A Hidden Gem in Madrid with a Leonardo da Vinci Controversy
Plus, Soho House renderings of upcoming properties
José Domínguez Carrascal was just 20 years old when he lucked into what could have been one of the greatest finds in art history. The child of antique dealers, he took a trip from his home in Madrid to Valladolid in 1898 to purchase silk bedspreads. In this former capital city where Columbus spent his final months stark raving mad, Carrascal came across and snagged an unsigned portrait a mere 25 centimeters high and 18.5 wide.
The ambiguous and unfocused gaze, the androgyny, the purity of its corporeal form with a hint of what would become his signature haziness, led expert opinion at the time to determine that this painting of a young Jesus Christ was by Leonardo da Vinci. Carrascal loved the Prado—a passion that led the art dealer to write scathing rebukes throughout his life of its mismanagement and neglect. He tried to sell the work to the museum. Luis Alvarez, the director at the time and a talented painter in his own right, didn’t have the budget. Instead, it was scooped up at a discount by one of Spain’s most prolific collectors and later installed in his neo-Plateresque palace on what was then the edge of Madrid.
That man was Lázaro Galdiano. The collection he amassed and left to be displayed for the public, the Museo Lázaro Galdiano, is sometimes referred to as Madrid’s Frick Collection. This surprising museum is the subject of this week’s newsletter.
It’s hard to imagine if you’ve visited recently, but Madrid used to be thought of as a sleepy, almost provincial city for tourists. Despite being twice the size of Barcelona and the capital, Madrid for decades has played second fiddle to the coastal Catalan city. That ambivalence toward Madrid was nothing new, as a capital city it was a late bloomer. When Barcelona reached its apogee in the late 19th century at the twilight of the Spanish Empire, Madrid had no meaningful industry. Then came Franco, and despite the frisson of La Movida Madrileña in the 1980s, it never came to be viewed as cool to the outside world, or even by Spaniards, for that matter.
The Museo Lázaro Galdiano sits on Madrid's most fashionable street, the Calle Serrano, but even that street once elicited sneers. A fascinating old New York Times article from the ‘70s viciously dismissed it, recording: “It is the most sophisticated part of Madrid and perhaps the only part that gives you a feeling of painful provinciality. There must be some street in Perth like it.”
Nowadays, Madrid is unequivocally the most exciting city in Europe. Rapid population growth from Latin America and other influences have led it to shed a lot of its castellano feel. Its reputation for naughty nightlife is only equaled by Berlin. Barcelona can sometimes feel like it’s struggling to shake off the sour hangover of the independence movement and bitterness about overtourism. Madrid comes across as welcoming and proud. Whereas photos of the works of Gaudí and Montaner once signified a trip to Spain, it’s equally likely today to be a shot of Cibeles Palace or any number of the grand buildings lining Madrid’s Gran Via.
That newfound popularity can be seen in the numbers—Madrid is up 25 percent in terms of visitors since 2019. It can also be seen on the ground. For years, the Sorolla Museum was a quiet little oasis in the city. A lovely and lovingly maintained memorial to a Spanish painter who never made it to the main shelf of global art history. His was not exactly a household name even a decade ago. You could wander into the garden at any hour of the day and find a bench. Or pay a couple of euros and ogle his mastery of seaside light without anybody huffing behind you because they want a likely-lopsided photo. Nowadays, the line often stretches down the block as the increasing wave of visitors have sought out experiences outside the royal palace, the Prado, the Thyssen, etc.
The crowds will likely come someday for the Lázaro Galdiano, but for now, it remains a somewhat hidden gem. This is due in part to its location–it’s unlikely a foreign tourist would chance upon this northern edge of Salamanca, Madrid’s Upper East Side.
The second reason is the collection itself. It’s, well, Spanish.
Many years ago I felt like a victim of false advertising. I was attending a press preview at the Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington, D.C., for an exhibition on depictions of the Virgin Mary. I had been enticed by the bold-faced names whose works were included: Caravaggio, Botticelli, Michelangelo, Pontormo, della Robbia, etc. One name in particular piqued my interest—Artemisia Gentileschi.
I had the image of her Judith Slaying Holofernes seared in my brain ever since I saw it at the Uffizi while studying abroad. I thought I was going to get some grim and anguished portrait, and instead, I got a perfectly lovely but mainstream Madonna and Child.
What happened?
Spanish collectors are what happened. A year later I read art historian Jesse M. Locker’s biography of Gentileschi. The patrons at Spanish courts liked sweet, colorful, and idyllic paintings that fit into their more conservative tastes. Partly to satisfy these deep-pocketed benefactors, Gentileschi dropped the style of her master, Caravaggio, and adopted the “devout naivety” the Spanish so loved.
The bold-faced names will also get you in the door at Lázaro Galdiano. The man made a fortune in publishing and married into an even larger one. He was a competitor and contemporary of Morgan, Hearst, the Rothschilds, Ephrussi, Camondo, Frick, Widener, and others. His hoard includes works by Goya, Murillo, Madrazo, Cranach, Zurbaran, El Greco, Bosch, and Velazquez. Not to mention what was once thought to be a Leonardo da Vinci but is now believed to be a work based on Leonardo’s design and done under his supervision by Giovanni Antonio Boltraffio, his best Milanese disciple.
At first glance, most of the art hanging on the mansion’s walls is somber or conservative, reflecting Spanish taste. But if you resist the urge to breeze through, you’re in for some treats.
The two pieces by Bosch are the most intimate I’ve ever gotten with his canvases. While I’ve never loved a Goya painting that wasn’t the enigmatic The Dog, the paintings of witchcraft hanging here are wild and were made after the artist was left deaf by a mystery illness. The top floor is a literal treasure trove, with display cases teeming with guns, swords, statues, bronzes, works in silver, coins, crucifixes, medals, necklaces, ceramics, and textiles—many of which came from Spain or reflect the types of objects wealthy Spaniards would collect. A museum like the Thyssen-Bornemisza could be anywhere in the world, this one could only be in Spain.
Open the drawers underneath the cases and you’ll find even more. An acquisitive man, this Galdiano.
The rooms themselves cast a certain spell, as all their excessive turn-of-the-century gilding was restored a couple of decades ago. Sadly, the walls were merely repainted, not fully restored with the wallpapers, hangings, and tapestries that once adorned them.1
A ticket for the museum is seven euros—four if you're a senior or a student, free if you’re under six years of age. When I went there was a small exhibition on Warhol’s visit to Madrid as part of La Movida Madrileña. Among other things, it featured polaroids taken by one of Spain’s muses of that era, Teresa Nieto, who now co-runs Bar Cock, an iconic bar just off the Gran Via. (In case you were worried Madrid had fully shed its provincialism, the exhibition also featured a chair that Warhol sat in during his visit.)
I recognize that this little missive might play a role in hastening this lovely museum’s fate. But Madrid is a huge city, and plenty of cultural spots remain under the radar. Plus, maybe if enough people spread out a bit more I’ll finally be able to find peace again in the gardens of the Sorolla!
NOTE: If you go to the museum, it’s a short walk to the Sorolla. A great spot nearby for lunch or dinner is La Parra. Make sure to order the artichokes. Just a few blocks further south is one of Madrid’s more elegant hideouts, the French neoclassical palace-turned-hotel Santo Mauro, which has opulent public rooms and charming gardens to grab a drink in.
DEPARTMENT OF GRIEVANCES
I have a few significant weaknesses when it comes to my job of traveling the world for a living. I’m an incredibly light sleeper, and am perpetually envious of those who can grab a few hours on a plane. I have certain ingredients that are universally used that taste absolutely foul in my mouth. (Bell peppers, for starters). And whether it’s because I’m obsessively hydrated or have a small bladder, I am constantly on the lookout for a bathroom. During study abroad, I might have spent more on paying to get into “public” bathrooms than shots of alcohol. Whenever I look at Charles Marville’s photographs of the Belle Epoque public urinals in Paris, I get wistful for an easier time. That’s why I hope New York City’s project with Google to layer public restrooms across Maps (called “Ur in Luck”) is the first of many moves to make finding a place to pee in cities easier.
I’m all for crowd-control measures in this era of overtourism, and so I’m not losing any sleep over Rocky Mountain National Park making their reservation system permanent. However, all I ask is that folks a) make sure the system is easy to use, and b) work as hard as you can to make sure travelers are aware reservations are required. Nothing worse than showing up somewhere that requires advance booking but it wasn’t clear when you looked it up online.
I can’t wait for the full demise of the hub and spoke system, but in case you need a reminder of just how bad an idea it remains to have this handful of mega airports through which flights are funneled, take a look at the worst airports from the last month.
In case you missed it last week, I mused about the causes of a slowdown in domestic travel in the U.S. (tl;dr–the U.S. is expensive as hell with little to show for it compared to Europe and Japan). Well, now it turns out that the expected demand for hotels in the U.S. is dropping.
TRAVEL INDUSTRY NEWS
Soho House released renderings for its Madrid and Milan outposts.
The screen set up to block tourist snapshots of Mount Fuji now has several holes in it.
A woman’s Apple Watch traced her lost luggage to an airport worker’s home (I guess I really should get one, huh?)
The list for the world’s 50 best restaurants this year is out and most look painfully fussy.
The Wing founder Audrey Gelman is opening a boutique hotel.
I have only three criticisms of this museum, which is world-class in its displays and information. The first is not restoring the walls. The second is the bland modern entrance on the ground floor. And the third is that the gardens are also lacking—it’s such an opportunity in a city with so few gardens and parks in the center.
Amazing article! Rich detail and superb advice. Another trip!