According to Aristotle, “The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.” If I had shared a beer – or more fittingly a slug of Kykeon ─ with the eminent Greek philosopher, I would have sought to clarify his baffling supposition.
I have always struggled with the notion of art – I guess due to its enormity. I’ve painted my house, bought ornaments, and purchased the odd framed picture; I’ve also admired some of the masterpieces hanging in the National Gallery and dismissed many at Tate Modern on the banks of the River Thames. When I was six years old, I won a painting competition with a wonderful rendition of a steam train in my juvenile homage to Vincent van Gogh, where great dollops of smudged paint coalesced to form a shape ─ that was before I discovered Crayola crayons. There was no mistaking that it was a train since the tell-tale brown smoke was billowing out of the grand chimney, which was also brown; in fact, it was all brown. My masterpiece was exhibited in a council office in Sheep Street, Bicester, along with many equally perplexing images created by kids of my age and perhaps a little older. Who cares anyway, since I only had eyes for my creation and the sign that said, ‘Winning Entry’! But could I ever find a triumphant tribute for this creative discipline, or would I have to be content with an equally perplexing Pablo Picasso missive, “Art is the lie that enables us to realise the truth.” The country of his birth provided the breakthrough I sought.
As I approached the Sagrada Família, Barcelona – the largest uncompleted Catholic church in the world – something was wrong, very wrong. The closer I got the more unsettled I felt. This is a place of worship – consecrated by the late Pope Benedict XVI on 7th November 2010 – yet, in my opinion, it looked like a tribute to a tacky souvenir piece, more usually found in a snow globe! I had read about the chief architect, Antoni Gaudí, but other than thinking his surname sounded like the word gaudy, I profess I knew little about the man. I began to think that my literary connection with the word that, amongst others, meant garish, flashy, and tawdry, wasn’t that outrageous after all. As I walked around the huge footprint of this sacred structure, I felt further unease. I am not religious, yet I felt compelled to acknowledge a degree of reverence to this building – as I do with all pavilions of prayer I have visited throughout the world – but try as I might, the tacky showiness was overwhelming. It was convenient to conclude that Gaudí had given provenance to the similar sounding word, although this assertion transpired to be wholly inaccurate, since gaudy can be traced back to the 16th century, well before his birth on 25th June 1852.
Everything changed when I walked inside the Basílica.
The interior is simply stunning. Strikingly coloured stained glass contours the natural light ─ amplifying the utter glory of this controversial and contradictory architectural accomplishment. As I later discovered, many Catalonians share this paradoxical position. It shouts gothic, and in places is reminiscent of Bruce Wayne’s Batcave. I sat for ages and simply breathed it all in. Exploring the Tower on the Nativity Façade simply enriched my wonderment.
As I left, my head was spinning – how had I been so ignorant of the value of art? The cultural creations that define humanity are perhaps more than just things to be looked at, and those that stir such an array of emotions are – surely – the most valuable? Gaudí has to be up there with the best.
Surveying Casa Batlló – a twenty minute walk away and the former home of industrialist Josep Batlló y Casanovas and his family ─ only edified his position within my newly formed list of astonishing artists. Handing over the complete conversion of his city house (located at 43, Paseo de Gracia) to Gaudí between 1904 and 1906, the artist transformed it into the most mind bending of abodes with its choreographed veneration to nature, including curves, curls and cuteness aplenty. But again, this structural marvel is more than simply what the eye can observe. His use of reclaimed materials, integration of natural illumination and innovative ventilation, were simply decades ahead of their time and reflect Gaudí’s engineering excellence. The recently added light and acoustic experience is befitting of his lasting legacy.
At night and bathed in an enchanting lightshow, it is both mystical and magnificent. He’d done it again! Any object that gyrates your position like a merry-go-round has extraordinary value since contradiction is change and change is progress.
I was edging towards the end of my art attack, but one further place remained to be discovered – across the city to Park Güell.
This oasis of art, engineering, and futuristic fervour is testament – if any were needed ─ to Gaudí’s grandeur and gargantuan status; at least in the subjective stare of what continued to stir my emotions. This particular project – initially planned as a prime housing development – was doomed to commercial failure, although Gaudi lived there until his death in 1926. If you want any more detail I can only recommend that you visit at your earliest opportunity.
So, what is art? It’s objectionable, pleasurable, annoying, and calming. Sometimes in isolation, but occasionally all at once. It’s a manifestation of humanity, provoking thought, reflection, and argument. I think I now get it, but what do I know; other than I am absolutely sure that any art that makes me think – good, bad, or indifferent ─ has to be worthy of appreciation.
Like the third century BC Greek saying, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” art is what you make of it. But one thing I can say for certain is that Antoni Gaudí is undoubtedly more than just gaudy and I apologise profusely for my initial portrayal.
© Ian Kirke 2023 & all uncredited photographs
@ianjkirke