A Building about a Building: Palacio de Comunicaciones, Cibeles

I think I inadvertently picked the best possible building to start writing about, purely on the grounds of the amount of information the place provides about itself and the genesis of its current form, although I confess I chose it for the disappointingly banal reason that it’s on my way to the Metro when I leave the office.   On my previous visits to Madrid, I don’t believe that the Palacio de Comunicaciones was open to the public, as it was only acquired by the government and designated a national monument in 2003 and there has been extensive work done since then.  I’ve certainly never been in before.  It now is open (and free), and appears to be a somewhat inward-looking addition to the famous Golden Mile of art (which includes the Reina Sofia, Thyssen-Bornemisza and Prado museums, all of which will undoubtedly feature in later posts).

Since my arrival in Madrid this time I have regarded it curiously on a daily basis, uncertain as to what the function of the building actually was, and whether I was allowed in it.  Tantalising glimpses of the glazed modern gridshell through a guarded rear entrance served to heighten my curiosity, although my desire to stand in that particularly space remains unsated – the ‘Crystal Gallery’, as they call it, is inexplicably closed to the public.

As a side note, as I write I’m just passing over the northern coast of Jersey (or did I miss that? This might be the Brest peninsula.  I need to take a map with me on these flights, to better know the geography of my route) on my way back from a weekend at home in the UK.  It looks sunny there, with cotton wool clouds hanging over the tiny straggling islands at land’s edge.  Anyone familiar with my normal art history knowledge showboating (which, in case you hadn’t realised, represents the sum total of my artistic knowledge, and is everything I remember from A-level – I’m seriously blagging it) will have heard me talk about Georgia O’Keeffe, the American artist who first stepped on a plane in her 60’s, after the death of her husband.  Her work late in life eschewed her usual floral subjects and featured endless cloudscapes, alongside the bleached landscapes of her New Mexico home.  I like the cloudscapes, and I’m always reminded of the paintings when I’m on a flight such as this – they’re such incredible, alien vistas, perpetually drenched in the sunshine denied the land-dwellers below.

Anyway, I digress.  The Palacio de Communicaciones is an early twentieth century building that served for nearly a century as the central post office for the Spanish capital (when built, it was the largest post office in Europe, if not the world, for a population a fraction the size of Paris or London).  I was delighted to note on my exit that a functioning Post Office still resides in the building, and they’ve kept the huge old brass regional post box slots (no longer in use, sadly.  I tried them) as seen to the left.

Inside is an interesting space, with intricate mouldings and a beautiful stained glass skylight sitting side by side with what I suspect is early steel (or possibly wrought iron) construction, which contrasts so strongly because it has no ornamentation whatsoever – just the rivets, stiffeners and haunches that help support the structure.  I suppose as a major municipal building with very functional purpose it would sit somewhere between the mighty engineering of railway stations (remind me to cover Atocha at some point) and the architectural flourishes of a town hall, bank or other such building of public stature, and the two sit restlessly together.  The exhibitions on the ground floor give details of the building as it was (including original construction photographs), and the architectural competition for redevelopment after the building was designated a monument, complete with intricate architect’s drawings and ‘now and then’ photographs.  As ever, no mention of the engineers involved (I’m not whingeing – it’s our own fault, we’re rubbish at publicity), and my cursory google searches have not enlightened me.

 I’d say the team have done well – judging by the comparison photos I’d say the restoration work sits lightly over the original (glass balustrades invisibly increasing the height of edge protection to modern standards being a classic example), which always has to be the aim with building conservation.  The addition of a gridshell roof to an existing courtyard without overloading the existing building is no simple task, and I’m still keen to get a look at that area in more detail, to try to figure out how they did it.

On a purely aesthetic point, I love the way the facets on this glazed bridge across the main hallway catch the light – have a look at the photo below.  Please don’t think I have enormous thighs and tiny baby feet though; it’s just extreme foreshortening. 

Outside the window now: sky and sea blending together, a solitary cargo ship and tiny scraps of cloud flecking the blue. I reckon O’Keeffe would like this one.

I’ll leave you with one last image.  On an upper floor of the mostly deserted gallery spaces (everyone’s down at the Prado), is a photographic exhibition by Antonio Bueno entitled Mythologies of Madrid’s Skies.  A series of dramatically light images of the city’s rooftop statuary watch over the night-time city, but my favourite is the one to the right.  It's from the Palacio de Linares, also part of the Plaza de Cibeles, and to me this picture looks alive, as though the angel is about to take wing –very City of Angels.  I'll see if I can identify the statue.