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In his chronicle of Antoni Gaudí, Michael Eaude pieces together architecture, patron records and eyewitness accounts to shed new light on the great architect’s life

LESS WELL KNOWN IS GAUDÍ’S GRADUAL DESCENT INTO A RELIGIOUS FANATICISM SO GREAT THAT AT ONE POINT HE NEARLY FASTED HIMSELF TO DEATH

As Michael Eaude makes clear from the start, writ­ing about Cat­alo­nia’s most uni­ver­sally known ar­chi­tect is no pushover, given that Gaudí wrote next to noth­ing about him­self or his work or in­deed about any­thing else. Any bi­og­ra­pher is there­fore de­pen­dent on the ev­i­dence of his build­ings (and their fin­ish­ings) them­selves, cer­tain agree­ments Gaudí had with his often long-suf­fer­ing pa­trons, and the hearsay of peo­ple who knew him and who left writ­ten ac­counts of their con­ver­sa­tions with him, which, in­evitably, are al­most never ver­ba­tim.

Eaude’s way of cop­ing with this is to stay on solid ground wher­ever it pre­sents it­self and to draw the most likely con­clu­sions when he runs out of it. For in­stance, he deals with the decades-old de­bate about whether Gaudí was born in Reus or the nearby vil­lage of Ri­u­doms, by point­ing out that he was prob­a­bly born in his mother’s home in Ri­u­doms and bap­tised in the nearby town of Reus which, as Cat­alo­nia’s sec­ond city after Barcelona (in the sec­ond half of the 19th cen­tury) boasted a more than suit­able church (Sant Pere). While we’re on the sub­ject of Reus, Eaude also points out its im­por­tance through­out Gaudí’s life, not only be­cause of the town’s proud Cata­lanism – which rubbed off on the ar­chi­tect in no un­cer­tain terms – but also be­cause of the dis­pro­por­tion­ate num­ber of reusencs who would later be­come Gaudí’s friends and busi­ness part­ners.

Eaude’s book takes us step by step both through Gaudí’s early – and often en­dur­ing – ar­chi­tec­tural in­flu­ences (Cata­lan Gothic, William Mor­ris’s Arts and Crafts move­ment, Moor­ish and mudéjar ar­chi­tec­ture…) and then joins up the dots be­tween said in­flu­ences and Gaudí’s build­ings and struc­tures, from a cou­ple of lamp­posts in Barcelona’s Plaça Reial, a cab­i­net for a fash­ion­able glove maker and a lava­tory for the (an­ar­chist) Mataró Work­ers’ Co­op­er­a­tive, all the way through to the splen­dours of the Park Güell, the Milà and Batlló houses, and of course the Sagrada Família, which oc­cu­pied over two decades of Gaudí’s life. Nei­ther does Eaude for­get the lesser known build­ings that came in be­tween: the Torre Belles­guard, the Casa Cal­vet, the Casa Botines in León and the al­most com­pletely ig­nored Casa Clapés in Barcelona’s Gràcia dis­trict, among oth­ers. Every sin­gle build­ing and mon­u­ment is il­lus­trated with clear black and white pho­tos, con­ve­niently placed right next to the texts about them.

Given that Eaude is the au­thor of what is surely the best cul­tural in­tro­duc­tion to Cat­alo­nia in Eng­lish (‘Cat­alo­nia. A Cul­tural His­tory’. Sig­nal Books, Ox­ford, 2007) it isn’t sur­pris­ing that he man­ages to place Gaudí firmly in the cul­tural con­text of his time, which con­sisted, among other things, of an up-and-com­ing an­ar­cho-syn­di­cal­ist move­ment (which the young Gaudí felt com­fort­able with and the older Gaudí ab­horred); the Cata­lan ‘Re­naixença’ (cul­tural re­birth, in all artis­tic fields); the great Cata­lan poet Jacint Verda­guer; the bur­geon­ing Ram­bling Move­ment through which many young and not so young Cata­lans dis­cov­ered the high­lights of Cat­alo­nia’s long for­got­ten his­tor­i­cal past by tak­ing long rural hikes to its equally long for­got­ten abbeys, churches and cas­tles; the con­ser­v­a­tive re­gion­al­ist move­ment spear­headed by the writer (and priest) Josep Tor­ras i Bages; and, it goes with­out say­ing, the mod­ernista or Art Deco move­ment in paint­ing and ar­chi­tec­ture (there is a fas­ci­nat­ing sec­tion on mod­ernista ar­chi­tects like Puig i Cadafalch and Domènech i Muntaner, con­tem­po­raries of Gaudí, who, nonethe­less, never iden­ti­fied him­self as a mod­ernista).

Per­haps sur­pris­ing for those who still be­lieve the lin­ger­ing cliché that Gaudí lived and worked in a her­mit-like iso­la­tion, are Eaude’s de­scrip­tions of how he loved to work with large teams of builders and ar­ti­sans, many of whose skills Gaudí him­self pos­sessed and put to use on site, shoul­der to shoul­der with his em­ploy­ees, some of whom be­came close friends.

It is widely known that Gaudí was some­thing of a Catholic mys­tic (his great­est build­ings are fa­mously rid­dled with Chris­t­ian sym­bols and slo­gans), but less well known – given the colour­ful play­ful­ness of his best-known build­ings – is his grad­ual de­scent into a re­li­gious fa­nati­cism so great that at one point he nearly fasted him­self to death. (Even after he’d been brought back from the brink of star­va­tion thanks to a per­sonal visit from the above-men­tioned Tor­ras i Bages, he con­tin­ued to es­chew for­mal meals, opt­ing in­stead for a skimpy diet of bread, honey, chards and bis­cuits).

De­spite his in­creas­ing Catholic con­ser­vatism, Gaudí was not be­yond openly de­fy­ing the Span­ish po­lice: ar­rested in 1924 on Sep­tem­ber 11th (the Cata­lan Na­tional Day, when the Span­ish forces of law and order in­ten­si­fied their stop­ping and search­ing of ran­dom cit­i­zens) he was hauled off to a po­lice sta­tion where he was be­rated for speak­ing in Cata­lan, given that ac­cord­ing to the ar­rest­ing of­fi­cers, an ar­chi­tect, being a mem­ber of the pro­fes­sional class, was obliged to use Span­ish. Gaudí replied: ‘My pro­fes­sion obliges me to pay my taxes and I pay them, but not to stop speak­ing my own lan­guage’. He had, in fact, re­fused to speak in Span­ish since around 1900: quite a feat in the heav­ily cen­tralised – and heav­ily po­liced – Spain of his day.

Not only has Michael Eaude crammed all this in­for­ma­tion and a great deal more into just under 190 pages, he has done so with an el­e­gant and some­times dis­creetly hu­mor­ous style which will come as no sur­prise to read­ers of his pre­vi­ous books. (By way of ex­am­ple, there are not many writ­ers who could light-heart­edly com­pare the Palau Güell to Trump Tower and get away with it).

Fi­nally, the ex­ten­sive bib­li­og­ra­phy at the end of the book, which in­cludes dozens upon dozens of books and ar­ti­cles which are about Gaudí or are Gaudí-ad­ja­cent, is proof enough that the au­thor as done his home­work and then some. I couldn’t help notic­ing that one book was miss­ing: ‘La visió artística i re­li­giosa d’En Gaudí’ (Quaderns Crema, Barcelona, 1996) by the sur­re­al­is­tic philoso­pher Francesc Pu­jols, a won­der­ful stream of con­scious­ness text about Gaudí’s life, work and thoughts, packed with anec­dotes, in­sights and the oc­ca­sional glee­ful over­state­ment (‘we are talk­ing about the great ar­chi­tect of Cat­alo­nia, who we call the great ar­chi­tect of the uni­verse’). But that is be­side the point: any­body who would like to get a de­tailed, com­plete idea of who An­toni Gaudí re­ally was and what he re­ally achieved, need look no fur­ther than Eaude’s short but sweet bi­og­ra­phy.

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Antoni Gaudí Author: Michael Eaude Pages: 189 Publisher: Reaktion Books, London, 2024
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