Postcard from Sevilla, Spain: A trio of Mudejar-Renaissance palaces

Elderly and disabled priests needed a suitable place to live out their lives, so the Brotherhood of Silence undertook construction of an elegant residence to accommodate them in 1675 – Hospital de los Venerables Sacerdotes, or the Hospital of Venerable Priests. No expense appears spared during the Baroque palace, with altars and murals by some of Spain’s most famous artists. The project was completed under the direction of architect Leonardo de Figueroa (1650-1730), who designed San Luis de los Franceses. The former residence of aging priests was restored by the Focus Foundation in the late 1980s and now serves as the foundation’s headquarters and as an elegant exhibition space for the impressive artwork of the collection of its Velazquez Centre as well as contemporary acquisitions.

Among the numerous private palaces open to the public by its owners is Casa de Salinas. The 16th-century Mudejar-Renaissance style palace was purchased and restored by the Salinas family in the 20th-century. As in Casa Lebrija, Roman mosaic flooring found its way from an ancient site into a private home.

Another palace with origins in the 15th century is the Casa de las Duenas. In 1496, the house was sold to a member of the de Ribera family, and its rich combination of mudejar and Renaissance architectural details resembles the family’s Casa de Pilatos. Later, a Ribera descendant married a Duke of Alba, transferring the palace to the House of Alba.

The architectural interest of the house is perhaps overshadowed by the flamboyance of one of its owners, the 18th Duchess of Alba, who died in 2014 at the age of 88. The long-named María del Rosario Cayetana Paloma Alfonsa Victoria Eugenia Fernanda Teresa Francisca de Paula Lourdes Antonia Josefa Fausta Rita Castor Dorotea Santa Esperanza Fitz-James Stuart y de Silva Falco y Gurtubay also was multi-titled. According to Cayetana’s obituary in The Telegraph:

According to the Guinness Book of Records, she had more titles than any other person on the planet, being a duchess seven times over, a countess 22 times and a marquesa 24 times. Yet the Duchess always insisted she was not rich: “I have a lot of artworks, but I can’t eat them, can I?” she once said. Apart from thousands of paintings by Goya, Velazquez, Titian and others lining the walls of her numerous palaces, her collection included a first edition of Don Quixote, Columbus’s first map of America and the last will and testament of Ferdinand the Catholic, the father of Catherine of Aragon.

Her first wedding in 1947 to a son of the Duke of Sotomayor was held in the Cathedral of Seville, according to The Telegraph, the opulent ceremony:

…cost an estimated £2 million in today’s terms and was described at the time as “the most expensive wedding in the world.” The ceremony was so grand that there was concern it would overshadow the nuptials of Britain’s future Queen, held a month later in austerity Britain. The bride wore a white satin gown (view here) modelled on the dress worn by Napoleon III’s bride Empress Eugenie (1826-1920).

The couple had six children, with only one rumored to be fathered not by her husband but by a flamenco dancer. After her husband’s death in 1972, she next wed a former Jesuit priest 11 years younger than she. Outliving him as well, she shocked society, and her children, by marrying a civil servant 24 years younger in 2011. By then, much plastic surgery had transformed her former natural beauty into an almost cartoonish mask. The obituary includes photos of her with her final husband.

Most of her vast fortune, running into the billions, was divided amongst her children. One of her sons opened the first floor of the family residence to the public in 2016.

How’s the GLO managing Alamo Plaza? Welcome to the faux Alamo.

Oft-criticized for its failure to curb commercialism on Alamo Plaza, the City of San Antonio turned management of the historic city park over to the Texas General Land Office.

Millions of people presumably have passed through there since then, and the first thing most see is a caboose-red, shiny metal, faux Alamo Welcome Center. There in the middle of the plaza where there used to be a small table stand with an umbrella shading a vendor of icy cold raspas. It was 99 degrees when I was there, and I definitely would have found a snow cone more welcoming.

Anyway, visitors first glimpse of the distinctive Alamo-shaped parapet is on this booth. Why? Well, that’s obvious. It’s shiny red, and the Alamo with its ancient limestone walls pales by comparison. The Alamo might be free, but the Alamo prefers you to pay for headsets or tours. It requires the bold red to make sure you do not miss the opportunity.

protester with pitifully inadequate #NoFauxAlamo sign

Oh, there’s the real Alamo, along with protester with pitifully inadequate #NoFauxAlamo sign.

While the General Land Office deems the stately Cenotaph nearby as inappropriate for the battlefield site, the powers that be evidently consider this carnivalesque booth a perfect fit.

In case you somehow manage to miss the warm welcome this booth extends to you, there are other signs strategically placed around the plaza.

And there is the opportunity to purchase a photo taken right up close by the Alamo door.

But the appropriateness of the tenant mix and their appearance on the west side of Alamo Plaza was top among the complaints aired by many, and supposedly the state solved that with the General Land Office’s purchase of a row of historical buildings there. A new Alamo Museum is envisioned for the area.

In the meantime, millions of visitors pass by. Strangely, among the most flagrant violators of the sign ordinance governing the Alamo Plaza Historic District (view signage codes here) is the Official San Antonio Visitor Center, with flamboyant advertisements completely covering one its windows. And the Del Sol Color Change shop located next door to the Official The Alamo Store. The GLO evidently is not able to request its tenants abide by tasteful signage regulations.

But, hey, one can never have too many signs addressing Alamo Plaza. So both the San Antonio Visitor Information Center and the Official The Alamo Store plop illegal signage boards right in the middle of the sidewalk.

As a final pictorial update to how the Texas General Land Office is managing one of San Antonio’s most treasured plazas, there is this mysterious Christo-like treatment between the Alamo Chapel and the Menger. I peeked in and could determine no function, but it does arouse one’s curiosity.

Welcome to the improved (?) version of Alamo Plaza.

June 27, 2019, Update: A portion of this post was published in The Rivard Report.

Postcard from Sevilla, Spain: Tiles turn advertisements into enduring street art

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.

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.