Why Gaudi’s Barcelona Captures the Imagination

image of Sagrada Familia by Ellen Moynihan

It was just another Wednesday, mid-September afternoon in college, my senses being filled up with noise: The ruffling of textbook pages, the clamour of the mechanical components of a nearby coffee machine, the chatter and laughter of the oncoming students. Everything seemed normal. However, before long I experience an overwhelming desire to be spontaneous. I want adventure. Sitting there in the Cost(a-lot) coffee shop in Trinity, tea in one hand, phone in the other, I message a dear friend of mine. I ask her if she is intending to make any European adventures this semester. She replies within seconds, writing, “Yes! I am organizing a trip to Barcelona in November with some friends. You should join us!”

And, so I did.

Two and a half months pass by, and before I know it, my fantasy of adventure is becoming a reality. I board a Ryanair flight to Barcelona with four fellow Trinity students. It is daunting, as this is my first flight without an immediate family member. It is liberating, as it proves that I am growing up. It is inspiring, as it challenges my imagination to wander beyond the boundaries of Stephen’s Green and Merrion Square. It is going to be one of the most worthwhile journeys I will have made in a long time, though I don’t know it yet.

We safely land in Terminal 2 of Barcelona Airport, and are driven to our Air B&B, which is just 20 minutes away. Arriving at the Air B&B is another story: Littered on the nearby walls are Graffiti and vulgar imagery, most likely illustrated by juvenile delinquents; the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke coming from the morgue-like apartment block we are about to enter; and two or three topless men, smoking a substance that God will only ever know. One thought enters my mind: What on earth have I got myself into?

Maybe it was the fact that I had never been to Spain, or perhaps it was that I hadn’t known much of Europe outside of my home country of Ireland, but in this moment, I have a decision to make. Do I turn back and go home, abandoning my dream of a true adventure? Or do I be a big girl, stick it out and gain from this daunting, but worthwhile Spanish extravaganza?

I choose the latter.

Night turns into day, and the five of us leave the apartment block. We engineer our way through the streets of the busy Spanish city, endeavouring to avoid pickpockets along the way, sometimes just narrowly succeeding. We embrace the Catholic culture of this place as we admire various churches, attend mass in Spanish and absorb the Renaissance-like artwork. I spot a water fountain in the market square -most likely the Spanish equivalent of the Trevi fountain- and it gets me thinking: I have broadened my horizons, given way to the the jolting rush of its fast water, allowed my heartbeat to be in perfect synchronization with its rhythmic flow. It spurs in my imagination the thought that, through the terrible layers of anxiety I carry in me always, a new feeling shoots through: hope. It is a world different to the one I have been used to, and that is good.

The remainder of our days is spent marvelling at the ornate architecture and unique design of this city, mostly attributable to the one and only, Antoni Gaudi. To say this man is famous in the eyes of the locals of Barcelona would be an understatement. He was a nineteenth-century, Catalan architect, considered by many as the “greatest exponent of Catalan modernism”. He was also a man of great faith and is thought to have had a deep connection with God. His works have a highly individualized, one-of-a-kind style, some of which we, on November 16th 2019, had the privilege of seeing.

Our first stop was Casa Mila. This is one of Gaudi’s most unconventional works, with a rough-hewn appearance, undulating stone façade and twisting wrought iron balconies. The building was commissioned in 1906 by Pere Mila. It was controversial at the time of its construction, and was considered by many Catalans as the “ugliest building in Barcelona”. However, this setback was not enough to shake good old Gaudi.

On the outskirts of the city lies our second stop: Casa Batllo. It is considered by many Catalans as an “ordinary house converted into a work of art”. In this building the modernist, Gaudi-typical features are observed once again, with irregular oval windows, flowing sculpted stonework and most of the building’s façade is decorated with a colourful mosaic made of broken ceramic tiles. As I gazed at the ornate and unique design of this building, a most unusual thought enters my mind: a Mexican restaurant I visited in Denver once. It was called ‘Casa Bonita’, which translates to ‘pretty house.’ In that moment, standing on the Barcelona street, I renamed the building which stood before me. The Denver-located, Mexican restaurant in no way warranted its name compared to this Gaudian masterpiece right before my eyes.

The last, but by no means the least, of the stops on our journey was the church of the Sagrada Familia. Its construction began in 1882, when Gaudi was 30 years old. He drew up a plan for what the finished product would look like, a goal which to this day still hasn’t been reached. Gaudi knew he would not live to see the day of its completion, and, alas, he was right. Indeed there is something deeply noble about starting to build something knowing that you’ll never see it, rather bestowing a gift on future generations.

This building is considered by many as a testament to architectural ingenuity, its temple being composed of a central nave flanked by aisles and transepts forming a Latin cross. Three of its monumental facades represent Christ’s birth, his Passion, Death and Resurrection. It is hoped by many of its current architects to be completed by 2026, marking the centenary of Gaudi’s death.

As I stand before this building, processing it in all of its glory, a thought occurs to me. I am taking the same steps that Gaudi himself once took. I listen for the registering echo of his loving voice; the love he had for his people, for his work, and for God, but it’s quiet here today. In fact, this place has been without such sounds for some 93 years now. Yet, somehow the legacy of him lives on. I am abruptly removed from my catatonic state as one of my fellow students informs me it is time to leave.

One thing I know to be true from this trip, is that Barcelona had an undeniable effect on me. It challenged my mind to think beyond the boundaries of Irish life, allowed me to step into the mind of an artist, and helped me to integrate multiple cultures into one.

Nialll BuckleyDecember 31, 2019Art & Architecture, Culture