In search of art and architecture in the Canary Islands

Mallorca was Miró’s muse. The defiant Basque brutalism of Eduardo Chillida is threaded throughout San Sebastián. Antoni Gaudí’s stamp on Barcelona is head-spinningly obvious. But where Spanish artist and Spanish soil are most brilliantly intertwined is more than 700 miles off the mainland on a rocky outcrop…

To arrive in Lanzarote is to become acquainted with César Manrique. The airport bears his name, for starters. Venture beyond it and all but the most blinkered straight-to-the-sun-lounger resort-goer would fail to pick up on his outsized influence on the island – as artist, as architect, as firebrand activist, as creative director-in-residence, and many other things besides.  

It’s also impossible to miss the volcanoes – the original architects of the island – which protrude in every direction. Fly over on a clear day and they look like a chorus of mouths singing to the sky. From the ground, you can survey great swathes of lava plains that look as if they only calcified just last week. It’s dry, hot, painted in rusty reds and lunar greys, and punctuated by only a few hardy palms and succulents. I’m duty bound to describe it as ‘otherworldly’.

If some found the landscape stark, Manrique found it rich in inspiration. After studying art in Madrid and spending a couple of years painting in New York, he returned to Lanzarote in the 1960s intent on both starting an artist’s colony and protecting the landscape against the burgeoning wave of cash-happy tourism ‘prospectors’ (he wasn’t anti-tourism, rather a vocal proponent of sensitive ‘quality’ tourism). 

Although held in the same regard as his contemporaries Picasso and Miró in his home country, Manrique never gained quite the same international recognition. The Fundación César Manrique – a home-turned-museum in the small village of Tahíche – is proof enough that he was a ‘you had to be there’ artist, and Lanzarote itself his enduring medium. This marvel is carved deep into the volcanic rock, a miraculous structure made all the more so when you learn he barely made any sketches or plans – preferring to make decisions with his construction team on the fly. Manrique lived here from 1968 to 1988, a magazine profile framed in the entryway describing him as the man “building paradise in the ruins of hell”. 

The sharp basalt you’ll see here is tempered with curvaceous, smooth white floors and walls. The inside and the outside bleed into one another. A palm tree grows through several storeys to meet daylight. A flow of lava spills inwards beneath a gallery window. It’s a bit Barbarella, a bit Flintstones. It’s the lair of a Bond villain who ditched world domination to throw the swingiest parties in town.

It’s not uncommon for people to enter knowing next to nothing and to leave as lifelong César Manrique obsessives. Plenty immediately make the ten-minute drive to the Jardín de Cactus, his 1991 work of next-level landscaping (which would be his last), where a former quarry, more akin to a moon crater, is filled with thousands of artfully planted cacti and succulents. Its panoramic café – with a statement staircase, not to be missed – is one of the best pit stops on the whole of the island.

From there, you can revolve your holiday around a tour of greatest hits to get a full appreciation of the Manrique mantra: ‘Art into nature, nature into art’. Pop Jameos del Agua into your GPS first. It’s a series of lava caves leading to a subterranean lake and jaw-dropping concert auditorium. Next, LagOmar – Manrique’s staggering multi-level cliff-carved house, to be bought by Egyptian actor Omar Sharif (and promptly lost in a game of cards, legend has it). Perhaps the most famous monument to Manrique, Mirador del Rio rises from a volcanic peak to peer over the sea, all the way out to La Graciosa – a tiny, car-free Canary island worth the day trip. The comparatively sedate Casa Museo de César Manrique in Haría was his home in later life, and it’s where his studio remains untouched to this day.

There’s plenty more besides. But check in to Paradisus by Meliá Salinas and you can get a first-hand appreciation: the resort was co-designed by Manrique and fellow architect Fernando Higueras, and there are original works by the artist dotted throughout. 

The best of the rest

Fuerteventura

Fuerteventura, a half an hour ferry ride south, is larger than Lanzarote and feels a little more desert-like – sand gets visibly whipped over roads by the wind in its flatter parts. 

For small-scale work rooted in tradition, the charming fishing village of El Cotillo in the island’s northwest sports numerous sculpted tributes to the pescadors who have been its lifeblood for centuries. Its most striking is The Fisherman’s Wife, a female form looking out to a famously turbulent sea – a poignant monument to sacrifice that can pack an emotional punch when you’re idly sipping your sundowners. 

On a volcanic mound just beyond Mount Tindaya, you’ll spy an incongruously placed stone-carved statue. Its subject, Miguel de Unamuno, holds high esteem on Fuerteventura. He was an author, a poet, a playwright, a philosopher and a professor before he was exiled to the island from the mainland in 1924 by Spanish dictator Primo de Rivera. Though he returned to his university post in 1930 after Rivera’s death (beginning his lecture “As we were saying yesterday…”), his time spent among the Majoreros (Fuerteventurans) had a profound effect on his work and he’s widely honoured across the island, his former house in Puerto del Rosario now preserved as a museum rich in period furniture. 

Backing on to the water in Puerto del Rosario is Centro de Arte Juan Ismael, a gallery named after the noted multidisciplinary Majorero artist. The gallery shows off his work – he was an acclaimed Surrealist – and offers up space to rotating exhibitions from across Spain. The sea views from the balcony can be just as good. 

Where to stay: In the quiet village of La Oliva, behind an unremarkable door, sits Casa Montelongo: a work of art you can stay in. This two-suite minimalist marvel – designed by architect Néstor Pérez Batista from the bones of the prominent Montelongo family’s 19th-century home – is an ode to the creative spirit of Las Canarias. Each whitewashed L-shaped unit is unique but similarly stripped back and open plan – baths are given almost ceremonial prominence – with a courtyard pool between the two, above which hangs a shadow-casting statement piece by Tenerife sculptor Óscar Latuag.

Take off to Fuerteventura

Tenerife

The largest Canary Island is also its administrative centre, its saltire flag so close to that of Scotland that you’ll double-take each time you see it. It may surprise you to learn that each year in late February/early March it plays host to the second largest carnival in the world after Rio, so Tenerife is no stranger to cultural expression. 

In Santa Cruz, home to said carnival, those after a dose of artistic inspiration tend to seek out Carla. The seven-foot trompe-l’œil sculpture of a young woman by Barcelona sculptor Jaume Plensa sits outside the Espacio de las Artes (TEA) by way of welcome. Here, a large collection of work by lauded local Surrealist Óscar Domínguez sits alongside a roster of exhibitions and a renowned centre of photography featuring Spanish artists from the last century. Down by the water, you’ll catch sight of the Auditorio de Tenerife, a kind of remixed Sydney Opera House that’s iconic enough to feature on Spanish coins and stamps. 

Over in Puerto de La Cruz, a 17th-century customs house is home to Museo de arte Contemporáneo Eduardo Westerdahl, named after yet another Surrealist, this one Canadian. The works of both Juan Ismael and César Manrique feature, and its inner cloister is taken up with palms like a genteel precursor to the Manrique volcano house. 

Where to stay: Up in the island’s northwest corner, framed by the Teno Mountains and a sweeping Seve Ballesteros-designed golf course, is the adults-only Hotel Hacienda del Conde (part of the Meliá collection), which takes the form of a colonial-style homestead with pale walls, dark woods, a scattering of wrought iron detailing, lavish lagoon pools and bougainvillea galore. 

Take off to Tenerife

Gran Canaria

In Gran Canaria, the second most populous island of the archipelago, the Atlantic Centre for Modern Art (CAAM) serves as a comprehensive cultural primer to the islands at large – a rich rejoinder to anyone who dismisses these parts as merely cruise-ship stop-offs.

The contemporary museum celebrates ‘tricontinentality’ – the confluence of trade between Africa, Europe and the Americas owing to the islands’ advantageous position on the map – and charts various Canarian art movements across its considered collection.  

Where to stay: Stroll north along the water from CAAM and you’ll eventually have your head turned by Santa Catalina. Originally designed by Scottish architect James MacLaren in 1890, then spruced up after World War I by Spain’s Miguel Martín-Fernández de la Torre, this is Gran Canaria’s grande dame, and it’s a looker – striking typeface, bountiful balconies, decorative turrets and a water feature at its entrance. Step inside and you’ll see vast ornate murals and artworks dating back to the 19th century. Its roll call of guests includes Winston Churchill, Gregory Peck, Maria Callas and Agatha Christie and it remains one of the grandest addresses in all of Las Canarias. 

Take off to Gran Canaria