Keep Looking Up

It's ridiculously cold in Prague currently. It's been five or six days since the temperature has risen above freezing, and going outside is an unpleasant, even a painful experience. This is, I am assured, unseasonably cold for Prague, and indeed, much of Europe is in the grip of a serious cold snap, so we're not alone--literally cold comfort. Add this to the lingering effects of the flu (nothing makes you cough like breathing in frigid air!), and the past week has been pretty crummy.

However, once when I am safely ensconced in the relative warmth of a tram or bus, my eyes quickly move to the beauty this city offers from almost every angle. I am not, by any measure, an expert student of architecture, but I do love it--the richness, texture, and vitality it provides to a city is palpable here. Fortunately, much of Prague was built during several great periods in the history of architecture, full of spires, decorative touches, and elegant lines. I reiterate, though, I am an amateur scholar at best--so please forgive me if I say something patently untrue below. Better yet, correct me in the comments, and I'll revise the blog!

Aside from a few remnants of the Romanesque style, the oldest buildings in Prague are Gothic.

Do you want it done now, or do you want it done right?

Standing tall in the middle of the mass of buildings that make up Prague Castle, St. Vitus' Cathedral looks over the city of Prague and is the most instantly recognizable building in the city's skyline. Begun in 1344 by Charles IV, the Holy Roman Emperor who left a massive stamp on his home city, the cathedral was worked on, off and on, for 600 years. Some elements reflect Renaissance and even Modern schools of architecture and design, but its overall effect is Gothic--and awe-inspiring.

The Cathedral, with the Charles Bridge in the mid-ground. Yes, that Charles again.

I like big buttresses and I cannot lie! (I have no shame.)

With flying buttresses, spires, rose windows, grotesques, and gargoyles galore, the Cathedral epitomizes the Gothic style--but it's far from the only Gothic masterpiece in Prague.

I wonder whose bright idea it was to put some buildings *directly* in front of the church.

The Church of Our Lady Before Tyne would be the crown jewel of almost any other city's skyline, with two massive (though not identical) towers jutting into the sky off the Old City Square (Staroměstské náměstí). Begun not long after the cathedral, and partly designed by the same architects, the church has been kind of swallowed up by centuries of building around it, but its two towers--of slightly different design and height, nicknamed Adam and Eve--ironically make it easier to spot from a distance than from close up.

While Prague does have some fine examples of Renaissance-era architecture, with arches and columns trying to look like Ancient Rome, beginning around 1650, the city started going for Baroque. Yes, I really just made that joke. Baroque architecture takes the classical lines of the Renaissance, and starts adding embellishments, heightening the drama, and generally going for eye-catching, theatrical effects.

Hey, maybe frame the picture without the tram wires in the way? No? Oh, okay.

The Church of St. Ignatius was built by the Jesuits to honor their founder in the 1680s, and it stands imposingly on one side of Karlovo náměstí (Charles Square--yes, that Charles), a short walk from Emmaus. Baroque elements later fused with French decorative arts to form Rococo, and both styles are well represented on Prague city streets.

The Estates Theater, the last remaining theater at which Mozart conducted. No joke--just a cool fact.

Eventually, all that ornamentation must have become too much, as architecture and design--externally at least--took a more minimal turn. Classicism emerged, and once again columns made a big comeback. Classical buildings, like the Estates Theater, incorporate elements of classic Greek and Roman design--like columns, symmetry, proportion, etc.--but wed them to more modern techniques and styles. Like the Classic era in all art forms, it possesses a simple, rational elegance. 

The final major movement before full Modernism reared its (ugly?) head was Historicism, which, like Classicism and Renaissance architecture before it, looked to the past for inspiration. However, instead of looking to any one style, Historicism looked to many styles, and sought to recapture their magic in a more modern setting.

Historicism--the Beggin' Strips of architecture.

Sitting along the east bank of the Vlatava River, the Rudolfinum is a massive arts center completed in the late 1800s, but which borrows heavily from the Italianate Renaissance style. Not too far away is the National Museum, another achievement of Historicism.

I have never seen this.

Perched atop the hill at the top of Wenceslaus Square, the National Museum was built in the 1880s, and, by all accounts, is a beautiful building. Unfortunately, it has been undergoing renovations since I moved here and isn't expected to reopen until the fall. So, what I see is more like this:

Ooh, a bank advert!

In the 20th Century, Prague saw buildings go up featuring Art Noveau, Art Deco, Brutalist, Communist, and Modernist sensibilities. These, however, with some exceptions, feel more familiar to me having lived on the East Coast of America for all my life. That said, Prague continues to value innovative, beautiful architecture.

The building was originally to be called--and I am not making this up--Fred and Ginger.

Just a few years after the Velvet Revolution, a new building was commissioned for a vacant lot along the river. The Dancing House (Tančící dům) was designed by Frank Gehry and Vlado Milunić and finished in 1996. Featuring the curves which Gehry returns to again and again, the building is essentially two buildings that look as if they're in motion. If you look, you can see that the windows don't line up, either horizontally or vertically, and that they actually protrude from the facade. The Dancing House is the newest architectural gem in Prague, but I doubt it will stay that way for long.

The point being that, on my way to work, I pass Gothic spires, Baroque ornamentation, Classical restraint, and works of modern genius, all stacked on top of one another, higgledy-piggledy, creating an effect that I honestly can't describe, except to say that it makes everything better. Apparently, when it was built, some people grumbled that the Dancing House ruined Prague's unique effect of a city frozen in time. But Prague isn't a city frozen in time--still in the spirit of Charles IV, it looks to the future while honoring the past. And I get to see it all.

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