Unexpected: Spain and the Hispanic World @ Royal Academy of Arts, London
I had no idea what to expect from this exhibition, apart from Goya (obviously) and Sorolla’s light. I didn’t expect vibrant and vivid textiles still beaming colour from 1300 and 1400, or ceramics with Islamic influences, which were both beautiful on the front and interesting on the back too — mashing up heraldic influences with complex geometric designs. ‘Just look what we can do’ they seemed to shout — even pharmaceutical jars glowed.. I can’t believe that the Alhambra Silk dates from 1400!!! (Or the beautiful layout, especially to begin with, which allowed objects to be seen at their best without crowding and later for the viewer to look back through the exhibition).
Then there were the navigational (and prized nautical) maps as they started conquering ‘New Worlds’ and renaming places and peoples who already had names. Such as the padrón real, complete with red Red Sea, held as a closely guarded somewhere in Seville.
Always indigenous labour was made to work, such as in a watercolour of a horrific silver mine (literally rich hill in its name) at Potosí, Bolivia of 1585. Knowing that people were working in utterly inhumane conditions doesn’t help as you look on at the activities being portrayed at the forefront. Intriguingly the top secret map shows only what is ‘known’ and literally places fall off the map as they haven’t been ‘discovered’ yet.
There were also the equally horrible ‘castes’ images which transcribed everyone by ethnic appearance and skin colour into socially and culturally approved ranks, much like Apartheid. Where do you come from takes on a whole new meaning here. To be pale skinned from European descent really mattered to the elites who took over post-colonialism, and led to the creation of vilely dehumanising titles such as this. It’s like a nasty biological formula. The title made me gasp ‘De Mestizo y de India produce Coyote’ — all I can see is a sweet little boy, and very beautiful, proud parents. Despite the labels, their humanity shines through — although I suppose we’re meant to look and see types. I just see their beauty.
And yet the indigenous artists prevailed — indigenous art works and artistic techniques became very popular for their rarity value and skill, and also led to some interesting mash ups — a South American chinoiserie vase, for example (and works made with the healing properties of local clay, including a tiny frog in one case). This led to the production of administrative portable chests with many secret drawers and compartments, keeping the paperwork of colonialism flowing. More beautiful and intriguing was a map showing missions, people, wildlife and places in the Amazonian regions, (the Ucayali river — a tributary of the Amazon), where life was precious as various animals seek to devour the characters on the map (if they’re not careful), as well as frolicking in an oversized way on the river running down the middle of it. This was an artistic and navigational collaboration between Franciscan missionaries and indigenous peoples. The carved admin chest from events portrayed in the movie The Mission meant a lot to me, as the work is beautiful and I love the film, The Mission. There was also a regional map which included battles against the Spanish invaders (and not meant to be included for the official record — but it was!)
By contrast the ‘Indian’ wedding is much more cheerful and integrated, though I am worried about what is happening to the boy being pelted at the back — someone needs to sort that out…
My expectation was that this exhibition to be Catholic art heavy, but there were a variety of decorative arts on display, including an ancient Celtic-Iberian Palencia Hoard (gorgeous spiraling armlets) and Classically inspired works — the goddess Diana was big in Spain in the ancient world. Additionally, there were many works which were worth taking their time over — items to look at again and again, and savour.
Overall, one of my favourite works was the portrait of an unnamed ecclesiastical man by Alonso Cano. The sumptuous black on black, the apparent simplicity, the juxtaposition of the gold clasps of the book (probably a Bible or devotional work) popping out of the shadows of his clothes. The simple hair and beard (hipster by today’s standards) and his hand resting on an hourglass, a reflection on time or time being in God’s hands? Most definitely “The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.” Yet for me it is his hands which fascinate — they are just so real, every tendon, vein, joint captured exquisitely.
Velazquez's ‘Portrait of a Little Girl’ is charming, because she is a fully realised child, rather than a miniature adult. Yet due to the unfinished nature of her dress, she looks about to move. I love her expression too — she’s definitely been told to keep still, watches the artist and looks about to speak.
The newly widowed Duchess of Alba by Goya (1797) gets all the attention. Strangely Goya enjoyed adding details which implied that his extremely high class patrons had written in the sand. Here she is on a sandy estuary or beach, and points resolutely to her writing in the sand of ‘Only Goya’, with hand and delicate foot. Is it a joke or truth? She is all a flutter too in a delicate costume, a wonderful movement of ruffles, spangles and lace, the ‘Black Duchess’. Is Goya sneaking up on her (or coming to meet with/join her) on the pathway amongst the shadowy background trees? (She has also has the best name ever — María del Pilar Teresa Cayetana de Silva Álvarez de Toledo y Silva Bazán).
He gives the same visual style to Manuel Lapeña, a well-styled military man in the swelling dignity of his strokable velvet, silver and red embellished suit, modish cockaded hat, silver buckles and eminence — with an army on parade behind him; (he can be seen in miniature vigorously marshalling them). Although there seems to be a joke here as the servants are in the doorway looking on and the base’s laundry is hung out to dry, fluttering in the breeze — not quite so elevated. Again, he too (perhaps with a flourish of his cane) has written in the sand before him before going back to striking a pose.
Movingly and appropriate for Good Friday was Christ Carrying His Cross. Leered and jeered at by a sea of goggling faces (and facing a brutal death), I really felt Christ’s suffering and pain, not to say public humiliation here as he staggered under the weight of the wood up the hill to his execution and death. Truly his body and blood broken and shed for us, and yet he takes the narrow tough path, the hardest way. We experience the pain here, and yet his compassion and mission purpose as he resolves to go on, ‘for us’.
The Mariners of Castro Urdiales by José Gutiérrez Solana was an excellent group portrait celebrating the working man, although they can’t see what’s ahead, as storm approach. Their dignity is superbly captured here.
Religious devotional works such as these don’t normally appeal, but they were made by the daughter of a sculptor, Andrea de Mena, (and a sculptor in her own right), who carried on sculpting after entering a Cistercian convent in Malaga in the 17th century. Whilst gory, I can’t help but be impressed by the beads of blood — no idea how she did it, but it’s incredibly convincing. This was one of my takeaways — nuns were creative — there were some lights too, (sculpted out of ceramic and glass) which some had produced. I never think of religious retreats containing workshops of busy bustling creatives apart from scriptoriums — time to change my thinking.
El Costeño (“The Young Man from the Coast”) by José Agustín Arrieta again shows how much Spanish and colonial/post-colonial society was influenced by type. In this society, your socio-cultural rank could literally be narrowed down to region/local as well as ethnicity. As it’s the 1840s, he is probably a servant rather than an enslaved person and proffers an abundance of good things, even luxury items. The beauty of this work is in the textures, such as the soft floppiness of his shirt and his bright eyes.
Nor did I expect to like doorknockers, but I do! A mixture of fantastical styles — including crustacean claws, a black head, a sweet little lizard, dragons and stylised wolves. I do wonder at the information card though — which sites the black head on this doorknocker as an enslaved person. Does it need to be negative? While I may be ignorant, the representation does not look obviously stereotyped — could it not be admiration in displaying something so prominently? I may be wrong, but the information card felt quick to speak on this issues — whereas there are many other documents which speak into this issue much more factually and strongly (i.e. Spain’s appalling enslavement of millions of black Africans, transport and ill usage through forced work in the ‘New World’ — partly because European diseases had killed off indigenous peoples there and a new labour supply was needed). But they are incredibly skillful articles of metalworking.
Beautifully lacquered was the glittering Wedding at Cana — and yet I couldn’t helped laughing at the representation. Jesus and his mother Mary are positively lounging and chilled, behind them a man cheerfully knocks back wine, as servants scrub away in the background. Presumably the servants are showing horror at either wine running out or water turning into finest vintage. ‘See what I did there?’ Jesus seems to be suggesting. I had problems placing the bride and groom — top of the table or on their own special red covered tete-a-tete? No-one is quite behaving as they should in this picture! I do like the splendid canopy over the table though.
Much can also be enjoyed in Archangel Michael slapping down rebel angels without a feather out of place — coolly dealing with a slimy enemy or two. Literally unruffled. The action is also in the rebel angels tumbling in a heap into the pit, forever.
I was astonished by Francisco de Zurbarán’s sensitive St Emerentiana; whilst I don’t know her story, this single image of a pious woman of faith, with light bedecked silk cloak, is a wonderful image of prayer and seeking God. Whilst it hints at rich fabrics, it is infact remarkably simple and the more moving for that. We sense her choice at this moment, with her hat (?) put on top of her Bible as a sign of who she puts first.
So much going on here, but a very busy, large disk like badge was a popular thing for a nun to wear, most frequently the Immaculate Conception.
Ditto the Virgin of the Apocalypse — what? Some serious drama also happening here. (Nor am I going to ask why St Teresa was so into St Peter’s sleeve, or why he appeared to have a hole in his skull)…
We need to see more of this guy in these economically straightened times. Rich, kind and generous (St) Martin divided his cloak (with a slice of his sword) to share with a man who begged for a covering. Later he is approached by the same man with half a cloak, only it’s Jesus. To the letter ‘whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ from Matthew 25:40 in the Bible. It was the delicate foot on the stirrup that fascinated me (and why he was cutting his cloak) — great story. Also enjoying the look on the horse’s face as they screech to a stop to help.
As a Protestant this Immaculate Conception portrait first had me sniggering. Cherubs ricochet everywhere; the moon has a face (as has the sun!) and what is with the cherub at the bottom peeking out (and what are they standing on)? But on reflection, I stopped sniggering as it infact shows God powerfully in action and the Devil being defeated by the purposes of God. Hence the jeering cheeky cherub at the bottom — literal ‘not today Satan’ and probably reminding him of his limited time. It’s about God’s victory and the world watches in wonder as God works wonderful things. Satan, enraged, roars in defeat. With so many languages and cultures and customs to navigate, images and visuals became very popular ways of disseminating all things Spanish and Catholic/Christian elements around the world.
To conclude, another bit of Goya. Charming and delightful drawing of a woman with two rumbustious children at play. For a moment I counted three — only to realise that it was a very large sleeve!
Velazquez also painted a superb formal portrait of Gaspar de Guzmán. A man of many titles and roles — 3rd Count of Olivares, 1st Duke of Sanlúcar la Mayor, Prime Minister of Spain (1623 -1643), and King Philip IV’s válido (favourite). He holds a horse whip aloft, his hat is shockingly on the table (he is permitted to keep his hat on in the King’s presence) and squint to see the golden key tucked securely into his waistband — Master of the Bedchamber and guardian of access to the King. I’m not seeing a confident stare so much as someone who seems bogged down by status symbols and slightly uncomfortable about being painted — he seems anxious about how he’s being represented. With a dramatic puff of curtain (Bedchamber controller again) and the wonderful shadows playing under the table and about his legs — these are the things that drew me in. Or chiaroscuro. Not to mention the tactile velvet tablecloth and the twist in his stance — the twist in the silky cloth as the man with many titles turns to face us is amazing. I include large and small images to see the effects in all their spectacle.
Again another status portrait — but I love the heart shaped joins in the armour and the turn of the face towards us. You can see every facial hair!
Lucienne Bréval as Carmen by Zuloaga is an absolute stunner — playing with light and shadow in similar ways to Velazquez. The red leaps out of the darkness, and her shawl bears similarities to a style of admin travelling desk that we saw earlier on (or some South American inspired chinoiserie on a blue and white vase). So full of life and energy, and virtually springs out of the frame towards us, as well as leaving us in mystery — what will Carmen do next?
The Family of the Gypsy Bullfighter also by Zuloaga was photographic. I loved the squirming of the small child, reluctant to stay still — and even perhaps to join generations of bullfighters. He’s beamed at by the proud matriarch of the family regardless, the family pride is tangible and I love the confidence of the women in the portrait (not to mention the saturation of light and colour).
