A date with Velázquez
There’s a particular hum that fills a museum when it opens for the day. Footsteps on polished floors, whispers bouncing off tall walls, the occasional squeak of a bench being shifted for a better view. It’s comforting, familiar. But what if you could skip all that?
What if it was just you—and the art?
In Madrid, that’s possible. You can visit the Thyssen or the Prado before the doors open to the public. No crowds, no rush—just silence and the quiet presence of centuries of creativity. A private date with Velázquez, Goya, Van Gogh, or Dalí. It’s a strange and beautiful kind of stillness. Time seems to slow down, and the paintings feel more alive somehow, like they’re stretching before the day begins.
The first time I found myself in front of The Garden of Earthly Delights by Bosch it deeply moved me. Just me and that wild dream of a painting. It’s hard to explain what that felt like—without the crowds, your mind just… goes there. Inside the painting. You start spotting details you’ve never seen before, imagining tiny narratives, and letting your thoughts drift right into the surreal world Bosch created. It’s a bit like a lucid dream, and it’s kind of wonderful.
Take Clara Peeters paintings. The fact that she was a genius is something we now recognise (better late than never). One of her most unique touches in her paintings are the subtle reflections of her self-portrait hidden in jars and polished surfaces, or her elegant signature hidden on a silver knife. I mean, imagine having the chance to admire those tiny, amazing details without the rush of a crowd. You can really appreciate how these little elements add such a personal, almost secretive touch to her work—details that reveal themselves only when you have the time to really look. It’s a gift.
Being alone with the art is powerful on its own – but being guided by someone who doesn’t just know art but lives and breathes it—a university professor takes things to a different level. The kind of person who can make you see things you’d never noticed on your own. Who drops phrases like “this brushstroke was a political act” and somehow makes it land.
It’s one of those experiences that stays with you. Not because it’s flashy or dramatic, but because it’s rare to have that much space—mentally and physically—to really connect with what you’re seeing.
