Sagrada Família — Passion Facade

Passion Facade of the Sagrada Família.

Where the Nativity Facade's exuberance and profusion seeks to charm the viewer, the severe and barren Passion Facade offers misery. Six bone-like columns support a sharply angular pediment. Four stark bell towers rise toward the sky, marked with emaciated apostles. Recessed within the shadowy archivolts beneath the pediment are austere statues depicting the betrayal, torture, and crucifixion of Jesus.

The facade is undergoing repairs.

Architect Antoni Gaudí knew he wouldn't live to see the Passion Facade built, much less the cathedral as a whole. Though he provided detailed blueprints and sketches for the completion of the cathedral, some were lost in fires during the Spanish Civil War. Today's architects, builders, and artists have proceeded since Gaudí's death by trying to honor his vision for the building, but controversy erupts periodically when elements of the cathedral are revealed. Of course, even Gaudí's vision for the building evolved over the decades he spent working on the building, so who can really know what Gaudí might envision with today's technological capability?

Gaudí's sketch for the Passion Facade.

Part of the vibrancy of a visit to the Sagrada Família cathedral comes from the bustle of construction. Stones are carved, cranes are swinging, and workers are clambering. This is not an ancient project. It is a monument — one of the modern world's wonders — being built right now. You visit in the midst of an historic achievement, not decades or centuries later. Imagine Paris, in 1889, for the erection of the Eiffel Tower. Or Istanbul, from 532 to 537, as the Hagia Sophia went up. Or Athens, from 447 BC to 432 BC, as the Parthenon was completed.

Stones now are precisely cut by machines, vastly speeding up the building process. I kinda wish they were still carved by hammer and chisel.

Cranes rise above the apse of the cathedral.

The crypt houses an extensive museum about the cathedral.

A craftsman works on the painstaking details for a plaster model of the cathedral.

The Sagrada Família will become — has become — the building for which Barcelona is known. Just as the iconic Eiffel Tower and Parthenon represent France and Greece to the world, I think the Sagrada Família will represent all of Spain.

Eventually, the cathedral's main entrance will be the Glory Facade on the south side of the building. A nine-story apartment building across the street will be torn down to allow a grander entrance and better view. The Glory Facade is still under construction. If all goes according to plan, the facade and the entire cathedral will be completed in 2026, the hundredth anniversary of Gaudí's death.

For now, visitors to the cathedral enter through the Passion Facade. Construction began in 1954. The four bell towers were finished in 1976. Catalan sculptor Josep Maria Subirachs started work on the facade's sculptures in 1986; he completed them in 2005.

As with the Nativity Facade and the (future) Glory Facade, each of the Passion Facade's four bell towers bears an apostle. The statues reflect the nature of this facade. They are severe; gaunt; tortured physically, mentally, emotionally. Here are two of the four:

The apostle Bartholomew is often depicted with a knife because, according to one tradition, he was skinned alive and then beheaded. This Bartholomew appears to lack skin, as well.

Doubting Thomas is depicted pointing to his palm. Thomas questioned Jesus's resurrection until he saw the crucifixion wounds.

Echoing the figures on the bell towers, at the bottom center of the facade is a statue of Jesus tied to a pillar for whipping.

The pain from flagellation. The bronze doors, with 8,000 letters, bear text from the New Testament about the Passion.

Unlike the Nativity Facade, where each of the three portals tells its own story, the portals of the Passion Facade are united by a version of the Via Crucis. Starting at the bottom left and proceeding upward in an S-shape, Subirach's sculptures tell the story of Jesus's path from the Last Supper through to being taken down from the cross and buried. Subirach's version of these "Stations of the Cross" is his own and does not strictly follow either the medieval or modern versions of the Via Crucis.

Unfortunately, during our visit, part of the Passion Facade was covered by nets and scaffolding, so we couldn't see some of the sculptures. {Ed.'s note: A good reason to go back for another visit!} But here are scenes we could see:

Judas's kiss; note the serpent behind Judas. The number grid always adds up to 33, the age of Jesus when he died — rows left to right; columns top to bottom; diagonals; four corners; four middle squares; four quadrants; middle squares on top row with middle squares on bottom row; middle squares on left column with middle squares on right column. Can you find any more permutations?

Peter's denial. The women symbolize Peter's denials about knowing Jesus, made to a serving girl and others. Jesus wears a shroud, a metaphor for denial.

Ecce homo ("Behold the man"). Jesus is presented to the crowd with a crown of thorns. Note the column in the background that says "Tiberius," the name of the Roman emperor when Jesus was crucified.

Pontius Pilate washes his hands to signify to the crowd that he is innocent of spilling Jesus's blood and not responsible for his execution.

The Three Marys and Simon. When Jesus collapses while carrying the cross, Simon of Cyrene is told to carry the cross for him.

In the next scene, Subirachs pays homage to Gaudí's own sculptural style. A famous Modernisme building Gaudí designed, Casa Milà, has its rooftop punctuated with chimney tops that look like soldiers standing guard:

Helmeted sentinels stand guard on the rooftop of Casa Milà.

Compare those chimneys with Subirach's Roman soldiers depicted below:

Veronica wipes the brow of Jesus. Touched by pity, Veronica offers her veil to Jesus. When he wipes his face, an imprint of his face is left on the veil. (Sculpted here as a hollow-face image.) The figure on the far left is a/the Evangelist who will tell the story of Jesus, which Subirachs carved in the likeness of Antoni Gaudí in old age.

Crucifixion and death. The iron cross protrudes parallel to the ground, to accentuate the hanging stature for the view from below. Jesus's head is presented as the pages of a book, representing the word of God. The painted red "I" symbolizes the Latin acronym INRI (Iēsus Nazarēnus, Rēx Iūdaeōrum, "Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews"). The orb in the top right is a moon, and the skull at bottom center represents Golgotha (Aramaic for "skull"), also known as Calvary (Latin calva means "bald head" or skull).

Jesus is prepared for burial by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus.

The golden soul of Jesus ascends to heaven between the towers. Despite weighing several thousand pounds.

The central portal. Between the doors (above the pillar with Jesus) is an alpha and omega.

The facade's pediment and supporting arches are designed to cast afternoon shadows on the portals below it. My pictures were taken in the morning, with the sun on the opposite (i.e., eastern) side of the building, so they don't do justice to the light/dark dichotomy — some say chiaroscuro — of the facade.

The Passion Facade is a grim aspect of the cathedral, a foil to the profusion and (mostly) happy scenes on the Nativity Facade. This facade reflects its subject matter and takes its job seriously. No gargoyles or fanciful beasts lighten the mood. The actions depicted are those of men. The pain is human. Gaudí was a devout Catholic who wanted to portray the angst and misery of the Passion without flinching.

On a lighter note, across the street from the Passion Facade is a tree-filled square with benches and a playground. If you're stuck in a long line to get into the cathedral — even in November, the hour-long line stretched halfway around the building — you might be able to occupy wee ones in the playground while you wait. Or, like us, it's a great place to pause and unwind after serious touristing within the cathedral.

A playground with a view.

A climbing set for the older kids.

Kid, go play. We'll sit here and marvel at the cathedral.

Happy.

In an upcoming post, I'll finally show you the inside of this amazing cathedral.

Modernisme Barcelona -- part II

In Glasgow, a late 19th and early 20th century Art Nouveau style called the "Glasgow School" had many worthy practitioners, but they all have been eclipsed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the preeminent architect in Scotland during that time period. The other members of the Glasgow School, including Mackintosh's artist wife, get lost in the background.

It is similar in Barcelona. The Modernisme style/movement had worthy practitioners who all get pushed to the background by Antoni Gaudí. That's somewhat unavoidable when many of the city's most famous landmarks -- including Casa Milà, Park Güell and the masterpiece Sagrada Familia basilica -- were created by Gaudí.

Casa Milà is one of Barcelona's landmarks.

But there is good stuff by folks other than Gaudí. One great Modernisme building we missed, the Palace of Catalan Music, had its interior designed by Lluís Domènech i Montaner and is designated a UNESCO World Heritage site. Since you can visit it only via a prebooked hour-long tour, we decided it was too risky to inflict a potentially unwieldy toddler on the other patrons. For our next visit, it'll definitely be on our itinerary (and hopefully we can attend a concert, too).

Most of the Eixample district is not specifically Modernisme, though there are buildings sprinkled throughout. Rather, it's just a generally pleasing district of wider avenues, elegant buildings, and good charm. Some blocks reminded me a bit of Paris, perhaps a bit like the Art Nouveau 16th arrondissement (across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower).

A mini classical temple sits atop this Modernisme building.

Varying architectural styles down the Passeig de Gràcia.

Sometimes the Modernisme buildings, like this one with its wrought-iron railings and bay windows, are tucked against quite ugly brick buildings.

This building sits on one of the octagonal intersections so common in L'Eixample. Note that the octagonal intersections allow more parking than a usual square intersection since the cars can park perpendicular instead of parallel with the curb.

L'Eixample has a lot of flower markets.

Although the plan for L'Eixample was to have courtyards within each of the blocks, many of the blocks have converted the courtyard into other purposes (e.g., parking, more housing, etc.). But the city is working to restore some of the courtyards. We visited a courtyard with a water tower, pool, sand for lounging, and tree-shaded benches.

Sand gives a beach feel around this pool in a shaded courtyard.

The water tower was built in 1867.

Other blocks have dispensed with courtyards altogether to make way for private gardens and shortcut passageways.

It's a nice alley, but if I were living on this block I would prefer a private courtyard.

Not all of L'Eixample was newly constructed. In fact, a few churches from the old city were broken down, moved, and reassembled stone by stone in L'Eixample, such as the 13th century Gothic parish Church of the Holy Conception and Assumption of our Lady. Why move a church? Well, it freed up space in the clogged old city, and it's cheaper than quarrying and building a new church for the new district.

The church was moved in the 1870s. The bell tower was added from another church.

Interior of the Church of the Holy Conception.

The church's cloister was completed in the 15th century.

Isn't this post supposed to be about Modernisme architecture? Fine, if you insist.

Casa Milà was Gaudí's last major work; he devoted the rest of his life to supervising the ongoing construction of the Sagrada Familia basilica. Casa Milà was created as a family residence for an industrialist and a number of apartments to rent. The limestone exterior is supported by a steel skeleton. To my eye, its undulating curves give it a look of flowing waves, and the wrought-iron railings have seaweed motifs. Gaudí, of course, preferred to allow speculation and not declare a particular interpretation.

It's actually two buildings, with a single facade joining them. There are two interior courtyards, providing light and air to the apartments.

Curves and organic shapes.

It could use a powerwashing.

One of the two courtyards.

 Wrought-iron gate to the courtyard.

The rooftop is even stranger -- in a good way -- than the street-level facade. It rises and falls in little hills of staircases, topped with groupings of chimneys, ventilation shafts, and staircase exits. Some of the architectural elements are decorated with glass, stone, marble, and trencadís (i.e., mosaic created from broken tile shards). We spent a long time on the roof, partly marveling at the form/function of the various elements, and partly to allow giddy Jackson a chance to climb up and down, up and down, up and down. The rooftop is one of the best toddler playgrounds in the city.

Undulating rooftop of Casa Milà.

A stairwell shaft.

Looking down one of the courtyards.

Are these chimneys supposed to be aliens? I like the interpretation that they are helmeted guards protecting the courtyards.

As the story goes, these chimney tops are covered with shards of the champagne bottles that were drunk at the party when the building was first opened.

The rooftop provides good views of the L'Eixample district.

From the rooftop you descend to the attic, which originally housed the laundry facilities for the buildings. The attic is comprised of 270 catenary arches -- curves that are made when a chain droops from being suspended at either end -- which are taller/shorter and wider/narrower depending on the varying distances between the facade and the internal courtyards. The attic now holds a small museum dedicated to Gaudí's works.

The brick catenary arches are similar to parabolas in shape.

A model of Casa Milà.

After visiting the attic, you further descend into a sample apartment within the building. The furnishings are not original but show how the home might have been decorated shortly after construction was completed in 1912. Because of the design and the steel structure, none of the internal walls within the 20 or so apartments are load-bearing, so owners could feel free to rearrange walls as they wished.

Kitchen.

I've seen modern homes that have bathrooms styled to look something like this.

Dining room.

The sentinels are watching.

Should I let these visitors enter my apartment, or slam the little doors in their faces? As it turns out, Jackson preferred the latter.

When the building was completed, neighbors of the owners of Casa Milà stopped speaking to them. The neighbors were angered because they were sure their property values would drop due to the odd building. They pejoratively called it "La Pedrera" (i.e., "The Quarry") because of its rough-hewn exterior, a name which has stuck; it's even on the building's brochure. Ahh, the joys of bourgeoisie living.

Like Casa Batlló, this is an unforgettable building. While I prefer Casa Batlló to Casa Milà, both buildings are unique, surprising, intricate, mysterious, and even funny. As I was writing this post, I scrolled down through the pictures for Jackson. When we passed the picture of the Casa Milà, he stopped me and said, "What's that, Daddy?" If your architectural creation can excite even a toddler, you've designed something truly arresting.