As the most recent writer-in-residence at Spain’s Prado Museum, Irish novelist John Banville has had unrestricted access to the museum’s holdings for the last 30 days.
In Madrid, He loves those penetrating stares in the paintings, as if they’re trying to figure out art and reality.
Because of this, renowned Irish novelist John Banville, participating in a month-long literary fellowship in Spain, chooses to visit the Prado Museum during its opening hours rather than at any other time.
There are too many people perched on the walls of the maze-like galleries for him to feel comfortable being alone.
I find it too creepy to come here after hours. “The pictures, they look at you,” Banville murmured, averting his gaze from Diego Velázquez, staring down from the Spanish master’s magnum opus, “Las Meninas.”
This massive work of art from the 17th century depicts the Infanta Margarita, her young ladies-in-waiting, a dwarf, a buffoon with a dog, a nun, an enigmatic figure emerging from a door, a mirror reflecting King Phillip IV and his queen, and, of course, Velazquez himself, gazing directly at the observer.
The work has captivated artists of all stripes for decades, exemplifying the refined Baroque style. Banville loves poetic detail like no one else.
Although Banville has seen “Las Meninas” many times, she recently told The Associated Press that the work never fails to amaze and challenge her while visiting the Prado.
The mystery and peculiarity of it are what draw me to it. As he spoke to the crowds of museumgoers, he remarked, “Every time I look at it, it becomes stranger again.” As if to say, “Look at what I did,” Velázquez turns to you. Is it possible that you could have pulled this off?”
As part of the museum’s “Writing the Prado” program, Banville has had exclusive access to the Prado for the last month. This includes after-hours and off-limits locations like the repair workshops.
The Loewe Foundation-sponsored program began last year, and its inaugural fellows included Mexican American writer Chloe Aridjis, Nobel laureates John Coetzee and Olga Tokarczuk, and others.
Under the editorial direction of Granta en español magazine, the fellows spend four weeks fully immersed in the museum before composing a brief piece of fiction that is published by the Prado.
After delving deeply into the works of the Old Masters, Banville—whose works include the Booker Prize-winning “The Sea,” the more recent “The Singularities,” and popular crime novels—has a hint as to what he will write next.
The story revolves around a person exploring the museum and their intense gaze, although he admitted that he had not yet figured out the specifics.
“Everyone is staring at him. All these eyes appear to be aware of his lifelong anxiety about being discovered. Indeed, Velázquez says, “I know who you are.”
His enthralling book “The Book of Evidence” centres on a botched art robbery, but the author’s connection to painting stems from his days as a restless adolescent who wanted to create instead of just write.
Forget about drawing; I lacked colour perception and draftsmanship skills. “These are not helping your painting career,” Banville quipped with a mischievous grin. “My goodness, I painted some truly terrible pictures.” I will perish if they ever emerge.
The sentence, he continues, became his brushstroke from that point on.
The Prado, which houses priceless works by artists from Spain’s golden age, welcomed more than 3.2 million visitors in 2017.
Its treasure trove has 34,000 objects, including the largest collections of artworks by Bosch, El Greco, Titian, Velázquez, Rubens, Caravaggio, and Fra Angelico, as well as gems by Bruegel the Elder, Caravaggio, and Fra Angelico. On exhibit are 4,000 of these items.
For Banville and those seeking refuge from the contemporary world, the Prado provides an ideal setting; nonetheless, photography is firmly forbidden inside the museum.
I think it’s great. Every time I see people aimlessly shooting pictures in other galleries, it makes me want to yell, “Look at the bloody picture!” Banville commented. “Every museum on the planet ought to implement that regulation.”
Despite Banville’s disapproval of Goya’s ominous “Black Paintings” being “overdone,” he finds himself captivated by Rubens’ “The Garden of Love” and even jokes that the attractive women depicted there “are made of bread dough.”
Perhaps it’s Banville in “The Feast of Bacchus,” where the god of wine revels with some men far into their cups, or another Velázquez catches his eye. In this scene, the drunkards are looking at them.
While in Madrid, Banville also gave himself permission to take a month’s break from writing every day, something he claims he has done since he began scribbling stories when he was twelve years old.
John, I need you to take a month off. A small voice within me whispered this. ‘Just enjoy,’ he remarked. While my Irish relatives were lamenting the terrible weather, I sat here enjoying a glass of wine in the sunshine. I have no intention of sharing this information with my Irish relatives.
At 78 years old and widowed for three years, he remains uncertain about the number of books he still has to write. One thing, though, that he is not concerned about is AI displacing genuine artists.
Art is a unique and precious commodity. Some people think they’ve created art, while others make attempts, but what they really end up with is kitsch. “True art will remain untouched by AI,” he declared.
“Art, in my opinion, has a life of its own.”
