Am I recording? You are listening to Stuff About Things, an art history podcast. Okay, let's vango. Hello and welcome to Stuff About Things, an art history podcast. My name is Lindsay, and I am tired. I'm really tired. But it's been almost a month since my last episode, so no nap for me today. Whether you are a first-time visitor or back for more, I welcome you to today's episode and I hope that you like it. For those of you who did listen to episode 11, which was on the Bruges Madonna and the Monuments Men, I recently noticed that the episode had a sound glitch, which has now been fixed. The episode is still the exact same in every single way, except now it plays out of both speakers rather than just one. Good times. I just love discovering those things after dozens of people have already listened to the episode. But onwards and upwards. As for today's episode, if you hear any intermittent background noise, like a like a gentle humming of some kind, that is definitely my apartment's heater going. I thought about perhaps turning off the heat for the purposes of the sound quality, and then I thought, you know what, I already keep my apartment at 60 degrees. I am not going down to 50. We will all just have to deal with that slight sound annoyance, and you can all rest assured that I am staying toasty toasty warm, or at least as warm as I am willing to pay for. In today's episode, we are talking about one of my favorite architects, and certainly my favorite church, maybe even my favorite building. And that, my friends, is the Catalan architect Antoni Gaudi and the Sagrada Familia Church in Bartholona, Thane. As always, I will post all relevant images as well as source material for today's episode on the podcast's website. Stuffabout things podcast.com. I fell in love with Anthony Gaudi and his buildings the first and only time that I ever visited Bartholona, which is a good seven years ago, almost to the day that I am recording this episode. So this is my little way of paying homage to what is one of my favorite cities in the entire world. When I chose this topic and began to research and write the episode though, I never actually considered that it is extremely difficult to describe Gaudi's buildings. So sometimes my descriptions get a little odd. But hey, we are just doing the best that we can. And at this point, that is literally all anyone has the right to ask me to do. 2018 has been a bit of a rough year, y'all. Alright, let's jump in, starting with the madman. And I mean that lovingly. Antoni Gaudi was born in Catalonia, Spain in 1852. For you geography buffs out there, Catalonia is the autonomous region in northeastern Spain that borders France and the Mediterranean Ocean. And even if you don't really know where I'm talking about on the map, maybe this will make it easier. The capital of Catalonia is Barcelona, or Barcelona, as the Spaniards say. But don't worry, I will not be saying Barcelona the rest of the episode. Let me just do it one more time. Barcelona. Okay, I'm done. Depending on who you ask, Gaudi was born in either Reus or Riudoms, both of which are about 70 miles southwest of Barcelona near the Mediterranean coast. Gaudi's father, Francesque, was a coppersmith, while his mother, Antonia, was, well, I don't really know that much about her, but I'm sure that she was very cool. Or, you know, not, I don't know. Gaudi had several siblings, though only two would make it into adulthood, including his brother Francesque. Now, if you've been paying attention, you'll be like, wait, what? These parents Francesque and Antonia named their kids Francesque and Antoni? Yes, yes they did. Spanish naming traditions for the win. Gaudà spent his formative years in Ryu Doms, though his childhood wasn't a particularly happy one. Or at least it wasn't a healthy one. Gaudà developed rheumatoid arthritis as a child and therefore went through periods of great sickness, though he did attend school when he was able, and he worked as needed in his father's coppersmith shop doing, you know, coppersmithing, which I like to call coppersmithery. Just sounds better. By the time that Gaudi was a young adult and ready to fly the coop, he had been thoroughly schooled in the basics of coppersmithing. But Gaudi didn't want to be a coppersmith. He wanted to be an architect, and in order to be an architect, one had to go to school. Or at least, you know, you'd hope that they would have to go to school. I don't want any buildings falling on my head, thank you very much. In the name of architecture, Gaudi moved from his childhood home to the big city, Barcelona. Ah, Barcelona, the so-called city of counts, the head and hearth of Catalonia. Today Barcelona is a magical city, and it was in Gaudi's time as well. But during the 19th century, Barcelona, like many other cities in Europe, was undergoing a bit of an identity crisis as its medieval charm became intertwined with the Industrial Revolution that had just hit Europe. This is all to say that parts of Barcelona were still very lovely and old and charming, while others were, you know, dismal and gross and had terrible living conditions. I think that was pretty normal with your big cities during that time. There were also some growing pains in society, which was shifting and changing, which we will hear more about in just a little bit. Gaudi moved to Barcelona to go to school, to go to university. From start to finish, it took Gaudi ten years to complete his degree in architecture. Hey, Mitsu Mitsu. Although I'm not an architect, I'm an art historian. Gaudi's studies were broken up along the way by military service, the death of his brother, Frances, and the death of his mother just two months after that, which I am sure were devastating blows to this young architectural apprentice. As far as school goes, Gaudi wasn't the best student. Or maybe it's safer to say that he wasn't the easiest student, given that he rejected the concept of slavishly copying or replicating his teacher's styles. Gaudi was totally unwilling to compromise his creativity to meet the demands of others. And I respect that. He's going to do things the way that he wants to do them, and everyone else can bugger off. By March of 1878, Gaudi was certified as an architect. At his graduation, the director of his school made the infamous statement, quote, I do not know if we have awarded this degree to a madman or a genius. Only time will tell. End quote. Was that a compliment or not? I'm not quite sure. After completing his degree and becoming a certified architect, Gaudi started working. Du. Of course, there isn't time right now to go into the specifics of each building that he designed, but as a general statement, in his time and now, Gaudi was known as a modern architect. He embraced innovation while still paying homage to the past. He was particularly concerned with the marriage between architecture and ornamentation. To put it very simply, if you think of sleek contemporary designs with clean lines and monotone color schemes, Gaudi is the total opposite of that look. Like he would have run away from that as if the building were on fire. Instead, Gaudi strove to incorporate life and color and movement into his designs, usually through the use of undulating lines, mosaic tiles, and shapes and forms belonging to the natural world. His buildings are the kind of buildings that you have to see to believe. And I'm speaking from experience here when I say that they are the kind of buildings that you have to be in, that you have to experience firsthand in order to fully appreciate. You can think that Gaudi is the most wonderful architect in the whole world and know every fact and facet of his life and designs. But it is impossible to recreate what it feels like when you walk through the front door of one of his buildings. It is like entering into a different world. Now I wish that I had time to go into detail about all of Gaudi's work, but this episode would be way too long, and you'd all throw your listening devices at the walls or at me, and I wouldn't blame you. But before moving on to the building of the hour, the Sagrada Familia, let me recap some of Gaudi's other works, many of which are in Barcelona. Gaudi worked on plans from buildings ranging from private residences to churches to parks, and he benefited from the mutual trust and understanding that he was able to build with his patrons, the most famous of which was a man named Ausebi Gwell, a super duper rich Catalan tycoon whose family had all of the money. Did I mention that he was rich? He was super rich. He was so rich that people call him a tycoon. That's a great word. Tycoon. The only tycoon that I have ever been and probably will ever be is a roller coaster tycoon. And all of my 90s kids will probably understand what that means. Can you imagine a roller coaster park built by Gaudi? That would be amazing. Anyway, getting back to the point. Gwell was super rich, and he would become Gaudi's most loyal patron, and their partnership and friendship would produce some of the greatest landmarks in Barcelona, the most famous of which are probably the Gwell family mansion, the Pala Guel, and Guel Park. Other well-known Gaudi buildings include the Casa Bayot and the Casa Milá, both of which Gaudi designed and built for other patrons. Over the course of his career, Gaudi's style went through a few distinct periods, as all artists' styles do. I see Gaudi's style as a sort of kaleidoscope, in the sense that all of his buildings, or you know, most of them anyway, share common elements. But depending on when Gaudi designed those buildings, certain elements come through stronger than others. For example, in his design for the Palau Guel, Gaudi brought Persian and Islamic-inspired elements to the forefront. In doing so, he took something of Spain's past and made it present, given that Muslim rulers had controlled Spain for many centuries, as is evident if you visit cities like Sevilla and Granada and Córdoba. If you go to those cities, you can still see these gorgeous palaces and mosques that were built or redesigned by Muslim rulers that are just mind-boggling. And Gaudi was pulling from that tradition and incorporating it into very modern designs. During other periods, Gaudi would pull more strongly from natural forms or animal forms, or in another period gothic forms. But the bottom line is this: Gaudi's work will never be confused with that of another architect, unless that architect is copying Gaudi. No matter when a building dates to, whether it was early in his career or late in his career, a Gaudi building is clearly a Gaudi building. And the most Gaudi building of all is, of course, Barcelona's Sagrada Familia. In terms of his personal life, Gaudi started out, you know, fine. He maybe was a little bit quiet, a little bit quirky, but sooner rather than later he started to retreat into his work more and more. Though he wasn't necessarily the hermit that some people claim that he was, at least not until he was in his 60s and 70s. He did have two failed romances in his 30s, or maybe he was the only one doing the romancing, and those seemed to have quite an effect on Gaudi and made him decide to swear off pleasures of the flesh and focus entirely on his work as an architect for much of his life. Which, I mean, hey, you do you, man. You do you. And all those things considered, it's no surprise that he never married or had children. In many ways, his life was his work. And there is no work that speaks to Gaudi's life more than the Sagrata Familia. The origins of the Sagrata Familia, which is known formally as the Templo Expiatorio de la Sagrata Familia, or the Expiatory Temple of the Sacred Family, rest in the creation of a new religious association in the mid-19th century. A book dealer by the very long name that I am probably not pronouncing correctly at all, of Josep Maria Bocabella I Verdaguer, who I will refer to as Boca Bega, even though I'm not certain that that's how you pronounce that in Catalan, this guy founded an evangelical group called the Spiritual Association of the Devotees of Saint Joseph. Boca Bea founded his association in 1866 with the aim of quote protecting the values of the Christian family. Now from what I've read about Boca Bea, if he were alive today, he would be someone who I would absolutely detest. Because Boca Bella created this group because he saw how quickly the city and life in general were changing. The mid to late 19th century was a time of change. There was the rise of industry, the rise of consumerism, new and exciting ideas, etc. etc. And with some of those things come not so great things. And Bukabeya did not like how the world was changing. Not one bit. No, sir. He felt that the traditional ways of life were under threat, and that God would be very angry about the way that the world was going. And this guy didn't even live through 2018. What is he complaining about? Anyway, in response to what he saw as society circling the drain, so to speak, Boca Bea started this religious association dedicated to Saint Joseph, who in Christian theology is Jesus' adoptive father. Over the course of a few decades, the association earned enough money through donations to begin building a cathedral. I believe that that's the reason why the Sagrata Familia is formally referred to as an expiatory church or an expiatory temple, because the building of it was meant as an appeasement to God for modern humanity's sinfulness. And let me tell you something that you did not ask for and probably already know. There ain't a church big enough to expiate the sins of modern humanity. Not then and not now. By 1881, Boca Beya and the association were ready to begin building their church, and they hired an architect to design and oversee the building of it. This architect, who was not Gaudi, by the way, designed the cathedral, and by 1882 construction officially began with the laying of the first stone. At this point, everyone was feeling, you know, very positive, very hopeful, and the association and the architect agreed that it would probably only take about ten years for the church to become functional. Which isn't to say that it would be done done, but there would be walls and presumably a roof, so that masses could be held in the church. Spoiler alert, they were off in their calculations by about ninety years. Ha, the fools. As it turns out, things were not as peachy as they seemed. By 1883, the original architect and the association had a falling out over the choice of materials for the church's columns, which seems like a pretty small disagreement in the scheme of things, but to me it seems like it might have been the final straw in a series of, shall we say, unsatisfactory moments in the early years of the church's construction. Ultimately, the original architect ended up quitting, and a year, one year, into a many, many year project, the Sagrata Familia was without an architect. Thankfully, as legend would have it, Boca Bella had a dream one night, and he dreamt of a blue-eyed architect. Brrrrr. This blue-eyed architect would come to their salvation and save the Sagrada Familia project. And wouldn't you know it? Just a few days later, Boca Bella met the young, up-and-coming architect Andoni Gaudi, who just happens to have blue eyes. Of course, those kinds of stories are fun, but the reality of the matter is that Gaudi was at the beginning of his career, which meant that the association did not have to pay him as much as they would have an established architect. And that probably has a little bit more to do with him being chosen than the fact that Boca Bea had a dream. Though of course it wasn't the only reason. Once Gaudi joined the project, he continued to oversee the construction that was already happening on the church's crypt, where, in a weird macabre twist of fate, is where Gaudi would eventually be buried. Gaudi had some immediate critiques of the previous architect's design, the most major of which was the church's orientation on the plot of land. Now usually churches, at least the big important ones, are built on an east-west axis, meaning that the altar of the church would face the east, towards the sunrise, while the entrance of the church would face west, where the sun sets. In addition to having a religious significance, the sun rising over the altar alluding to the birth and eventual resurrection of Jesus, but that layout also makes it so that the church would point towards Jerusalem, the Holy Land. But the previous architect, for whatever reason, did not adhere to those usual practices, and since construction was already underway, Gaudi couldn't change that. He did, however, change virtually everything else. The original architect envisioned a church that was fairly traditional, one that hearkened back to the great gothic cathedrals of old. Think stained glass, pointed archways, and spindly towers. And there is an element of that in Gaudi's vision of the church. But he just turned the dial up a thousand and threw a bunch of other stuff into the mix. The only real way I can think to describe the Sagrata Familia from the outside in unpretentious, totally down-to-earth terms, is to say that it looks like a gothic cathedral from a fairy tale that has started to melt. And I mean that in the best way possible. At this point, the association is like, yeah, that's super cool, let's do that. Which boggles my mind. Because this is a religious association hellbent on preserving, quote, traditional Christian values, and they are giving the green light to this highly innovative, polarizing design. But in the late 19th century, Catholicism was drumming up a lot of popular appeal and experiencing something of a revival in the face of changing times. I still can't quite wrap my head around how Gaudi's style, which is essentially the Catholic revival style on all of the good steroids, squares with the renewed popularity of Catholicism. But the two were indeed closely linked. The general idea is that creativity and faith are brought together to forge something visually beautiful, so much so that it transcends the material and makes you think of the spiritual. And the Sagrata Familia is the perfect example of those aims. Gaudi himself was deeply Catholic, and he saw architecture as a way to pay homage to God and celebrate Catholicism. He wanted to design and build a church that would move the soul closer to God by melding the visual with the spiritual. The most famous instance of this is the church's towers, of which 18 are planned. This might be a good time to explicitly mention one very important fact about the Sagrata Familia. It is still in the process of being built, 136 years after the first shovel hit the ground. Currently, eight of the eighteen towers of the church are finished, with others in the process of being built. Looking at the church as it currently stands, however, you get the sense of how the towers operate on both a visual and a spiritual level, even if they aren't all done. On a more symbolic level, each one of the towers, once they are all built, will represent one of four things. Twelve of the towers will represent the apostles, or Jesus' followers. Four towers will represent the gospels, which are four accounts of Jesus' life that comprise the New Testament of the Christian Bible. Then there is a slightly taller tower for Mary, Jesus' mother, and a final tower, the biggest one, that will represent Jesus himself. In addition to being symbolic in terms of their numerology or the significance of their numbers, the towers also serve another purpose. As I have heard my advisor say on many occasions, one of the most important things about a building is how the building meets the sky. And the Sagrata Familia is an excellent example of that. The towers of the church thrust thrust, thrust into the sky, almost dematerializing as they move higher and higher. Now, as you stand, you know, in the general vicinity of the church and you stare at it, these towers invite the eye up towards heaven, which is precisely what Gaudi intended. The sheer height of the building also suggests that it is closer to God than any other in the city. Many of you will have heard the old adage regarding women's, or men's, I suppose, hair. The higher the hair, the closer to God. The same could be said and probably should be said about churches and their towers. The higher the towers, the closer to God. When you consider Barcelona as a landscape, so let's say that you are viewing Barcelona from an elevated position, somewhere like Parque Gwell. The towers of the Sagrada Familia take on a different, though definitely related, function. The church dominates the landscape of Barcelona, and I am talking total domination. When I say that you cannot miss it, I genuinely mean that if you were to look at a bird's eye view of Barcelona, there is absolutely no mistaking which building is the Sagrata Familia. From this perspective, the towers become essentially guardians of the city, standing sentinel, watching you as you watch them. Which is to say that the Sagrata Familia is not just conversing with the sky, with heaven, it is also making a statement to the city at large. There is so much to talk about regarding the Sagrata Familia, but for the sake of time I will focus on just one other aspect of the church's exterior, which are its three facades, each one of which is dedicated to a different aspect of Jesus' life. One is dedicated to his birth, another to his torture, death, and resurrection, and the third is dedicated to his quote unquote modern glory, or his presence in the here and now. As with anything that Gaudi does, these facades are not your ordinary exteriors. There aren't any large expanses of brick or anything. Uh no no no no. Gaudi was not that basic. Instead, the church's exterior is positively crawling with sculpture. Each one of the facades does have its own stylistic flavor that in Gaudi's design scheme reflects something of the event that each facade commemorates. Each facade also uses sculpture to tell whatever story that it happens to be telling. For example, the Nativity facade, which commemorates Jesus' birth, doesn't just cover his birth in Bethlehem. It tells the story from the very beginning, which is not to say the birth of Jesus, but the birth of Mary, his mother. And then it progresses through the story, including scenes of the Anunciation, or Mary finding out that she's having God's baby, to the three kings bringing offerings to the baby Jesus after his birth. It's all there, told in stone, that appears to be melting. The Nativity Facade is the most quote uncut traditional of the three facades. To me, it looks like a mad scientist made a gingerbread house that then melted and subsequently turned to stone. Which is to say, maybe not so traditional. And the reason that I keep using the word melting to describe the church is because when I stood in front of the Sagrata Familia for the first time, I remember thinking, it looks like it's melting. So that explains that. Though I also saw one person who described it as having a coral reef-like quality, which I can also see. This is all to say that if the Nativity facade is considered the most traditional of the three, it should give you some sense of what the other two look like. While the director of his architectural program called Gaudi a madman, it would be wrong to think of Gaudi as some kind of raging genius who is frothing at the mouth with innovation and ain't taking no crap from nobody. Gaudi knew that what he was doing was radically different and might require an adjustment period. In fact, it was Gaudi who decided that there would be no other option than to start building the exterior of the Sagrata Familia with the Nativity Facade. His rationale was that the Nativity Facade was the least likely of the three to make people's eyes bust out of their heads. You might think, well, who cares? If the association is cool with it, why would any of that matter? Well, it matters because the building of the Sagrada Familia has always been paid for through donations, and Gaudi suspected that if donors saw what he had in store for the Passion and the Glory facades, they'd burn their pocketbooks and slap someone in the face. Probably Gaudi. It was best to ease into things, as he saw it, by building the Nativity Facade first. And you know what? It probably wasn't a bad idea, given what the other two would and will eventually look like. My favorite of the three facades is the Passion Facade, which tells the story of Christ's torture, crucifixion, and eventual resurrection. When you look at the Passion Facade, you begin to understand how the Nativity Facade is considered the more traditional of the two. As the Nativity it's so hard to say that, the Nativity Facade still retains many gothic elements found in other churches. Like if you squint, you might mistake it for a Gothic cathedral. Maybe not, but you know what I mean. Do you? Who knows? The Passion Facade, on the other hand, is as bleak as it is beautiful. The facade was only finished in July of 2018, so a couple months ago. So I've actually never even seen it finished. It was still being worked on when I was in Barcelona in 2011. I have tried so many times to come up with a viable description of the Passion Facade, and I abandoned ship when my description had me Googling whale anatomy, specifically that of a whale's mouth. I also had some strange references to gum being pulled apart. That is how weird my descriptions were getting. So let me just say this. The Passion Facade is intended to convey bleakness, coldness, and suffering. Gaudi did this by juxtaposing a skeleton-like frame over what to me looks like a prehistoric cave system, where sculptures play out the events of this part of Jesus' life. And these sculptures are totally unlike the ones on the Nativity Facade, which is exactly once again what Gaudi had intended, at least in theory. He wanted the Nativity Facade and the Passion Facade to look completely different, though there is some debate about whether or not the sculptures, which were all created in the last 40 years by the artist Josip Maria Subirax, to fulfill Gaudi's vision. The sculptures are highly geometric with harsh lines and very simple, stark forms. They aren't scary per se, but there is a severeness about them that when put into conversation with the rest of the facade is highly unsettling. Especially if you're walking around the church thinking that each one of the sides is going to look the same. Nope, no, sir. Each one of the facades is totally and completely different, and yet that doesn't make any one of them less powerful or beautiful in its own way. As for the third facade, the glory facade, we uh we don't really know what it's going to look like, because it hasn't been finished yet. In fact, it's still in the earliest stages of its construction. To be specific, the Sagrata Familia blog, which is excellent by the way, states that only 8% of that facade is currently done. But Gaudi did, of course, make models and designs of the building, some of which still exist in some form or another. So we know what it will hypothetically look like. But when you blow up the scale and put it towering over your head, the overall effect tends to be different than the little scale models might suggest. But from the models, it appears that the facade will echo the 18 towers on top of the church, with 14 smooth conical towers backed by four much larger skeletal towers. There are a few other components that will be added to the facades, such as some things that look like little wire balls or something. There also appear to be editions that have text on them, though I couldn't read any of them from the black and white picture of the model that I have, with the exception of one. Specifically the one that will crown all 18 towers of the Glory Facade. It reads credo, which means I believe in Latin. The ultimate goal of the Glory Facade is to make visitors feel and understand the glory of God as it pertains to their everyday life. Now, to be honest, I don't necessarily understand how the facade does that visually or what Gaudi intended it to do. But I think the interpretation of this particular facade is one that primarily is left up to the viewer, who can see in it whatever he or she is looking for. But maybe that will be clearer when it's actually built. Ultimately, the interior of the Sagrata Familia brings together color, geometry, and nature into a miraculous partnership. The whole thing together is just I mean, it's it's just magic. It's a building made from light and color as much as it is stone, and I could spend forever inside of it. I really could. And I think that that would make my mother very happy to see me spending the rest of my life in a church. One of the oddest aspects of the interior, at least in my opinion, is the baldecin or canopy that hangs above the main altar. Honestly, at first I thought it was a weird lampshade. And to be fair, it does look a little bit like a lampshade, since it is a hexagon of fabric with little lights hanging off of its edges. A sculpture of Christ on the cross is suspended from the baldeicin in what might be one of the simplest, most realistic sculptures in the entire structure of the church. It is a sculpture of a man on a wooden cross. And that contrast, that simplicity against the visual feast that is the rest of the church, is, I think, extremely powerful. Of course, the interior, like the exterior, has all sorts of symbolism within it, from the number of columns to the shape of the staircases and all that jazz. But to me, the interior is far less about figuring out what stories are being told and more about feeling, about experiencing, about transcending whatever is happening outside of the church to what was in Gaudi's mind, not only spend time with God, but to feel his presence around you. And regardless of whatever you believe in or don't believe in, when you walk into the Sagrata Familia, it's hard not to believe something. Something. Be it a god or a cosmic force or science or whatever. Something. What I think that everyone who visits the Sagrata Familia can agree on, regardless of religion or lack thereof or nationality or political affiliation, is that the Sagrata Familia is a monument that speaks to the power of the human mind and the resilience of the human spirit. And I'm not just talking about Gaudi here. I think just as much credit has to go to the generations of people who have continued to honor Gaudi's vision and do everything in their power to see it carried out. I cannot even fathom what that would have felt like to be standing on a plot of land, envisioning this massive cathedral, and having the audacity to be like, alright, let's build it, let's go. I mean, a part of you would have to be mad to do that, to say, I can make this happen. Gives me chills just thinking about it, as does the thought of the individuals who are currently building the highest towers of the church with cranes and all of the power of the 21st century behind it. Gaudi worked on the Sagrada Familia for 43 years in total, from 1883 until 1926. He was, of course, also working on other stuff during that time, though he did work exclusively on the Sagrata Familia for the last twelve years of his life. During the last six months of his life, he actually slept in his studio beneath the church, which at that point didn't even have four walls yet, at least not on the ground level. By this time, Gaudi had long since retreated into his work, becoming something of a hermit. I don't mean that in the glamorous way that some people talk about artists. Gaudi's life was not a glamorous one, at least not at that point. As a man who never married and by all accounts lived a celibate life, Gaudi's work was his calling. He believed that he could channel his creative force into his buildings. In the end, I think the Sagrata familia represented something of a path to salvation for Gaudi, who spent more than four decades masterminding its creation. This may be the reason why Gaudi is often referred to as God's architect. That's no small title there, is it? Gaudi met his maker on June 10, 1926, in what was a premature death. On June 7th, just a couple of days before he died, Gaudi ventured out into the streets of Barcelona on his way to confession. He was on his way to church to confess his sins. Obviously not the Sagrata Familia, but a church with walls. And on his way to church, Gaudi was hit by a bus. I mean, more precisely, he was hit by a tram. I don't know if that would have hurt more or less than a bus. But Gaudi didn't die instantly. He was still alive, laying on the streets of Barcelona, and nobody helped him for hours. Why, you hopefully are asking, why did no one help him? Well, at this point in his life, as I said, Gaudi didn't look so great as he'd been sleeping in the studio of the Sagrata Familia for six months. I told you, not glamorous. People in the street saw a man get hit by a tram and just thought, oh, he's homeless, whatever. It took hours for someone to come to Gaudi's aid and get him unpancaked and over to a hospital. Unfortunately, the injuries he had received, and more importantly, the ones that he had suffered with for hours were too severe for doctors to treat. If he had been brought in earlier, he may have lived. But ultimately Gaudi died in his hospital bed on June 10, 1926, at the age of 73 years old. In spite of the way Gaudi died, he was still a beloved figure of the city, even if some people didn't love his style. Thousands of people lined the streets of Barcelona to witness Gaudi's funeral procession, which ended at the Sagrada Familia, where Gaudi was laid to rest in the crypt beneath the church. Antoni Gaudi's mortal remains had returned to where his work on the project had begun. Gaudi had known for a long time, decades, that he would never live to see the completion of the Sagrata Familia. And man, what a bummer that must be. To pour decades of your life into a project that will take decades more to finish. As for what he thought about the prospect of dying before the church was finished, Gaudi said this, quote, It is not a disappointment that I will not be able to finish the temple. I will grow old, but others will come after me. What must always be preserved is the spirit of the work. Its life will depend on the generations that transmit this spirit and bring it to life. End quote. After one hundred and thirty-five years, the current generation is attempting to do just that. According to a blog post the church did in 2017, construction crews are on schedule to complete the church in 2026. As to whether or not this will happen, well, we'll just have to wait and see. That brings me to my favorite part of this story. And this might just be one of my favorite stories in all of art history because it shows how human genius can exist right alongside of human stupidity. This past October, in October of 2018, after over 136 years of being an active construction site, someone realized that no one had ever obtained a construction permit for the Sagrada Familia. In 136 years, no one ever thought to ask, hey, did we ever get a building permit for this project? And when the Spanish government and the city government realized that one of the biggest tourist sites in the country, and definitely the biggest tourist site in Barcelona, had essentially been being constructed and was still being constructed without proper paperwork for 136 years, I think someone fainted from how hard they saw dollar signs, or at least I guess euro signs. The Sagrada Familia now has to pay back the city for expenses related to the site that they weren't paying for 136 years. And how much do they have to pay? Drumroll. The church has to pay back 36 million euro, which amounts to 41 million dollars. Yikes. But don't fear, that money will be funneled back into the city, primarily with the goal of improving public transport services around the church. So it's all for good use, but oh my goodness, talk about an oversight. They also charge you an arm and a leg to get inside of the Sagrata Familia, but hey, they have been building it for 136 years and they definitely need cash flow. There is, of course, so much more to be said about Gaudi and the Sagrata Familia, but that is where I will leave things for today. If you do want to know more about Gaudi and the Sagrata Familia, there will be links and suggested reading materials posted on the podcast's website. I highly recommend going to the official website for the Sagrata Familia Church, which includes all sorts of information, photographs, and even a virtual tour of the church. The church also runs a blog with all sorts of blog posts about various facets of the church that I found incredibly informative and bursting with good pictures. As for other types of sources, I was somewhat disappointed in the books that were available on the topic of Gaudi and the Sagrata Familia. Or rather, they aren't books that I would necessarily recommend to someone who just wants to sit down and read a little bit about this guy and all of the cool stuff he made. One that I would recommend is called Gaudi by Guijes van Hensbergen. Otherwise, the most accessible information can be found online, once again through the website of the Sagrata Familia, which is Sagratafamilia.org, the website of Casa Bateau, and lastly UNESCO's webpage dedicated to Gaudi and his work. I will post all of those sources as well as appropriate links and pictures of On the podcast's website. Stuff about things podcast.wordpress.com. As for Gus Corner this week, the whole rest of the episode that you just heard, I recorded several days ago. But I felt the need to reset up my mic because the day after I recorded a Gus update being like, he's fine, he's great, blah blah blah blah blah. I got a text from my mom that changed all of that. It turns out that on a recent walk, Gus got stuck while trying to explore the interior of a long culvert pipe. He fell into a hole of freezing water in this long pipe and had to be rescued by my dad, who James bonded his way into the culvert to save the dog. So shout out to my dad for saving Gus's life. Shout out to you, sir. And also shout out to my mom, who made sure Gus got a warm bath and dried off by the fireplace after his ordeal. My goodness, Poopy. Silly boy. And I cannot wait to go home and spend a couple of weeks with him and the rest of my family for the holidays. I am so looking forward to that. For this episode, Gus found the time to invade three more works of art, which include Albrecht Durr's Self-Portrait, Gustav Kayabot's Paris Street on a Rainy Day, and Piero della Francesca's Double Portrait of the Duke and Duchess of Urbino. Yours truly, me, appears in the later two. You can see those on both the podcast's website, Stuff About Things Podcast.com, as well as the Instagram and Facebook pages of the podcast. Just search for Stuff About Things Podcast and they should pop right up. I will make my very best attempt to have another episode up before the new year. I'd like to end the year strong, but we shall see. These episodes do take a lot of time and energy to put together, and I am a one-woman show. So even if you don't see an episode posted for several weeks, please know that I am hard at work at getting one up as soon as I can, given all of my other commitments. If you want to drop me a note, ask me a question, or you know, just say hello to me or, you know, just to Gus, you can contact us either through the podcast's webpage or through the podcast email. Stuffaboutthingspodcast at gmail.com. I absolutely adore getting messages from you, and I will always reply. The familiar thank yous go out to hooksounds.com and freemusicarchive.org for providing the music for the intro and the outro. That includes Kevin McLeod's version of Box Brandenburg Concerto number four and a song called Success Dreams. And lastly, a big thanks to you for listening. I love making these episodes, and I am so glad that people care enough to make it this far into the episode. Unless you're driving and you just can't change to the next podcast episode until this one finishes. In which case, I appreciate you for driving safe. Look at your life. Look at your choices.
unknownBye.