The Copiers of the Prado

It seems paradoxical that just a few years ago, the Prado Museum only allowed visitor entry one day a week.

Fernando VII, inspired by his wife, Maria Isabel de Braganza, initiated the creation of the Royal Museum of Paintings and Sculptures, which would eventually become what is known today as the Prado National Museum. But, what was the seed of that museum? The valuable royal collections. To have such marvellous works of art and not show them made no sense. Thus, the idea took shape and materialised. The world had to be shown those paintings that had been reserved for the gaze of a few privileged individuals, allowing thousands upon thousands of ordinary people to also see, contemplate, and study them. These individuals would be the visitors who would come to the national gallery, hence imagining the drawing power of these extraordinary paintings, it does not seem logical that the possibility of receiving visitors was limited to just one day.

At this point, what was the reason that prevented people from attending whenever they wanted, or at least on more days? The surprising reason is that the museum's corridors were occupied by the Prado's copiers. And indeed, things have changed a lot. In 2023, more than three million people visited the Prado Museum, which is only closed three days a year. But, where are the copiers? They are still there, as before, but their number has significantly decreased, although this does not prevent them from occasionally achieving certain notoriety, as was the case then.

What was the reason that prevented visits to the Prado Museum? The corridors were occupied by the copiers.

A few years ago, Bernardo Pajares had the fright of his life. The head of the Prado's copying office received a call from the museum's security. A man was walking through the gallery with "a Rubens under his arm". This 36-year-old philologist, the last twelve at the Prado, hurried through the corridors and arrived, heart racing, in front of the man whom the guards had immediately detained, unsure if he was carrying off the equestrian portrait of the Duke of Lerma that Peter Paul Rubens painted in 1603. "But Ángel, don't give us such frights, man, how could you think of doing this when you know the rules!". Ángel's monumental oversight had triggered the alarms, requiring Bernardo's immediate presence to verify that this elderly gentleman from Burgos, with a decidedly carefree air, was not any Erik the Belgian, but one of their own, a copier, one of the painters who come to the Prado to reproduce some of the artworks hanging on its walls, not without having to swear on their honour to strictly follow the rules regulating this task. Among these rules, highlighted in red, is the express prohibition of moving the copy or taking it out of the room without prior notice to the area manager, and the obligation to document it with a photograph once completed.

This incident highlights that there are a series of rules to follow when one is a copier at the Prado, some of them curious and others obvious. For example, in the past, guidelines were so rigorous and specific that they mentioned practices that today almost provoke laughter. Some of these were not to draw grids on the original painting to guide oneself when making the copy, not to shout or spit on the floor. Neither was it allowed to take down the painting being copied nor to move it from its place. Current guidelines specify that replicas must be either 5 cm larger or 5 cm smaller. Works exceeding 130 cm are not permitted, and there are 6 forbidden works, 6 paintings that have been decided cannot be copied:

Las Meninas by Velázquez

‍
The Nude Maja by Goya

‍
The Clothed Maja by Goya

‍

Judith at the Banquet of Holofernes by Rembrandt

‍
The Descent from the Cross by Van Der Weyden

‍
The Garden of Earthly Delights by Hieronymus Bosch

*It seems that this list will be expanded to include some works by Sorolla.

‍

Moreover, one must acknowledge the skill of these men and women in producing such precise work. I assure you that, were I to make a copy of a Rubens and carry it under my arm, not only would they not be confused, but they would thank me for removing such a monstrosity from a temple of Art like the Prado. Of course, I could always argue that what I am transporting is a piece of work by my little daughter.

Some of the greatest copiers to have passed through the Prado include Goya, Picasso, Fortuny, and Rosales. Among the copiers we can find in the Prado today, some have been there for decades. They note that times have changed and they no longer have the demand they once did. Rosa Pérez, the doyenne of the Prado's copiers, at over 80 years old, has been demonstrating her talent since she embarked on this career in 1965. Rosa comments that sometimes, it's as if the author speaks to her as she goes about "fusilando" (copying). She says: "As I delve into a painting, sometimes it takes days to find the connection with the artist". I wonder, "How could this painter have achieved this."

How much longer will the work of these particular geniuses of the brush last? The reality is that we do not know. Undoubtedly, these admired artists are individuals who treasure a unique legacy, a special and singular experience of which only they are the custodians, because beyond the physical paintings copied, they carry a wealth of sensations, emotions, and experiences that will go with them the day they are no longer here.

‍‍

Cultions is committed to ensuring this does not happen.

‍