Barcelona is like many European cities. Classy sprawling, fashionable.
But Barcelona has Gaudi and that makes it very special.
School studies of architecture was the poor cousin to painting. Maybe not exciting enough, or clinical and mathsy engineering compared with the rich organic forms found in painting and sculpture. Gaudi turns that notion on its head.
Curves and twists, bones and tiles beat square and flat away next door.
Organic Antonio makes twisted metal and solid forms writhe around without and within, taking over from the angles and flatness of unimaginative form follows function Wright- ness.
Gaudi's imprint is scattered throughout the city. The apartment block, the church, the park.
Gaudi was always worth the investment.
Colour imposed on the solid palette, defying convention.
The study of nature-forms informing the structure. Bones become columns, rib cage the vaults, asparagus the chimney heads, the nautilus shell the spiral staircase.
Barcelona should be enough by itself, but I found it lacking. Sick and weary, overfed and undertimed, it was Gaudi I sought and he who brought me from my bed. Gaudi by day, Gaudi by night, Gaudi in the park and Gaudi in the church spires. The Lucas film sets and space-age innovations are behind him.
He hand moulded the handles to fit the arthrithic hand, left or right.
He made chimneys and ventilation, even washing - a work of art and love of form.
Frank Lloyd has always perplexed me. He made so much economic sense. The rationalist in the sea of visionary fools who love wood and shape and ornate pomposity. Form follows function. And I lived in those very 'form-follows-function' buildings and surely benefitted from them. Shape the world around the man. Make everything bow. Man is God. Shallow, hollow, blanded structures. Squares stuck in hills and woods. There is no argument. He makes so much sense. He has to be admired and used and still we do. The plans go in and all the forms fit the function as they should to a rational economic mind.
Gaudi says no. We are part of the world, part of the writhing, wriggly, organic world. See me. I will show you.
Dear Barcelona,
You thought I was great.
You thought I was expensive.
You fought with me, and loved me, and thought you saw the vision.
I think that I have paid you many times over. People come to Spain to see my work. They bring much money.
You believed in me for a while. I believed in me more.
I believed in God even more than that. Poor and taken for a beggar, I died.
I died with great faith in my God and rags for clothes. I was neglected, alone. I was forgotten.
Now my work brings you fame.
I owe you nothing.
Love Antonio.
But Barcelona has Gaudi and that makes it very special.
School studies of architecture was the poor cousin to painting. Maybe not exciting enough, or clinical and mathsy engineering compared with the rich organic forms found in painting and sculpture. Gaudi turns that notion on its head.
Curves and twists, bones and tiles beat square and flat away next door.
Organic Antonio makes twisted metal and solid forms writhe around without and within, taking over from the angles and flatness of unimaginative form follows function Wright- ness.
Gaudi's imprint is scattered throughout the city. The apartment block, the church, the park.
Gaudi was always worth the investment.
Colour imposed on the solid palette, defying convention.
The study of nature-forms informing the structure. Bones become columns, rib cage the vaults, asparagus the chimney heads, the nautilus shell the spiral staircase.
Barcelona should be enough by itself, but I found it lacking. Sick and weary, overfed and undertimed, it was Gaudi I sought and he who brought me from my bed. Gaudi by day, Gaudi by night, Gaudi in the park and Gaudi in the church spires. The Lucas film sets and space-age innovations are behind him.
He hand moulded the handles to fit the arthrithic hand, left or right.
He made chimneys and ventilation, even washing - a work of art and love of form.
Frank Lloyd has always perplexed me. He made so much economic sense. The rationalist in the sea of visionary fools who love wood and shape and ornate pomposity. Form follows function. And I lived in those very 'form-follows-function' buildings and surely benefitted from them. Shape the world around the man. Make everything bow. Man is God. Shallow, hollow, blanded structures. Squares stuck in hills and woods. There is no argument. He makes so much sense. He has to be admired and used and still we do. The plans go in and all the forms fit the function as they should to a rational economic mind.
Gaudi says no. We are part of the world, part of the writhing, wriggly, organic world. See me. I will show you.
Dear Barcelona,
You thought I was great.
You thought I was expensive.
You fought with me, and loved me, and thought you saw the vision.
I think that I have paid you many times over. People come to Spain to see my work. They bring much money.
You believed in me for a while. I believed in me more.
I believed in God even more than that. Poor and taken for a beggar, I died.
I died with great faith in my God and rags for clothes. I was neglected, alone. I was forgotten.
Now my work brings you fame.
I owe you nothing.
Love Antonio.
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