Literally a block away from my parents’ flat in Madrid is the Museo Sorolla. A little jewel of a museum. It is the urban palazzo of turn of the century painter Joaquín Sorolla which now houses his museum.

Once cleared the gate you are welcomed into a small refreshing garden. An oasis in the middle of downtown Madrid, surrounded by apartment buildings, shops and offices.

If being in the garden seems like a departure from the city, walking into the museum takes you to Sorolla’s beloved Mediterranean coast, where he painted most of his oeuvre. Some of the paintings are massive, but more important is the artists’ grasp of light. You see, light on the Mediterranean is quite different from light anywhere else – if you have not seen it, you will have to trust me on this one. Sorolla captures that light, that breeze, that heat, and puts it on the canvas, which is the reason he is called the “painter of light”. While some people label him an impressionist, he is beyond impressionism. The house also holds a lot of art that was given to him, his great collection of Valencia ceramic, where he was from, and many of his random knick-knacks.

Since I was a teenager, having the museum so close to home was a blessing and a curse. I did not always go into the museum, I just stayed in the garden, reading. But knowing that it was there I took it for granted and did not visit for a long time. A couple of years ago my sister Susana and I took our niece and nephew for a nice visit. This May, during a coffee run, I sneaked in for a few moments of escape.

Published by antonioyrocinante

En un lugar de Massachusetts de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, no ha mucho tiempo que vivía un maestro de escuela de los de tiza en mano, rotulador rojo, moto flaca, y coche viejo. Una olla de steel cut oats, salpicón las más noches, huevos con bacon los sábados, lantejas los viernes, alguna hamburguesa de añadidura los domingos, consumian las tres partes de su hacienda. Tenía en casa una señora de la limpieza brasileira que venía los lunes, y un vecino paliza que se bebía hasta el agua de regar las plantas. Frisaba la edad de nuestro maestro con los cuarenta y algo; era de complexión recia, seco de carnes, enjuto de rostro, no muy madrugador y nada amigo de la caza. ¹ ¹ Gracias Don Miguel

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1 Comment

  1. Totalmente de acuerdo contigo. Durante muchos años pase por delante camino del cole. Y ahora es uno de mis lugares favoritos de Madrid. Un oasis para disfrutar. Besos

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