Barcelona is brilliant. Even when lit by a winter sun.
Truth be told, I’ve been avoiding winter. Or maybe winter’s been avoiding me.
Barcelona was almost tropical.
I explored with my coat unbuttoned, my scarf loosely draped around my neck and shoulders. Aesthetic, not purely functional.
I saw palm trees again. I walked barefoot in rough sand and dipped my toes in the sea, tricking myself into thinking I was home before the sun betrayed my fantasy and refused to set over the water.
Light and shadow crept up grand boulevards, flitted through the narrow streets of the Barri Gòtic, and came to a crescendo among the pillars and buttresses of the Catedral de la Santa Creu i Santa Eulàlia.*
And everywhere color.
Vivid. Saturated. Radiant.
And everywhere Gaudí.
An artist is a slave to light. If and when he captures it, he briefly becomes its master.
Gaudí’s works shine against Barcelona like kaleidoscopic rainbows scattered by a crystal, twinkling and dancing against a warm wooden floor.
His approach to light is manipulative, mischievous and playful. He twists, filters, harnesses.
And each element—from the smallest glinting tile shard to blinding religious symbolism—is calculated and deliberate. Masterful.
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