But I suppose for pretty good reason. At first glance, my first reaction was furrowed eyebrows and general confusion. It has a very unique look and I feel that after a week of Gaudi-inundation, I could spot it anywhere. His architecture is very peculiar and wavy, lots of swirls and ornate decoration. In fact, I had an incorrect suspicion that the word “gaudy,” which means over-the-top or showy came from Barcelona’s favorite architect. This is incorrect, since the word has its roots in Latin. All the same, I find much of Gaudi’s architecture gaudy. Thank goodness for audio guides and pamphlets to explain why his oddities are really worth bragging about.
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| Casa Battló |
Gaudi’s distinct signature is how all of his works point to nature. He studied animal bone structure and designs in plants and applied them to architecture. For instance, our first taste of Gaudi was at the Casa Batlló (pronounce “bye-oh”), also known as the House of Bones because there are so many allusions. Some say it’s in the form of a dragon. The staircase intentionally looks like a spine, the attic strongly resembles walking through a ribcage, and the curved walls are painted like scales. Also because of his intensive study of bone structure, he designed particularly ergonomic furniture. We couldn’t sit in any of the chairs, but they did look quite welcoming.
Light is another of Gaudi’s focus. He wanted natural light to be present in every room. He was very careful to balance the light, “neither too much nor too little, because both are blinding and the blind do not see.” Again in Casa Battló, there is a window shaft in the center which is colored darker at the top, where the most light would be, and gradually lightens as it descends to the ground level, where it is its lightest shade of blue because there is less light there. It gives the illusion that the light is uniformly dispersed throughout the shaft.
One Book of Mormon prophet exclaims, “O how great is the nothingness of the children of men.” These words resounded in my head as I stood at the Western entrance of La Sagrada Familia, gazing up at the façade of the Passion. This minor basilica is Gaudi’s greatest work and he devoted more of his life to this project than any other building. It is still incomplete, just barely over the halfway mark, even though it started being built in 1882. It is not anticipated to be completed until 100 years after Gaudi’s death in 2026, but it is still incredible. I can’t imagine what it will be like in its full form. And still the words prevailed in my mind: “O how great is the nothingness of the children of men.” If this is nothingness, the very height of human capacity, how infinitely great is our Heavenly Father?
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| La Sagrada Familia |
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| Part of the Passion facade. |
We caught glimpses from various viewpoints around the city. It is a prominent landmark for the city, so it’s hard to miss. And from afar, La Sagrada Familia looks like a melting sand castle. As you get closer, you see one of the contributing factors to this “melting” is the gargoyles which seem to be fleeing from the basilica’s center, that is Christ and the saints. The Western façade is very powerful in its depiction of the events leading up to Christ’s crucifixion. I really appreciated the depictions and the gauntness of the figures. The agony and pain was almost tangible. In contrast, on the eastern side of the basilica is a façade of the nativity scene. It is very different in style, with three different porticos: one representing charity, another hope, and the last faith. This one was very ornate and busy. I was already impressed as I studied the Passion façade, but I had no idea what wonders awaited me across the threshold.
Since coming to Europe, I have made specific effort to enter as many cathedrals as possible. I think they’re beautiful and awe-inspiring. And most fulfill their purpose in turning one’s eyes heavenward. However, the chapel inside of La Sagrada Familia could not be put in the same league with any other cathedral I have seen—not even my beloved Notre-Dame de Fourvière in Lyon. If the other great works of Gaudi could not convince me of his brilliance, inside the chapel of La Sagrada Familia silenced any criticism. Here you could feel his brilliance. It was radiant.
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| La Sagrada Familia ceiling. |
Gaudi designed the interior to feel like entering a forest, with the pillars being trees and the ceiling decorated like leaves, letting just a bit of light in here and there. He had a beautiful outpouring of pure white light in places, but also the gorgeous shoots of color from beautiful stained glass windows. Unlike the window shaft in Casa Batlló, the stained glass windows had darker colors towards the base and lighter colors at the top. This of course gave a very different effect, and helped direct the eyes upward to the light radiating down on the presbytery. Also, the whiteness of it all reminded me a bit of the pureness of Latter-Day Saint temples, of which I am quite fond. The jaw-dropping feeling of wonder I felt there was exactly why I came to Europe, and it was satisfying to feel so overcome with it. It was very obvious what that chapel was built for. Every aspect gives praise to the Creator in its graceful mimicking of the greatest designs of all. The symbolism was really beautiful and was could be found in the tiniest of details.
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| Gaudi's signature four-armed cross |
However, with this feeling of great awe came a pang of guilt. I try my best when I enter such places to treat them as I would hope others would treat my own temple. Although quite different, these cathedrals are, in a sense, someone’s equivalent to the Latter-Day Saint temples which I believe to be sacred. One reason why I have continued to hold to the practice of not taking pictures in cathedrals is because I would be greatly offended if someone treated the temple like a tourist attraction. And even in my attempts to show respect, the fact still stands that I am a tourist, and my intentions in coming to La Sagrada Familia were just that. I paid a fee to enter this sanctuary that thousands of people worldwide consider to be sacred, and I gawk, drool a bit, and pretend to understand something about architecture after a short lecture through a headset. The act of being a tourist in itself seems disrespectful and a bit demeaning. A place of such greatness deserves better. I am appreciative that the opportunity to see it is open to all, and the money raised on entrance and at the gift shop are what keep construction going. It truly is an incredible sight to behold, but it makes me very appreciative that my own sacred places of worship will never be used for any other purpose than the sacred work intended.
In short, I understand why Gaudi is such a big deal. I’m not a Gaudi fanatic; I wouldn’t join the cult. But let’s just say that if Gaudi was a Facebook status, I would “like” him. I am a fan. There are more tales to tell of Barcelona, but be patient with me. I’m still adjusting to the non-mosaic world without Gaudi’s constant influence.
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