Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
The Cheshire Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.
Alice: I don’t much care where.
The Cheshire Cat: Then it doesn’t much matter which way you go.
Alice: …So long as I get somewhere.
The Cheshire Cat: Oh, you’re sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.
All one needs to do to drive up readership in San Antonio is mention the Alamo. The top three posts attracting attention to this blog during the past 12 months were all Alamobsessive.
Unfortunately, the main concern drawing you in, the fencing in of Alamo Plaza, is a horse already out of the barn. The city agreed to turn over San Antonio’s management to the State of Texas and allow them to corral it.
The next two were complaints about the Texas GLO’s non-reverential management of their new acquisition with its addition of a shiny red faux Alamo. Even those images have failed to spur any action; powers that be must be wearing blinders.
Welcome to the faux red Alamo plopped down in the middle of Alamo Plaza.
Sometimes it feels as though sharing concerns for Alamo Plaza is like beating a dead horse, but you apparently are interested in dead horses as well because fifth on the list of most-read posts this year was a postcard “to” San Antonio from Italy featuring an embalmed horse hung by artist Maurizio Cattelan in the Museo d’Arte Contemporanea in Rivoli.
Without further horsing around, the following list represents the posts you clicked most, with the numbers in parentheses representing rankings from six months ago:
Members of the Sanchis family opened El Cronometro watch shop on Calle Sierpes in 1901. Their investment in this monumental wood and tile advertisement must have been substantial, although surely the Swiss watchmaker Longines underwrote some of the expense. Even if the store closed its doors, it is doubtful Sevillanos would permit the sign to be removed. The commercial advertisement has become a cherished part of the streetscape.
On the same street, Zacarias Zulategui commissioned Ceramica Santa Ana to add two tile advertisements for Armeria Z and Deportes Z. His gun shop and sports store have disappeared, but the ads remain. Women no longer roll cigars inside the Fabrica Real de Tabacos, but the tile sign still is embedded in the wall. The last Studebaker rolled off the assembly line in 1966, but the Studebaker mural in Seville endures.
In Seville, the art form has never gone out of fashion. Azulejos are so durable, they are used for street signs. The vintage look is a favorite of producers of alcoholic beverages, who find their installation is embraced as part of the streetscape. Restaurants, bars and shops continue to turn to Seville’s ceramicists to announce their presence to passers-by.
El Barbero de Sevilla
Casa Antonio Los Caracoles
inside El Rinconcillo
And you have to admire the cleverness of the tavern-owner whose frugal three-tile B-A-R sign takes full advantage of the azulejos above it depicting a graceful Virgin Mary protecting the Spanish fleet. The juxtaposition makes the establishment appear particularly blessed.