Postcard from Malaga, Spain: Perusing 2,000 years of art

“Dying Moments: Kicking a Man When He’s Down,” Bernardo Ferrandiz y Badenes (1835-1885), 1881

From Museum of Malaga label: This allegorical composition alludes to an episode in the artist’s life. A man of choleric temperament, he had a run-in with a fellow Academy member… which resulted in Ferrandiz being tried and sent to prison. Deeply shaken by this event, which led to his removal from the post of director of the San Telmo Fine Art School and social and personal disgrace, the once-haughty artist depicted himself as the skeleton of a cat. Only then, when the feline is “down,” so to speak, does the weakest of its sworn enemies, the mouse, dare to scurry among its remains.

Pondered how to pick a piece of art to represent a museum’s enormous collection…. Not sure why this painting by the man regarded as a founder of the Malaga School of painting was nominated, except Day of the Dead has been on my mind.

The Mister spied the painting first, perhaps drawn by the unusual printing painted directly on the frame. Somewhat illiterate in Spanish (understatement), I am label dependent. But what a great personal story – a tale of the politics of art – lurks within that frame.

The Museum of Malaga occupies the Palacio de la Aduana. The former customs house was commissioned by King Charles III (1716-1788) in 1787 in recognition of Malaga’s major role as a maritime trading center.

Two collections, one of fine arts and one of archaeology, were merged to become the Malaga Museum of Art and moved into the almost 200,000 square-foot neoclassical building in 2016. A lot to wander through and absorb, but here’s an abbreviated armchair tour.

Loved the horse “volunteering” his serum to inoculate a child in the 1900 painting by Enrique Borras. But my particular favorite is Enrique Simonet’s 1890 painting of an autopsy – “Anatomy of the Heart: And She Had a Heart.” Alas, now she has none. Seems a screen-shot from a macabre film.

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.

Postcard from Sevilla, Spain: Savior or pillager of ancient relics?

Houses have their own countenance. They have souls. They have something indefinable, born of an idea or feeling. Now, renovated and embellished, it is the short compendium into which my whole life has been condensed. It is the shrine in which I have conserved the revered treasures of my grandparents and the art treasures accumulated during a lifetime.

Regla Manjon Mergelina, Countess of Lebrija (1851-1938)

And the countess did accumulate treasures.

To accommodate some of her sizable acquisitions, the countess purchased a 16th-century palace and began remodeling it in 1901 in the sumptuous Mudejar-Renaissance style originally made popular by the Casa de Pilatos. Entire walls of colorful 16th-century azulejos were harvested from a former convent.

Oh, but what to do about flooring?

Fond of archaeology, the countess underwrote digs outside of nearby Santiponce, the site of the ancient Roman city of Italica. This enabled her to “rescue” numerous long-neglected mosaic floors and return them to their former domestic role in her private home.

Much like Casa de Pilatos established a trend for Mudejar-Renaissance in Sevilliano palaces, the countess’ appetite for authentic Roman mosaic flooring spread to others. Floors from ruins throughout Spain began to disappear into private homes.

Spain was slow to protect the integrity of its antiquities and did not make Italica a national monument until 1912. Perhaps, if private Spaniards had not removed many of the mosaics and statues, they all might have ended up in museums in France or England. The acquisitive aristocratic homeowners in the early 1900s did keep the ancient artifacts in Spain.

The mosaics in Casa Lebrija also now can be seen by the public. The family owning the home opened it as a private museum in 1999. Several other house museums in Seville also feature Roman mosaics.

The flooring actually appears more appropriate in these domestic settings than in the more sterile surroundings of Seville’s Archaeological Museum. And they are in better repair than those remaining at Italica, still exposed to the elements. Now they are returned to public view, it is possible their removal by private caretakers ended up being a positive thing for Spain.

Similar to numerous house museums, portions of the second floor where the family still resides are open for guided tours for an additional fee. No photos are allowed, but the small price of admission is well worth the opportunity to view what originally was the “winter” portion of Palacio de Lebrija. In addition the distinctive architecture and rich furnishings, a few paintings by the elder Brueghel, Van Dyck and numerous Spanish painters are displayed.

And the countess might indeed have instilled a soothing soul in her palatial surroundings. We briefly saw the current matriarch serving as caretaker of the collection. Her son a step behind, she was climbing up the stairs to her quarters unassisted. She was approaching the eve of her 100th birthday.