In constrast to the rotating collections housed on the first, the Reina Sofia’s second floor is much more of a study of various historical phases of modern art. I pass the nippy Sunday morning in the company of Picasso and Dalí.
It’s fascinating to me how aesthetic appeal is so fluid, how certain forms and colors captivate the eyes of one while being completely glossed over by anothers’. I might argue that the masters of this floor understood this in a much more intense way than anyone before them ever had.
Yeah, there’s also Guernica. It’s totally incredible, yes, way way more so than the postage-stamp-sized Mona Lisa in the Louvre. I still don’t like crowds. Someone could do a study of how Guernica changes from being observed so much, reproduced so often. So many camera flashes, instantaneous iterations of “great art.” Barthes would have a word or three.
Her. This. This I just love. Her pose, the colors, the light, the plant-object in the back, her fingers touching hair, the hint of abdominal muscles, the folds in the sheet. “I would have this in my house.”
I still don’t like you, Joan Miró.