Palaces, Paintings, and Poetry
By Emma Neuman
WE ARE IN SPAIN!! Our first full day in Spain started as we walked out of our hotel right under the canopy of “Las Setas,” an iconic center point of Seville’s historical (and shopping) district, to meet our excellent local Sevillian tour guide, Remé. At 9am the heat had not fully hit the streets, encouraging what we saw of morning family walks and runs along the plaza and throughout the southern Spanish city’s beautiful cobblestone winding streets and alleys. Remé playfully noted that we would see many later crowding around the bars and TVs of Las Setas for the local team’s football match against Chelsea (which they sadly lost later that night) and proceeded to describe the significance of the “Las Setas” structure itself. Designed and constructed by a German architect, the structure was initially called the Metropol Parasol, the largest wooden structure in the “world of wood” (even today) that was inspired by the trunks of the Ficus trees seen throughout Seville (planted in 1929) alongside the purple jacaranda trees dotting parks and gardens. Remé explained that its current title was granted through civilian humor and collective references to the “mushroom” as a landmark and meeting point in the city, hence why it is now affectionately known as Las Setas.
While heading to Seville’s Museum of Fine Arts (El Museo de Bellas Artes), we saw honorary statues of some of the most important artists to Seville in the 16th and 17th centuries: Velázquez (1599) was coincidentally born on a corner not far from our stay, and Murillo (1618) is considered the second most famous painter for Seville, and who’s work we would see later displayed currently in the beautiful Santa María Cathedral (along with its harrowing story of theft and recapture (you can still see the cut out of the stolen portion in the hung painting today).
To understand the history of the Museo de Bellas Artes, we needed to contextualize the political and economic realities of the 19th century, reminding me of Professor Rabinovitch’s points on how the transformative history of life and culture in Al Andalucía can not only be chalked up to religious motivation. While locking our bags in the Museum’s lockers, Remé described how, in 1835, the building of el Museo de Bellas Artes originally was a Monastery (evident with its 3 square inner patios that could be used for meditation or prayer, similar to the Mosques we toured in Morocco, and/or the Arabic/Islamic architectural archways and tiled walls), however, in 1835 Queen Isabella II needed money. Therefore, she expelled the convent’s inhabitants and repurposed the land as sold property. Continuing into the first patio, the group started to appreciate the AC and what we discovered to be the “jiggly bushes” (video evidence provided below).
As Remé guided us through time, ranging from the 15th to the 20th century of Sevillian artists (with approximately 1000 paintings total), the paintings that stood out to me the most lay in the first SALA (15th century) when the Catholic Church was the most prominent entity funding artists. What struck me most, again, was not only yet another reminder of the economic influences tied to cultural shifts in religion but also how Remé emphasized we could only recognize the Saints depicted because of the iconography that referenced both their narratives and the knowledge of the time (as specifically exemplified by Saint Christopher (far right), his globe that only depicted three continents (Europe, Africa, and Asia) and the children on his shoulder and in his belt who he helped across the river he is currently standing in). The specific lens of this iconography links to how Professor Lefkovitz’ emphasizes there is never one true history but a kaleidoscope of conflating narratives that constantly layer and overlap (and how the same can be said for the present).
After the Museum, we ventured to the jewel of the day: the Santa María Cathedral. Built initially under Almohad rule, it became a Christianized Muslim Mosque starting in 1248 under King Ferdinand III (now buried in the cathedral and whose mummy was publicly viewed this morning (the 30th) from 8:30am– 11:30pm) until an earthquake hit in 1356 destroying all but the minaret (as seen now) and the surrounding patio/floor plan. Consequently, the Santa María Cathedral we toured was built in 1401, following the previous square floor plan of the Mosque, filling in the perimeter with chapels, and establishing the needed cross layout of a cathedral along the ceiling. Entering the front patio of numerous orange trees and preserved ablution fountains only to transition into the splendor of the Catholic Cathedral itself, felt like walking through a cultural jewelry box of layered history and persevered memory of both Islamic and Christian rule and influence through the intricate integration of Gothic and Geometric styled symbolism and opulence. Remé brought us to the center point, orienting us between Christopher Columbus’s mausoleum (symbolically held by the figures of the four ancient kingdoms of Spain (Castilla, Leon, Navarra, and Aragon), the silver altar, and the Golden Bible before us (created as a visual telling of the Bible for those who couldn’t read or write).
During our tour, Remé showed us the tomb of Columbus’s youngest son, Hernando, who lived and died in Andalucía and was considered a true Sevillian intellectual (founding a library of over 15,000 books at the time) and is therefore honored with the symbols of Spain (the Lion and the Tower) on his bronze tomb plate. We finally wrapped up our visit by climbing to the top of the minaret as Remé centered us with the four stunning directional views of the city from our height (35 ramps up to be exact) before we ended the day exploring the Jewish Quarter and broke for lunch and free time the rest of the day!
The following day, we continued our journey with Remé, but not before a morning briefing with Professor Rabinovitch and Lefkovitz, who contextualized how the “Golden Age” we would see evidence of and hear from Remé started for Spain in 1492 (the time of Christopher Columbus sailing the ocean blue, but more notably, the year of the Jewish Expulsion and right before the Christian legal process of the Inquisition in 1478 by Queen Isabel and King Ferdinand to encourage the exposure of “fake” New Catholics who converted from necessity and not out of true belief and lifestyle). Furthermore, Professor Rabinovitch noted we shouldn’t think Spain’s natural narrative is necessarily more distorted than Morocco’s: both scrub their collective memories depending on the narratives they want today. Additionally, even if one were religiously tolerated under Christian or Muslim rule as an opposing religion (Judaism especially)—if they occupied a theologically submissive position, converting was appealing and arguably an easy alternative (for economic, technological, democratic, and social motivations). This dynamic created “Mozarabs” (Arabized Christians) and later “Mudéjars” (Christianized Muslims).
Finishing our cappuccinos, pastries, and scrambled eggs and making sure our water bottles were filled for the hot day ahead, Remé led us to the Casa de Pilatos (“House of Pilate” or Pilgrimage), an old Palace of the Duques de Medinaceli where a nativity play was commonly held from the balcony of the building for the public to enjoy in the 16th century. Initially, the beautiful house of Arabic arches and Sevillian tiles was built by Catalina de Ribera in the 15th century for one of her sons in the Moorish and Gothic style of the time. Said son remodeled it to the impressionist style of his time (during the Roman Renaissance), producing the stunning vibrance and halls we explored, including Roman statues, golden pineapple ceilings, and geometrically catered gardens.
That last destination (the gardens of Casa de Pilatos) is where we reconvened with Professor Rabinovitch again (alongside the melodic trickling of the garden fountain and an occasional symphony of nearby construction) as he helped us accurately imagine what it was like to live in the “great game,” the chessboard of conquests, rivaling economic and political powers that were wrapped up in religion and competing alliances for the ultimate goal of controlling the Iberian Peninsula, including Andalucía. Much like the beloved show Game of Thrones, there were not two clear competing sides—Christians in the north and Muslims in the south—but mixed alliances, making multiple kingdoms (Christian and Muslim) vassal cities for “opposing” powers. Therefore, it was less a sign of intentional tolerance to see the kept mixed display of Moorish, Jewish, and Christian culture, and more a demonstrated normality of the time, that has only later been reframed by the politics of our times in order to conceptualize our past with what we know because of our present experiences (over and over—a relationship not too dissimilar from the historically comparative poetry and folklore we explore with Professor Lefkovitz in regards to cultural memory). Lastly, Professor Rabinovitch reminded us that when those in power were in a politically stable seat, they could much more easily protect those subjugated (like the Jewish population). However, when things become unbalanced or politically contentious, that vertical alliance becomes problematic for those who feel they need to make sure their hierarchy is established (exemplified by the Portuguese participation in the Spanish Inquisition in 1495)
Once we began walking again, sticking to the spots of shade along the now scorching streets, I remained reflective about the idea that what we see as such an evident appreciation for mixed culture and art, or such obvious evidence of war and black and white conflict, we can never actually truly know—we can only ever try and empathize the best we can with what we know: which means our collective memories are always biased. However, as we experienced and learned in Morocco and continue to here in Spain, this does not mean we can not continue to try and learn from our history with education, tolerance, and discussion in today’s world.
Our last destination of the day with Remé was the Royal Alcazar of Seville, a stronghold used as the control point for every ruling empire that passed through and transformed Seville into the living history we can now walk through. Much like the cathedral, this palace showcases a blend of Gothic and Moorish influences, combining into a vibrant and original display of gold leaf, carved Arabic designs, layered archways (featuring symbolic seashells and the legendary Fatima’s hand), open patios, and 15 acres of gardens (roughly 75 percent of the property). The Royal Alcazar comprises three joined palaces, ranging from the first, built in 1245 under Almohad and Arabic-Muslim rule, to the third, which hosted the planning of Christopher Columbus’s Christian expedition in its reception room. The entrance to the central portion was constructed in 1364 by a Christian king but in a Moorish style (identical to what we’ve seen in Morocco). Due to his supposed friendship and alliance with a neighboring Muslim king, Remé noted that it displays a clear emphasis on tolerance by King Pedro I of Castile. We finalized our visit with a garden maze, peacock friends, and a delightful show of ducklings swimmingly in the provided fountains and waddling under the garden’s running sprinklers (again, a kind addition to such a hot day!).
Breaking for lunch, we said farewell to Remé and nourished ourselves to prepare for our later two-hour poetry analysis with Professor Lefkovitz back at the hotel! During this class, we dissected the various writings of Arabic poets like the “White Skin” by Ibn’ Abd Rabbihi. This course perfectly rounded out our reflections of the day by diving into the comparisons of perfection, divinity, humanity, beauty, purity, and the natural world’s connection to the spiritual. Professor Lefkovitz emphasized that we must first translate the literal metaphors and lines before the figurative to ring the most we can out of each poem and curated phrase. In one poem, we dissected how gardens were interpreted as “sitting in the presence of nature bringing you to a place of faith,” and more interestingly, that since a garden is the man-made version of the natural world, it could imply that in order to experience “true faith,” one needs to embody a daily practice that requires a true relationship with the divine to be earned rather than innately given. This point had me reflecting back to the gardens we’d wandered only hours before, wondering if this was how the royals of time felt about their trees and fountains and, therefore, how important the gardens might have been to their daily practice. “Time alters everything,” Professor Lefkovitz emphasized, and “nostalgia is the many ways in which we perceive the past.” Nostalgia is also our experience of the present in the context of our associated grief with the past. In other words, the collective memory of the Iberian peninsula we have explored thus far has demonstrated to us how Andalucía begins with nostalgia: it was conceptually born for future narratives of this historical time of political, economic, and religious transformation and conflict.
Brains full and stomachs empty, we retreated to our rooms to end the day with a sunset boat cruise and drinks along the Guadalquivir River and finally dinner and a FLAMENCO SHOW—an experience of incredible kill, music, passion, delicious food, and prime time seats.
Needless to say, our introduction to Spain blew us out of the water in only the first 48 hours—thank you Keiner!!
