Spain 2024, #2

Before this visit to Spain, the sculptures I most appreciated had been representational pieces, usually living creatures frozen in a motionless moment.

The musical namesake of our pension in San Sebastián.

Encountering Gehry’s Guggenheim in Bilbao started me thinking differently about forms in space. The shapes, lines, and surfaces of the building were not only beautiful in their own right, but drew my attention to how they interacted with their surrounding space, a space that I also occupied and moved through.

(More Guggenheim photos in the previous blog.)

I didn’t have to go far to continue this line of thought. Inside the Guggenheim Museum was a stunning installation by Richard Serra. Encountering this series of steel shapes, I was an object in motion around and within the massive forms. As I moved, not only did my perception of the forms change, but so did my ease of motion, as narrow spaces slowed me down, and converging vertical walls felt claustrophobic while opening walls felt more free. Serra’s choice of material was weathered steel, so the surface itself was not actually immobile, but rather was slowly transforming on a very long time scale. Serra wrote that people would have different experiences of time as they encountered these shapes, hence the title, “The Matter of Time.” I also experienced another dynamic, where similar curves of adjacent walls felt like a type of harmony, and the narrowing/widening between the walls, and the changes of light/dark within the structures felt like different types of dissonance, all resolving into the surrounding open space.

After Bilbao, our next stop was Donostia-San Sebastián, and at the end of Ondarreta Beach we found “El Peine del Viento” (“The Comb of the Wind”), by Eduardo Chillida. At first glance these three steel sculptures seemed out of place; but after spending some time with them, the shapes and surfaces seemed a part of the same forces and relationships as their surroundings. It was as if the effect of the wind and waves (and the erosions of human visitors) on the rocky coastline also shaped the steel, an ongoing process marked by rust and broken rocks. As with Gehry and Serra, this was sculpture that moved my attention between the forms and the surrounding spaces, and to my place in that space.

The process of encountering Chillida’s shapes – the initial incongruity posing questions and the growing sense of place that hinted at an answer – was intriguing to me, especially after my experiences in Bilbao. We learned that in 1980 Chillida had purchased an estate outside of town to display many of his works, and it recently re-opened for public visits; so we made an unplanned expedition to Chillida Leku (the “Chillida Place”).

This 30 acre site had more than 40 large scale sculptures and other works placed in a beautiful natural setting and in a restored 16th C. farmhouse. Spending several hours exploring so many of his works was like learning a language I had never heard before. Shapes created lines as lines created shapes, volume and negative space were in constant communication, texture and density were like adverbs showing how each work was actively taking shape. (Like the adverb “steely” in common usage; Chillida’s sculptures could also speak in a “cemently” or a “granitely” manner.) Chillida Leku was an immersion into his work. We continued to find Chillida exhibitions over the rest of our visit to Spain, and I especially appreciated seeing how his drawings and cut paper works showed a consistency of artistic vision across multiple media.

Be sure to check out Nancy’s thoughts and photos too!