It was an enormous canvas, so large that Picasso needed a ladder and brushes strapped to sticks in order to paint its heights, a canvas so grand that he had little doubt of its ability to captivate the citizens of the world who would see it exhibited beside the Seine in only a few weeks' time. Working from the ladder when he needed to, and sometimes on his knees, the artist began to paint on May 11, 1937, and he did so with a hot and focused intensity that was unusually keen even for him. He was determined to transform the vacant canvas into a monumental mural that would disturb and shock its viewers, alerting them to the horror that had occurred in a town in Spain a fortnight before, and reminding them as well that people similarly suffered unimaginable terror in every place and time.
Four months before, in the gray trough of the Parisian winter, Pablo Ruiz Picasso, at age 56 already widely considered the world's foremost living painter, had been visited at his home and studio in the rue la Boétie by a delegation that included Max Aub, cultural delegate of the Spanish embassy in Paris, and Catalan architect Josep Lluis Sert, who recently had completed his design for the Spanish pavilion that would be part of the much-heralded world's fair scheduled to open in Paris in May. The men hoped to convince the artistwhose acquiescence they knew they by no means could count onto paint something bold and arresting specifically for the pavilion, an important canvas that would lend the modest building a cachet it otherwise would not have. As part of their effort to persuade him, the visitors suggested that the painting would remind the world that Picasso was a son of Spain, and that he, like every true patriot, abhorred the rebellion by members of the Spanish military that had thrown the country into civil war six months before and that by now very seriously threatened the survival of the nation's nascent democracy.
Picasso listened, but was filled with misgivings: he had never created a painting as large as the one Sert hoped would fill a focal wall in the pavilion's courtyard; he disliked the notion of being commissioned to create an artwork; and despite his strong support for the embattled Spanish Republic, the mural necessarily would be something of an overt piece of propagandaand the great Picasso was not a poster artist, after all. By the time his fellow Spaniards departed, the artist had gone as far as to assure them of his ongoing devotion to the cause of the republic, and that he would certainly like to be of assistance, but he had not specifically agreed to take up the mural project. He did promise his visitors he would give great thought to possible subjects for the mural, and he had continued to think but do nothing more until news reports reached Paris on April 27 that a town in northern Spain had been destroyed the day before by bombers of the Nazi Condor Legion acting under the orders of Spain's insurgent generals. According to rapidly mounting radio and newspaper reports, the town of Gernikaas its name is spelled in Basque, pronounced Gair-KNEE-kuhhad been attacked during the busiest hours of a regional market day, and the slaughter of civilians and the destruction of homes, schools, businesses, and churches had been its only brutal goal. Picasso, like people throughout Europe and the rest of the world, responded to the news with immediate outrage, and at last he knew he had no choice but to go to war himselfto create the mural in both bold support for the Spanish Republic and in fierce opposition to the fascist tide that was engulfing his beloved homeland.