In spite of two trips to the Spanish capital, we’ve never been inside the city’s renowned modern art museum. Only outside. At night. Like this. Why, I wonder? Inside is Picasso’s triumph, Guernica. And, oddly, maybe that’s why. When I was in high school and in college, this magnificent painting was housed in New York’s Museum of Modern Art (Picasso did not want the painting in Spain as long as Franco was in power.) I had a student membership and went their frequently, each time visiting Guernica as well as the many studies the artist had made that were on display nearby. In 1981, Spain finally reclaimed the painting and it now rests here in the Reina Sofia. Could a resentment be preventing me from enjoying it again?
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