Why Picasso?

On a trip to Barcelona to celebrate the arrival of 2011, I also had the pleasure to see many beautiful landmarks - Casa Batllo, The Cathedral, Sagrada Familia, Arc of Triumph, I stood outside La Pedrera and The Palau de la Musica taking in the beauty and significance architectural forms, colours and distinctive Spanish decoration styles and history, I even had time for a visit to Zoo where I was introduced to the Otters. I stayed in a little apartment next to Iglesia Santa Maria del Mar, two minutes away from El Museo Picasso - where I was constantly urged to go but my enthusiasm never seemed to tip me over the edge.

I wondered, why Picasso? What part of me really wants to see Picasso? Where is the need? I had echoes in my head from recent news headlines “271 Picasso paintings found in garage worth over £100m are believed to have been stolen” and “rare Picasso sold for £6m” Picasso had started to loose value for me, all the press attention it has been received over the years seems to be centred on money, millions of it.

I reflected on his works and even recollected an essay I had written about him at university and a quote kept coming back to me“"No, painting is not made to decorate apartments; it's an offensive and defensive weapon against the enemy."  

There was a contradiction in the humble artist with the strong spirit I had come to know, the master I had grown to admire and the image now painted of him. I wondered why people even like him anymore. Personally, he was someone I could relate to, we share the desire to escape the banal, he did it in his paintings. Yet, I seemed to have no good reason to want to visit the museum, there was something in me revelling and it was not just the thought of lengthy cues it attracted.

Eventually, on my last day with three hours to spare before departure, I knew if I left without visiting the Picasso Museum I would regret it. So I went in, there I was face to face with the painter who had always touched me deeply. I lost myself in the brush strokes cubist forms, expressions, disillusion and pain of his subjects. My eyes travelled across the canvass, dancing with his brushstrokes and delighting in his use of light and shadow to create mood.

I stood before his works and realized- I was there for Picasso’s artistry, regardless of his innovations to art practices or heritage, it was not even because I was in Barcelona why I was visiting him, contrary to intentions when I saw Gaudis works. It was merely for the artists who conveyed emotion, mood and empathy like no other.

This was not a visit to the Picasso Museum which understandably emphasised  pride in the jewel that he was. My visit was a personal encounter with the work  Picasso had left behind, as lovers of art we all inherited these pieces. 


The information summaries of the museum were selective and merely marketing tools for their own means, I found these distracting and intrusive to my experience.  I wanted only to stand there and examine every painting alone, no noise, no influence, no interferences. What had stood in between me and Picasso was the institution.

My next questions are - who decides the way we interpret and view art? How is the knowledge we gain by visiting museums dictated? 

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