly with an artistic bent.

Several works caught my eye, despite feeling somewhat over-saturated in religiosity. This Tiepolo is not only vigorous and lively, it’s a way of imagining the Flight into Egypt that doesn’t feature dirt roads, sand, or donkeys.

This Salome looks properly ambitious and cold-blooded, instead of the decadent slut she is too often portrayed. She’d make a credible Lady MacBeth, too.

Finally, this Mary looked like a virgin teen mother, still a child herself, instead of simpering or featureless as an egg.

I was struck by a large painting of animals crossing a ford, in particular, a shaggy white goat. Took pleasure in doing a little drawing. I used sienna and umber conté crayons and a little white chalk.

Stumbled over a little exhibition devoted to red chalk drawings. Nice.

Had lunch on the terrace overlooking the mighty river Tagus.

Pigeons are aggressive. I saw a dozen pigeons converge on a tray someone left on a table. They went all Animal Planet, like vultures fighting over a carcass.

Back inside and upstairs to look at work by Portuguese painters. This view of hell is much grimmer and less hallucinatory than Bosch. Good for a month of nightmares.

The day had flown by. Ready for some gelato, I headed towards the Santini’s I’d visited on day one. After I’d walked fifteen minutes, I paused to look inside the Mercado da Ribeira, Lisbon’s sleek indoor food market. Behold, I spy an outpost of the very same Santini’s. I ordered a chocolate, caramel and coconut combo if you must know. Worth every calorie.