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When I went up to the halls on my first day, I remember the colleague I had there, a gentleman called Quintín Muñoz Moreno, who was super nice. The first allocation I was given was in the Raphael area, I think it was from Room 1 to Room 7. I got there and I asked “So what do I do? What’s my job? What do I have to do?”. They’d explained to us a little about how it worked, but they suddenly came one day and told us to go up to the exhibition halls to supervise. It felt like a real responsibility. I recall that, on my first day, I could hardly move. I thought that every member of the public who approached the paintings was going to damage them. My colleague said to me: “Don’t worry! Take it easy! It’s all fine! The people who come to the Prado aren’t coming to damage the paintings. You just relax!” The work of a hall supervisor is very important, although sometimes this isn’t recognized. It’s important because, if nothing happens there’s no problem; but if there’s a problem one day, the fact is it’s a very great responsibility. Then whether the work is monotonous or not depends on how you do your job. For me, working as a hall supervisor was never boring. For example, although I was pending of my responsibilities and I didn’t move from my post, people would come up to me and ask questions. Some people ask things because they want to know something when they enter a new place. And I would tell them whatever I was able to tell them. I was delighted to do so. Groups might come in and, if they liked what they heard, they would also pay attention. Which is to say, time passed very quickly when I was serving the museum like that.
With schools you had to be very careful. The kids would walk around with pens and would cross over the cordons. The temptation to touch things is very widespread; I think it’s just a sense of curiosity. The members of the public who come know they’re in a museum and they shouldn’t do it. But when they’re standing in front of a painting, they’re curious to see how it was done and they go up to the picture to see the relief. And well, the hall supervisor is there to prevent that from happening.
The truth is that, for us, it was the groups of French children who behaved the worst at the Prado. At the slightest opportunity, they’d take the cartridges out of their pens and put in screwed-up bits of paper; then they’d blow balls at each other. I was watching and I said to my colleague: “Look, watch your paintings! Look what’s going on!” So we watched them and, of course, we had to call security, who came down and saw what was happening. At least three or four schools have been expelled from the museum. They were very naughty. And when they saw Los fusilamientos (Goya’s Third of May, 1818), it was like a war. You could see why those kids had come … they shouted “Spaniards, Spaniards …!” And they said it in a very aggressive manner.
When they empty the museum, you feel at peace and also happy that you no longer hear the murmuring of the public, especially after a whole afternoon or morning listening to it. You relax and you look at the pictures. That really is seeing the Museo del Prado. The truth is that you can delve into all of the pictures. It’s really lovely and you feel very happy to contemplate what you’re looking at. It’s not the same to see the museum when it’s closed as when it’s packed with members of the public. There’s no comparison. Being able to see the Prado when you’re alone is a real luxury.
She began working at the Museum as a waitress, then going on to work for gallery security, with a brief period of time at the admissions desk.
Interview recorded on May 23, 2018
