what i don't see

While in Madrid, I took some time to check out their two major museums - Museo Nacional del Prado and Reina Sofía.

Prado, which is not to be confused with Prada (I had to give it a second read the first time I came across the name), is pretty much Madrid's answer to Le Louvre. Although not nearly as big, it still has a great collection of works, with emphasis on Spanish masters like Goya and Velázquez, of course.

Reina Sofía, referring to the Queen of Spain, houses contemporary works, similar to the MOMA. What I found coolest about this museum is the architecture. It has two glass columns of elevators with Reina and Sofía written on each one.

This being a low budget vacation, I took advantage of the free entrance during the final two hours of each day. As I wandered through Prado in my Pradas, in search of the likes of Poussin's Parnassus and Goya's The Third of May, 1808, I couldn't help but wonder why. Why what, you ask? Why I was searching for the paintings on the list of "Masterpieces" in the museum guide - that's why.

Why must we be told by "experts" what the Masterpieces are? Why do we walk the maze-like hallways of Le Louvre, fighting through the crowds of tourists like salmons swimming upstream, just to catch a glimpse of La Joconde (Mona Lisa), only to be disappointed by its small size (trust me on this one - in this case, size would impress). Why must I feel content with a museum visit only after I have laid eyes on each recommended Masterpiece, even if just for a brief three seconds, ten feet away, over twenty-some heads, with their point-and-shoots held high, all trying to document their artistic worthiness? There must be another way.

Perhaps I should just forgo the guide, granting myself the freedom to stroll aimlessly through the museum, stopping in front of whichever painting that happens to catch my eye, without knowing which suicidal or homicidal genius graced it with his brush. Perhaps I could come up with my own list of Masterpieces. Perhaps I might even sit down in front of a painting, ignoring the high-heeled señoritas attempting to pass by, and just study it, admire it, question it.

Perhaps. Just perhaps