Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture 9780292745360

Citation preview

Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

joe r. and teresa lozano long series in Latin American and Latino Art and Culture

A F Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture By María Fernández university of texas press austin

Copyright © 2014 by the University of Texas Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First edition, 2014 Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to: Permissions University of Texas Press P.O. Box 7819 Austin, TX 78713-7819 http://utpress.utexas.edu/index.php/rp-form ∞ The paper used in this book meets the minimum requirements of ansi/niso z39.48-1992 (r1997) (Permanence of Paper). Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Fernández, María Cosmopolitanism in Mexican visual culture / by María Fernández. pages cm. — (Joe R. and Teresa Lozano Long series in Latin American and Latino art and culture) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-292-74535-3 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Art, Mexican—Themes, motives. 2. Architecture—Mexico— Themes, motives. 3. Eclecticism in art—Mexico. 4. Eclecticism in architecture—Mexico. 5. National characteristics, Mexican. I. Title. n6550.f47 2013 709.72—dc23 2013004246 doi:10.7560/745353

To Doña Tele, Lidia, Adela, Zoila, and Josefina

THIS PAGE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

Contents

Acknowledgments  ix Introduction  1

1. Vernacular Cosmopolitanism ■ Sigüenza y Góngora’s Teatro de Virtudes Políticas  26 2. Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings  68 3. Experiments in the Representation of National Identity ■ The Pavilion of Mexico in the 1889 Universal Exposition in Paris and the Palacio de Bellas Artes  103 4. Of Ruins and Ghosts ■ The Social Functions of Pre-Hispanic Antiquity in Nineteenth-Century Mexico  141 5. Traces of the Past ■ Reevaluating Eclecticism in Nineteenth-Century Mexican Architecture  173 6. Visualizing the Future ■ Estridentismo, Technology, and Art  194 7. Re-creating the Past ■ Ignacio Marquina’s Reconstruction of the Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan  221 8. Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium ■ Rafael Lozano Hemmer’s “Relational Architectures”  274 Conclusion  301 Notes  305 References  373 Index  419

THIS PAGE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

Acknowledgments

I owe thanks to the many individuals and institutions that supported me in writing this book. I am grateful to Professor Shirley Samuels, chair of the Department of the History of Art at Cornell University (2006–2012), for recognizing the ripeness of this moment to publish this work. Had it not been for her gentle yet firm encouragement, this book would not have materialized. This book could not have been written without access to numerous archives and rare book collections. My research was facilitated by the personnel at the Archivo General de la Nación, the Biblioteca Nacional, the Antiguo Archivo del Ayuntamiento de la Ciudad de México, and the Archivo Muerto de la Dirección General de Monumentos Prehispánicos, Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología; the New York Public Library, the Hispanic Society of America, the Department of Prints and Drawings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Frick Collection Library, the Benson Library at the University of Texas at Austin, the Bancroft Library at the University of California at Berkeley, the Latin American Library at Tulane University, the Hillman Library at the University of Pittsburgh, the Latin American Collection at the University of Florida at Gainesville, the Resource Collection at the Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities, the Canadian Centre for Architecture, and the Kroch Library and Rare Manuscript Collections at Cornell University. Research for this project was partially funded by a Rudolf Wittkower Fellowship from the Department of Art History and Archaeology at Columbia University (1985–1986), a grant from the American Association of University Women (1986–1987), and summer research grants from the University of Connecticut at Storrs (1995) and the Society of the Humanities at Cornell University (2004). I thank the architect Israel Katzman for his generous assistance in all matters related to modern Mexican architecture; the architect Alberto González Pozo for his guidance and for allowing me to use his library; Debra Nagao for helping me to obtain research materials in Mexico at various times; Maestro ix

x   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Jorge Guadarrama for facilitating my access to the records of the Museo de la Basílica de Guadalupe; Rafael Lozano-Hemmer for generously providing friendship, illustrations, and relevant texts; the late Doris Heyden and the late Mariana Yampolski for their encouragement and hospitality; and the archaeologist Eduardo Matos Moctezuma and Maestro Jaime Cuadriello for sharing their time and some of their published manuscripts with me. Simon Penny kindly took many of my photographs. I am grateful to the anonymous readers of the manuscript for helping to make it a better work; to Elvira Dyangani Ose and Rhea Garen for their assistance with illustrations; to Theresa May, assistant director and editor in chief at the University of Texas Press, for her support of this project; to Lynne Chapman for coordinating the editing and production of the manuscript; and to Kathy Lewis for her superb editorial expertise. I extend my appreciation to my colleagues Rachel Prentice, Sherry Martin, Ruth Mas, Sabine Haenni, Sarah Warner, Anindita Banerjee, Sara Pritchard, Marina Welker, and Wendy Wolford for reading parts of this text and offering helpful suggestions. Rina Carvajal and Félix Fernández-Penny deserve special recognition for their unconditional support. Timothy Murray and Renate Ferro provided me with much appreciated intellectual stimulation, hospitality, and warmth. All translations are mine unless otherwise noted.

Introduction

A F

Cosmopolitanism in Mexican visual culture appears here in a series of case studies taken in historical slices from the seventeenth century to the end of the twentieth century. Cosmopolitanism is understood here as an evolving complex of power relations with material, social, ideational, and affective manifestations, which unite the local and the global, the national and the international, the universal and the particular. To associate cosmopolitanism with power is to suggest its compatibility with violence. I propose that in Mexico, as in other colonized regions, colonization generated and structured power dynamics and forms of violence that persisted in the independent nation-state. In visual culture cosmopolitanism entails juxtapositions, amalgamations, and translations of visual materials from various cultural traditions, which have the purpose of bringing home aspects of the outside world and projecting elements of the vernacular outward. Patrons, artists, and publics assign to these products certain values, frequently linked with hierarchies of economic and political power, which often reify and perpetuate forms of knowledge that constitute the subaltern subject as Other or what Gayatri Spivak calls epistemic violence.1 Consequently cosmopolitanism must be theorized in the light of geopolitics. Literary theorist Walter Mignolo already recognized the need for the development of a “critical cosmopolitanism,” a reconception of cosmopolitanism from the perspective of coloniality—that is, cosmopolitanism understood historically from the sixteenth century until today.2 Inspired by Walter Benjamin’s and Jacques Derrida’s writings on translation, these case studies demonstrate that, as in the translation of literary and other cultural material, the adoption as well as the rejection of established visual forms and meanings in Mexican art can be understood not only as the products of naive imitation but also as the results of informed selection, for translation entails a double movement in the creation of a work that is simultaneously new and indebted to its predecessors. The inability of a visual object to fit within discrete temporal, geographic, and stylistic parameters because of a surplus of referents is linked to cosmopolitanism. 1

2   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Take a work of art that you think of as quintessentially Mexican, dating from the sixteenth century onward, and attempt to argue that the work is exclusively Mexican or Latin American. It could be a representation of a local icon such as the Virgin of Guadalupe or a portrait of a historical person (Fig. 1.2), one of Diego Rivera’s murals (Fig. 6.3), a pre-Hispanic revival building (Fig. 3.1), or the reconstruction of an archaeological site (Fig. 7.3). The difficulties that you might encounter demonstrate the impossibility of explaining many of these works within the framework of the nation-state or from the perspective of regional geography, models that have been influential in art-historical studies. Rather than exemplifying “non-Western art” as it is currently categorized in universities and professional associations, the history of Mexican art could be described as an ongoing process of negotiation between the local and the global. Mexican visual culture frequently involves invention, synthesis, and transformation of diverse discursive and artistic traditions; it reflects and informs desires, expectations, memories, and ways of being in the world. In short, visual culture and cosmopolitanism are fundamental to processes of subjectification and identity.3 This book focuses on Mexico not only because of the country’s long history and former role as the seat of a viceroyalty, but especially because in scholarly literature it is best known for its nationalism and its vernacular forms of expression. Several essays in this volume demonstrate that nationalism need not preclude cosmopolitanism; rather, it frequently presupposes it. My investigation centers on art and architecture produced in response to government commissions in order to challenge the widespread assumption that modern nationalistic projects are exclusively involved in nostalgic recuperation of the vernacular. I demonstrate that the categories of the local and the cosmopolitan are mutually constitutive through time. The definition and validation of the local inevitably conjures the cosmopolitan. I show that in Mexico the production of the local through reconstructions of antiquity and the exaltation of vernacular traditions predates the modern nation-state and was never divorced from other world artistic and intellectual traditions. A secondary but related theme in the book is the rationale for the classification and evaluation of works of art in areas categorized as “marginal” in relation to the traditionally acknowledged centers of artistic development. The first two chapters of this volume concern Mexican cosmopolitanisms that emerged during the colonial period. Some scholars describe the Spanish conquest of Mexico as a cataclysm that turned the world until then known to the indigenous inhabitants on its axis.4 The new era engendered dramatic shifts in population, social organization, distribution of resources, religion, and ways of thinking, knowing, and making. Amid this chaos, the seeds of cosmopolitan

3   ■  Introduction visions and practices originating in Europe took root in the New World, adapted, and cross-pollinated with surviving ideas and practices from indigenous cultures and imported African and Asian traditions. According to the sociologist Armand Mattelart, one of the objectives of empires is to homogenize differences in forms of communication to facilitate the management of people and resources.5 This interpretation is consistent with the theorist Fredric Jameson’s description of globalization as a communicational concept that alternately masks and transmits cultural or economic meanings.6 Spanish institutions initially strove to establish a common culture between the colonists and the indigenous inhabitants through language, through religion, and by the dissemination of European forms of expression. This process stimulated the generation of cultural forms that were both uniquely local and cosmopolitan. In other words, colonialism enabled the development of specific forms of cosmopolitanisms, and colonialism affected cosmopolitanism in particular ways. While the union of the cosmopolitan with the local implies indistinct boundaries between the local and the outside, the relation of colonialism with cosmopolitanism infuses the notion of cosmopolitanism with violence. Regardless of how we choose to explain it, as “conquest,” “encounter,” or “invasion,” the colonization of the Americas was a violent event.7 The population of the Valley of Mexico at the arrival of the Spaniards has been calculated at about 1 million.8 In the short period between 1520 and 1570, this region lost at least two-thirds of its total population; the losses by the early seventeenth century have been estimated at 90 percent.9 Epidemics of diseases such as smallpox, measles, and typhoid fever, nonexistent in America before the arrival of the Europeans, were the primary causes of death, as indigenous peoples had no natural defenses against them.10 War, brutal mistreatment by the Spanish, excessive work, and starvation added to the number of casualties.11 Under these demoralizing circumstances, the conversion of the natives began. Twelve Franciscan friars arrived in 1524, followed by the Augustinians and Dominicans in the 1530s. Because of the priests’ zeal to destroy all remnants of indigenous religions, the art forms believed to have religious significance were obliterated. The Spaniards built their cities and churches on top of the ancient buildings to indicate the victory of Christianity over paganism. The territory that we know as Mexico became the Viceroyalty of New Spain. The New Spanish dominion was conceived as two republics, the “republic of the Indians,” which elected its own officials to report to the Spanish government and deliver tribute, and Spanish towns with their own governance.12 This organization notwithstanding, during the colonial period the two cultures shared the Spanish language, the Catholic religion, and European forms of

4   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture visual expression. Informal sexual unions between Spaniards and natives were common. Marriage occurred more frequently between Spaniards and Aztec nobility. The society of New Spain became more complex as enslaved Africans were brought to replace or oversee native laborers and Asians began to travel to the Americas after Spain’s occupation of the Philippines and the initiation of trade between this region and the Spanish New World dominions in 1573. From the mid-seventeenth century an intricate social hierarchy developed, based on the Spanish hierarchical classification of various groups: European Spaniards, called gachupines by other groups, American Spaniards or Creoles, blacks, Asians, indigenes, and persons of mixed racial heritage who were collectively called castas. European Spaniards and Creoles ranked at the top of the social scale, the people of mixed races in the middle, and Native Mexicans at the base. New Spain’s diversity was by no means exceptional, as European cities also assembled a variety of peoples.13 As subsequent chapters show, the ways in which this diversity was perceived, categorized, and managed were unique to Mexico and had long-lasting implications for visual culture. Spanish colonization inserted Mexico and the rest of the Americas in an irreversible confluence of local and imported cultural traditions. At the end of the fifteenth century Europe, and within it Spain, manifested a variety of artistic and architectural idioms. The Spanish colonists introduced to the Americas a variety of artistic styles traditionally identified as Romanesque, Isabelline, Gothic, Renaissance, and mozarabic, among others. Although much has been written about the development of “Amerindian” arts during the colonial period, most scholars now recognize that by the seventeenth century the dominant artistic vocabularies in the viceregal capitals of Mexico City and Cuzco were predominantly Western European. The consolidation of a dominant visual language did not prevent the evolution of different idioms. Concurrent with the establishment of European forms of expression, artists sporadically attempted to translate or adapt indigenous themes to new visual genres resulting from cultural exchanges of America not only with Europe but also with Asia and Africa. Early colonial builders in New Spain joined medieval and Renaissance structures with decorative details from varied origins and experimented with the Greco-Roman classical canon. Architectural innovations, such as the much-discussed open chapels, reflect a variety of possible influences from Europe, Asia, and the Americas. Although the name suggests a single building type, which functioned as a setting for congregations of parishioners and ritual performances held in open air, open chapels exhibit multiple designs.14 The Capilla Real of the Franciscan Monastery at Cholula, for example, rises on a square plan with multiple parallel bays inspired by the Mosque at Córdoba. By

5   ■  Introduction contrast, the open chapel of the Franciscan monastery at Tlahuelilpa, Hidalgo, consists of a presbytery under a single arch placed on a second story adjacent to the nave of the church. Motifs from medieval, Renaissance, Moorish, and Portuguese traditions merge in the sculptural decorations of the church, façade, portico, and posa chapels at the monastery of San Miguel, Huejotzingo, Mexico (1540s–1571, Fig. 0.1).15 The intricate fresco cycles at Malinalco and Ixmiquilpan illustrate the convergence of Renaissance and indigenous pictorial themes and conventions. The Malinalco murals include depictions of Mexican flora and fauna, Aztec song scrolls with glyph-like symbols, grotesques, and religious heraldry often seamlessly integrated. At Ixmiquilpan Roman and indigenous warriors wearing Aztec regalia engage in battle against an exuberant background crowded with grotesques.16 The dissemination of prints, an inexpensive medium, effectively cosmopolitalized the arts. Christian missionaries used printed images to explicate biblical narratives; thus prints served as agents of diffusion for European culture and Christian values even among those who could not read. Artists used prints as bases for compositions and designs, drawing on multiple European models often from varied geographical regions and periods. This resulted in heterogeneous works with extemporaneous elements. Printed images affected not only traditional European media such as painting, sculpture, and architecture but also newly developed visual forms such as feather painting.17 The crucial point here is that after colonization Mexican subjects increasingly were formed in relation to multiple kinds of European knowledge and forms of visual expression.18 Spanish political, religious, commercial, and educational structures functioned as channels, concurrently limiting and allowing for the confluence and convergence of diverse traditions.19 A nascent capitalism reinforced with religious utopianism powered these cultural flows. The study of visual culture thus makes it evident that colonialism was a condition of possibility for modern cosmopolitanism. Developing at a distance from the daily life of the colonies, the history of art conventionally favored specific European and North American art and relegated the art of other regions and most mixtures of European and nonEuropean art to derivative status. Artistic canons were constructed to encourage imitation (thus the assessment of artists from the rest of the world as “derivative”), for referencing Western canonical works is inconsistent and effectively illustrates the lasting effects of colonial power structures in the production and reception of visual art. In the opinion of both Clara Bargellini and Jonathan Brown, the practice of copying contributed to the devaluation of the art of New Spain in Europe and its areas of intellectual influence, as it contrasted with Europeans’ valoriza-

Figure 0.1. Monastery of San Miguel, Huejotzingo, Puebla, Mexico, 16th century:

arch leading to the main entrance. Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

7   ■  Introduction tion of originality and genius.20 While there is truth in this assertion, copying may have inadvertently contributed to the uniqueness of the art of New Spain. Some of the singularities of artistic compositions, especially in architecture, could be attributed to the practice of creating a design based on a variety of prints. Although seldom intended to determine the final product, copying also is a long-established part of European artistic education. Copying from prints as a learning exercise, for example, was customary in Spain, where some of the artists who later migrated to New Spain acquired their training. Far from passively absorbing and naively imitating European trends, Mexican cosmopolitanism in the visual arts manifests as active exchanges: adaptations, translations, innovations, and deliberate contestations of European hegemony. Although many scholars have investigated issues of agency and subversion in relation to specific works of art and even entire movements, such as the literary reception of literary futurism in Latin America, to my knowledge this is the first study that explores these processes in Mexican visual arts under the rubric of cosmopolitanism.

Cosmopolitanism in Theory The literature on cosmopolitanism includes few investigations in visual culture. Yet images, actual and virtual, are amply recognized as important elements in the production and dissemination of cultural knowledge. While widespread agreement exists on the connection of cosmopolitanism with globalization, definitions of cosmopolitanism range from a political commitment to world peace to elite consumption practices.21 Because of the diversity of understandings of the word, the only consensus may be that there are a multiplicity of cosmopolitanisms. This makes cosmopolitanism an elusive term even within specialists’ circles, yet the word’s frequent usage in popular culture makes its meaning seem commonsensical or “already known.” To avoid confusion, and because my work is theoretically informed, I briefly summarize the scholarly positions relevant to my own propositions here. My discussion does not aim to cover the entire historiography of cosmopolitanism, as the literature on this topic is extensive, multidisciplinary, and constantly proliferating.22 Many contemporary debates on cosmopolitanism arise from the historical evolution of the term. In eighteenth-century Western Europe it involved aspects of internationalism without being synonymous with it. In Immanuel Kant’s frequently cited and much-critiqued essay “Perpetual Peace,” cosmopolitanism had moral and political connotations. Convinced that humankind must find means other than war to secure peaceful coexistence, Kant proposed the formation of a global federation of states united by universal principles of

8   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture right protected by a common international law. He believed that this would lead to the development of an enlightened form of world citizenship unrestricted by geography or culture. As Kant lived before the great colonial European expansions of the nineteenth century, he envisioned commerce as the foundation for a peaceful sociability in this new world culture.23 Multiple scholars have critiqued Kant for his assumption that a European commercial model would be suitable for humanity as a whole as well as for the homogenizing mission implicit in his project, but his association of ethics and commerce with cosmopolitanism remains foundational to some discussions of cosmopolitanism.24 In John Stuart Mill’s Political Economy of 1848, cosmopolitanism was linked with freedom of circulation. The author asserted that capital was “becoming more and more cosmopolitan,” meaning that the flow of capital was independent from the control of any one country or government.25 In the second half of the nineteenth century cosmopolitanism became associated with affluence, as formal education, travel, and leisure enabled a person’s appreciation of diverse cultures and cultural forms. Cosmopolitans were regarded as uprooted and frequently wealthy persons with no attachment or loyalty to country. Accordingly, cosmopolitanism became understood as the antithesis of patriotism and nationalism. Because of its association with wealth, cosmopolitanism also was linked to taste and elite consumption of products from diverse cultures, including cuisine, fine rugs, liquors, and cigars.26 “The parochial person, tied down by the narrow confines of ‘local’ life and therefore simply not interested in different people and customs,” was characterized as the opposite of the cosmopolitan.27 As a result, in cultural production the vernacular was understood as the opposite of the cosmopolitan. These ideas informed the traditional portrayal of the West as cosmopolitan and the rest of the world as traditional and indirectly influenced the scholarship of Latin American art.28 The conviction that the art from this region, in contrast to European art, should be categorized as either rural or urban, for instance, is still strong in the field.29 Recent theorizations of cosmopolitanism in diverse fields of the humanities and the social sciences have concentrated on investigating, elaborating, and countering the previous characterizations. In current scholarship cosmopolitanism is seldom conceived either as an ethical position or exclusively as vacuous consumerism. It is neither the opposite of the vernacular nor geographically restricted. It transcends its traditional associations with urban settings and wealthy classes and in some instances includes the rural. Because of the complexity of the notion of cosmopolitanism, no study covers all the dimensions of the term. Many scholars investigate the political and ethical aspects of cosmopolitanism, often critiquing and expanding Kant’s vision, but their theories seldom

9   ■  Introduction address cultural production. In the opinion of the anthropologist Ulf Hannerz, cosmopolitanism has two primary and perhaps unrelated valences, one aesthetic and the other one political: “In its aesthetic and intellectual dimensions, it can become a kind of consumer cosmopolitanism, a cosmopolitanism with a happy face, enjoying new cuisines, new musics, new literatures. Political cosmopolitanism is often cosmopolitanism with a worried face, trying to come to grips with very large problems.”30 These kinds of cosmopolitanisms can occur independently and sometimes overlap. Although he identifies four more aspects of cosmopolitanism, Hannerz’s concerns remain anchored in Kant’s association of the cosmopolitanism with politics, ethics, and commerce and do little to explain cultural products.31 Departing from the study of literature, by contrast, the scholar of South Asia Sheldon Pollock challenges the traditional opposition between the vernacular and the cosmopolitan and proposes that the two differ primarily in extension: the cosmopolitan is a communication that travels far, whereas the vernacular travels little. The cosmopolitan assumes universal intelligibility and applicability, whereas the vernacular conventionally refers to a very particular and underprivileged mode of social identity. Taking the vernacularization of Sanskrit and Latin as examples, he argues that there is an ongoing dialogical relation between the two concepts. In Pollock’s opinion, the vernacular as a “primeval autochthonous” exists only in mythical representation. It is created over time and is not always restricted to the underprivileged classes.32 Similarly, he suggests that cosmopolitanism is not limited to elites and proposes to understand cosmopolitanisms as a set of practices rather than propositions. This means that cosmopolitanism has a habitual and lived aspect, which may be divorced from an individual’s conscious cosmopolitan affiliations. Pollock’s theorizations mobilize the notion of the vernacular across geographical and class boundaries; because his theories are based on the study of literature, he adds a creative, cultural dimension to the study of cosmopolitanism. His discussion also has important implications for understanding local cultures. If like the cosmopolitan the vernacular is not bound to a specific location, how are we to conceive of the local? The anthropologist James Clifford and the theorist Homi Bhabha, among others, posit that processes associated with globalization (such as travel, migration, and displacement) foster the development of nonelite, radical cosmopolitanisms. Clifford coined the phrase “discrepant cosmopolitanism” to refer to diasporic forms of expression resulting from violent displacements and transplantations. He is less interested in cosmopolitanism, however, than in theorizing notions of dwelling through travel. For him, both travel and dwelling are constitutive of “cultural experience.” Culture is as much a site of travel

10   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture encounters as a site of residence, “less like a site of initiation and inhabitation, and more like a hotel lobby, urban café, ship or bus.” Albeit in passing, Clifford recognizes the impact of modern technologies in the constitution of cosmopolitanisms, noting that oil pipelines and radio and television signals traverse and interconnect multiple sites.33 This suggests that technologies enable articulations among cultures, a proposition explored later in this book.34 Neither geography nor class restricts Clifford’s theory of travel. Like Pollock, he contributes to disengage the notion of cosmopolitanism from its traditional social and geographic moorings. This displacement is relevant to our study, as it may help to understand how someone may develop a cosmopolitan consciousness without necessarily moving. For example, peasants living in a rural setting can travel without ever leaving their community. Through various contacts and media such as print or television, they may be exposed to ways of life different from their own, which they then integrate with their own experience and imagination.35 Like Pollock’s proposal to think of cosmopolitanism as practice, Clifford’s theory of travel implies that a person may partake of cosmopolitan trends without necessarily being conscious of his cosmopolitanism. Like Pollock, Clifford leaves open the significance to individuals and groups of locality and community, notions heavily invested with affective and political power. Cultural theorist Homi Bhabha coined the term “vernacular cosmopolitanism” to refer to a marginal space in which a strong sense of community can be articulated and multiple contradictions, including patriotism and universalism, can be negotiated. Bhabha envisions vernacular cosmopolitanism as a space of translation between “here and there, private and public, past and present,” in which discourses resulting from a precarious sense of survival provide a “moral measure” against which transnational cultural claims are evaluated.36 This theorization is reminiscent of his previous and extensively critiqued conceptualization of hybridity as forms of articulation that subvert colonial authority by exposing its contradictions. The assumption that, like hybridity, vernacular cosmopolitanisms are necessarily subversive is open to question; indeed, some of the criticism that Bhabha has received pertains to the applicability of his theory to elite cultures outside the West that have a high degree of mobility.37 Although Bhabha is primarily concerned with migrants to traditional imperial centers, his concept of vernacular cosmopolitanism is useful for understanding cultural dynamics in colonial Mexico even if it is not wholly applicable. Spanish Americans born in the colonies were marginal to Europeans and dominant at home. These conditions led them to struggle against European discrimination, while indigenous and African peoples had to contend with marginalization by both Spanish Americans and Europeans. We could argue that by virtue of colonization and slavery New Spain functioned similarly to the marginal

11   ■  Introduction space that Bhabha envisions, where claims to universality by dominant powers and a multiplicity of contradictions were evaluated and contested, and where the local became a focus of affective attachments, mobilized to political ends. Although Bhabha’s work on cosmopolitism involves the legacies of the colonial era, colonialism is not the focus of his argument. After the Argentine philosopher Enrique Dussel, the literary theorist Walter Mignolo regards coloniality as “the hidden face of modernity and its very condition of possibility.” Hence he argues that theorizations of cosmopolitanism must be reconciled with the history of colonialism. Unlike postcolonial theorists such as Bhabha, whose discussions of colonialism concern European dominions in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Mignolo begins his theorization of globalization and modernity in the Spanish and Portuguese colonial ventures of the late fifteenth and sixteenth century. For him the development of a “critical cosmopolitanism” is urgent, for it entails the creation of “new forms of projecting and imagining, ethically and politically, from subaltern perspectives.” Without such a commitment, he maintains, there is nothing inherently liberatory about cosmopolitanism: historically, cosmopolitanisms can either support or resist global designs.38 From this perspective, the power of critical cosmopolitanism would consist in its ability to look simultaneously to the past and to the future while ethically inhabiting the present. Mignolo shares with Bhabha a commitment to memory for living the present and imagining the future. Unlike Bhabha, however, he does not examine the notion of cosmopolitanism in the context of the modern nation-state. The relationship of cosmopolitanism to nationalism continues to be fraught with contradictions, as some scholars equate loyalty to country with loyalty to the state and most regard patriotism as incompatible with cosmopolitanism.39 Kwame Anthony Appiah has proposed a “cosmopolitan patriotism” or “rooted cosmopolitanism,” which reconciles commitment to the homeland with interest in the outside. A “cosmopolitan patriot” is simultaneously attached to her home with its own cultural particularities, takes pleasure in other places and peoples, and respects the free will of individuals who choose to leave their place of birth. In Appiah’s view, nations and states matter. Nations matter because people are attached to them, and states are important because they regulate people’s lives. A true patriot holds his community and the state accountable according to specific moral standards. The relationship of the nation to cosmopolitanism is thus individual and affective. According to Appiah, it is affect that differentiates patriotism and cosmopolitanism from nationalism. The first two are “sentiments,” whereas the latter is an “ideology.”40 In other words, nationalism is associated with the state and is mandated from above, whereas patriotism and nationalism are personal and voluntary. In reality, it is extremely dif-

12   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture ficult to disentangle the three. How, for instance, can we argue cogently that nationalism excludes sentiment? The scholar of religion Peter van der Veer regards cosmopolitanism and nationalism less as opposites than as results of the emerging capitalist system in a continuous dialectical relationship. Like Mignolo, he bases his theories on the history of colonialism, for in his opinion the cosmopolitan openness of colonial modernity to other civilizations was fueled with a desire to bring progress and to spread the morality of the modern nation-state. In contrast to Bhabha, who assumes that vernacular cosmopolitanisms reveal the inadequacies of the nation-state, van der Veer sees cosmopolitanism as the engagement of the nation-states with significant others in the colonial context.41 Pheng Cheah and Bruce Robbins incorporate many of the preceding theories and propose that, rather than being an abstract ideal as in Kant’s philosophy, cosmopolitanism consists of “habits of thought and feeling shaped by specific collectivities, that are socially and geographically situated.” This located cosmopolitanism is disengaged from travel, as people often form connections to places that they have not visited and perhaps have seen only in movies or on television. Cheah and Robbins theorize a cosmopolitanism that is multiple: European and non-European, weak and strong, underdeveloped and privileged, yet always located and embodied.42 Despite their emphasis on the importance of habit and embodiment for understanding cosmopolitanism, none of the essays in their collection explore these subjects. Hence the notion of habit remains abstract in their work. This is perhaps because they seem more interested in an analysis of the nation inspired by systems and complexity theory. For Cheah, specifically, postcolonial nationalism and cosmopolitanism are not contradictory, as the nation-state is always inscribed in a cosmopolitan force field. He describes postcolonial national culture as “a double agent that grows out of, resists and can also be pulled back into the processes of neocolonial globalization.” After Appiah and in distinction to Bhabha, he believes that some recourse to the postcolonial nation-state and to nationalism might be necessary for global transformation to occur.43 Cheah’s visualization of the postcolonial state within a cosmopolitan force field is apt to describe independent Mexico, as the nation was never apart from a vast field of connections, attractions, and repulsions. The essays in this volume borrow from all these theories to present cosmopolitanism less as a descriptive than as a relational term. It is more than a pattern of consumption or production or a set of describable characteristics of visual and material forms. It is also a complex of attitudes, behaviors, beliefs, desires, visions, memories, and projections to the past and to the future. Like subjectification, it is only conceivable within power relations; and like the

13   ■  Introduction concept of identity, it emerges and develops in relations between the self, ethnic group, or nation and others.44 Cosmopolitanism is thus best conceived as a fluctuating complex of relations, material and virtual, in which power plays a cohesive and yet unstable role. Several of the studies in this book illustrate the relationship of cosmopolitanism to violence, which has been understudied (although evident in the work of theorists such as Mignolo), especially in the realm of cultural production.45 I demonstrate that the criticism and scholarship of visual culture often replicate and advance cosmopolitan discourses, which perpetuate epistemic violence. In this work, the universal, the global, the international, and the cosmopolitan are related in “extension” (to use Pollock’s descriptive term) but differ in value. The global and the universal both denote extreme diffusion and applicability, but the universal connotes superior value: it presumes to be rooted in nature and as a natural category assumes unquestionable authority. The international is of variable extension; but unlike the universal, it depends on human-made political geography and thus belongs in the realm of culture. Like the international, the cosmopolitan is associated with culture and has a variable extension; but unlike both the global and the international, it is highly invested with cultural values. These categories are not always clear cut. For example, the universal can subsume the cosmopolitan and invest it with natural values; aesthetic styles believed to be universal are also cosmopolitan. All of these processes are to varying extents marked by the local, for all are products of specific milieus. Finally, the category of the local here is understood to be as mutable as the notion of the cosmopolitan but attached to specificities related to place, which can be actual, historical, and imaginary.

Cosmopolitanism in Contemporary Latin American Art History Few art historians and critics have approached the notion of cosmopolitanism in Latin American art theoretically or historically. As the frame for an ongoing project on comparative modernities including Latin America, the British scholar Kobena Mercer proposes a model of multiple modernisms that entail a two-way traffic between the traditional imperial centers and the peripheries. Departing from Clifford’s “discrepant cosmopolitanism” and Raymond Williams’s characterization of European avant-gardes as immigrant formations, he advocates “a migrant perspective” that perceives and values multiple affiliations rather than reifies cultural differences in the manner of multiculturalism. Mercer calls for a recognition of artistic style as a mediating factor among relevant contexts of material production, insisting that it provides “a conceptual bridge to the aesthetic dimension of the art object that cannot be reduced to

14   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture matters of representation.”46 In contrast to theorists such as Fernand Braudel, Mercer understands modernity as beginning in the nineteenth century and extending to the present.47 While his theoretical framework based on migrant perspectives opens up the study of modern art, it is inapplicable to much of Latin American art in the modern period if taken literally as a worldview developed through migration. Furthermore, if considerations of style and aesthetics are to ground future art-historical investigations, new theorizations of these two subjects, traditionally dominated by Western European perspectives, will be necessary. In studies of contemporary art, the cosmopolitanism of Mexican and other Latin American art is assumed but seldom overtly discussed. Jacqueline Barnitz’s survey book Twentieth-Century Art of Latin America, for example, includes a chapter titled “The Avant-Garde of the 1920s: Cosmopolitan or National Identity?”, but she does not explore the concept of cosmopolitanism.48 In a groundbreaking essay, the art historian Natalia Majluf discusses the reception of the painting The Indian Potter by Peruvian artist Francisco Laso in the Universal Exhibition of 1855 in Paris to illustrate the demands for difference and authenticity that the international art world routinely places on Latin American artists. Contrary to Bhabha and other theorizations that privilege the cultural expressions of migrants, Majluf argues that Latin American art has been primarily the product of cosmopolitan artists since independence and uses the word “cosmopolitan” in the traditional sense of elite traveler: “Young Creole Americans traveled to Paris, London, and Rome, not as exiles or émigrés but as cosmopolitans, as participants in a world culture. Whether in commerce, science, or the arts they sought inclusion and equal participation in an international community.” According to Majluf, these artists thought of themselves as international sophisticates and only became aware of their paradoxical position as “marginal cosmopolitans” upon their arrival in Europe. For Majluf the marginal cosmopolitan is a figure of “absolute sameness,” which the demands for difference seek to efface. She explains: “Latin American cosmopolitans are expected to have an ‘other’ language or an ‘other’ culture, different from the culture of the modern West; but these cosmopolitans have no other culture nor can they speak in another tongue.” In her opinion, the production of difference reaffirms international hierarchies in which the art of Latin America is placed on the margins—outside or beneath the culture of the West.49 Although Majluf ’s essay concerns the criticism of Latin American art in nineteenth-century Paris, her argument illustrates dynamics operative in other periods. Writing at about the same time as Majluf, the Cuban critic and curator Gerardo Mosquera discerned similar contradictions in the reception of Latin American art in the United States in the late 1990s: “the media tends to regard

15   ■  Introduction with suspicions of illegitimacy art from the periphery that endeavors to speak the ‘international language.’ When it speaks properly it is usually accused of being derivative; when it speaks with an accent it is disqualified for its lack of propriety toward the canon. Frequently works of art are not looked at: they are told to present their passports, which tend not to be in order for these works are responding to processes of hybridization, appropriation, resignification, neologism, and invention as a response to today’s world.”50 Mosquera’s mention of “passports” alludes to the production of difference that the art world requires of artists from the so-called peripheries.51 After Mosquera, the art historian Lowery Sims views the periphery as an active participant in international culture and not solely as a reservoir of tradition. Sims’s work concentrates on artists of the Harlem Renaissance and on the influential work of the Cuban painter Wifredo Lam, who lived most of his life in Europe and participated in some of the most important international artistic movements of his time yet is seldom acknowledged in the canonical histories of modern art.52 The preceding discussion indicates that in the first decade of the twentyfirst century there has been growing recognition and interest in the dynamics of globalization and cosmopolitanism in the contemporary art world. This direction also is evident in recent studies of colonial Latin American art.53 The symposium “Asia and Spanish America: Trans-Pacific Artistic and Cultural Exchange, 1500–1850” held at the Denver Art Museum in November 2006 and the exhibition The Arts in Latin America 1492–1820 that opened in December of the same year at the Philadelphia Museum of Art include the work of numerous scholars currently investigating connections between Latin America and the rest of the world. The participants in both of these events eloquently discussed historical and formal aspects of Latin American art in a global context but abstained from any theorizations. In his book The Mestizo Mind, the French scholar Serge Gruzinski explains cultural mixtures that transhistorically characterize cultural production in terms of a model derived from chaos theory.54 Although not specifically addressing cosmopolitanism, Gruzinski’s work impinges on the subject because he theorizes cultural heterogeneity in the contexts of colonization and globalization. He uses the word “mélange” to refer to a diversity of phenomena including cultural mestizaje and hybridization, while recognizing that like the concept of “hybridity” this term assumes an original mixture of pure, uncontaminated elements. According to Gruzinski, mélanges have “become an everyday reality, visible in our streets and on our screens. Multifarious and ubiquitous, such mélanges combine individuals and images that nothing would normally unite”; thus they are in need of explanation because of their strangeness.55 In Gruzinski’s work the term “mestizo” designates mélanges that occurred

16   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture in the Americas in the sixteenth century, whereas “hybridization” characterizes mélanges that occurred within a single civilization or historic ensemble such as Christian Europe or Mesoamerica and between traditions that often coexisted for centuries. He critiques the use of the term “syncretism” to describe cultural phenomena because of its generality but concedes that his own terminology is haunted by the same threat: “All things considered, perhaps reality as a whole is syncretic, which would make the concept of syncretism so general as to make it superfluous . . . The terms mélange, mestizo, and syncretism create the same sense of confusion or even doubt and rejection.” Gruzinski proposes a scientific model based on the science of chaos as the most apt for understanding mélanges, hybrid, and mestizo phenomena because, like other natural and social phenomena, these are characterized by complexity, unpredictability, and randomness, implying a chaotic dimension.56 Gruzinski’s discussion oscillates between considerations of complex processes and his focus on cultural production in sixteenth-century Mexico in accordance with his belief that our resistance to abandoning the idea of linear time is an impediment for understanding mélanges. He defines an “attractor” as an element or combination of elements material or virtual, which allows disparate components to fit together by organizing them and lending them meaning. In sixteenth-century Mexico he assigns this role to the complex of signs formed by classical European mythology and ornamentation (grotesques and glyphs). In his view, an attractor does more than link worlds in space and time; it triggers movements of conjunction and disjunction: From tiny details to overall ensembles, these incessant movements seem to stretch the space between motifs, then fold them back onto one another, only to disconnect them once more again . . . The alternate stretching and folding therefore creates a “mélange.” This blending motion, this oscillation, explains all the complexity and diversity. A series of folds needs merely to approach and reinforce one another for the Amerindian dimension to become practically indissociable from the European dimension.57

Despite the theory’s apparent abstraction, Gruzinski insists that mestizo mechanisms are political and not simply “cultural” because they depend on power relations.58 Throughout the book he performs his transhistorical theoretical model by inserting vignettes of contemporary films by famous directors in his discussions of the sixteenth century, continuously folding his narrative from past to present and back to the past. Gruzinski’s arguments and methodology resonate with the work of the philosopher Gilles Deleuze, who from the 1960s until his death in 1995 incorporated scientific theories of emergence, indeterminacy, irreversibility, and self-organization in his philosophy, expanding scientific theories of complex-

17   ■  Introduction ity to social, linguistic, political, and economic realms. In his book Difference and Repetition (1968) Deleuze rejected the idea of linear time and consequently traditional history. He argued: Time is constituted only in the original synthesis which operates on the repetition of instants. This synthesis contracts the successive independent instants into one another, thereby constituting the lived, or living present. It is in this present that time is deployed. To it belong both the past and the future: the past in so far as the preceding instants are retained in the contraction; the future because its expectation is anticipated in this same contraction. The past and the future do not designate instants distinct from a supposed present instant, but rather the dimensions of the present itself in so far as it is a contraction of instants.59

Deleuze further developed these ideas in Anti Oedipus (1972) and Mille Plateaux (1980), both written in collaboration with psychoanalyst and activist Felix Guattari. The two authors envisioned the world as matter-energy in constant flux and textually performed a reconceptualization of history as an open system or more precisely a “nomadology,” which is the antithesis of history.60 Like Gruzinski’s attractors, a “singularity” in Deleuze’s work is “the point of departure for a series which extends over all the ordinary points of the system, as far as the region of another singularity which itself gives rise to another series which may either converge or diverge from the first.” For Deleuze as partially for Gruzinski, the components of a system may be ideas, physical particles, genes, or phonemes. While Gruzinski does not explain the relationship between the real and the virtual, for Deleuze the virtual, the realm of possibility, is part of the real: “The virtual is fully real in so far as it is virtual .  .  . Indeed, the virtual must be defined as part of the real object—as though the object had one part of itself in the virtual into which it plunged as though into an objective dimension.”61 In his subsequent book The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque Deleuze, departing from G. W. Leibniz’s concept of the monad (a soul, “a state of One, a unity that envelops a multiplicity”), views the whole world as an infinite series of folds and stretches of organic and inorganic life, the material and the virtual.62 Gruzinski’s vision of systems of signification contracting and expanding through time and space is compatible with Deleuze and Guattari’s theorizations. Gruzinski’s performative methodology, especially his disruptions of linearity by inserting contemporary film images into his study of sixteenth-century phenomena, brings to mind Gilles Deleuze’s discussion of the disjunctive quality of narrative, image, and sound in New Wave cinema of the 1960s and ’70s, a development that he contrasted with a previous era of cinema characterized by organic cohesion.63 Judging from his citations, Gruzinski’s theories are based directly on the work of scientists such as the Nobel Prize laureate Ilya Prigogine and the scientist and philosopher Isabelle Stengers. The

18   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture parallels between Gruzinski’s work and Deleuze’s philosophy, however, demonstrate that, far from being an eccentric thinker, Gruzinski’s concerns are part of an influential European intellectual tradition. In the field of colonial Mexican art history Gruzinski’s work provides scholars with new tools to investigate visual culture. This is an exciting development. Their generative and innovative potential notwithstanding, Gruzinski’s theories leave some aspects of cultural interaction unexplained. Even though he maintains that mestizo phenomena are inherently political, in his study the politics remain unspecified. Despite his rejection of traditional historical models and his assertion that mestizo phenomena “appear to be mobile, unstable, swiftly uncontrollable,” his book presents the reader with a development that has an origin (the sixteenth century) and an end. In respect to the interaction of ancient American and European cultural motifs, he asserts: “We know how the battle ended, of course. The dynamics of Western influences, constantly reinvigorated over the centuries, would finally win out.” 64 In this denouement mestizo phenomena are no longer open and fluid but become only manifestations of a finite struggle in which the stronger side wins. Gruzinski’s conclusion might be contested by scholars such as Walter Mignolo, who in his most recent work portrays indigenous American worldviews as fountains for innovation and renovation in contemporary politics and culture.65

Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture While I admire Gruzinski’s experimental method of writing history, I have opted for a historical framework to discuss the ongoing relationship between the global and the local. This is due in part to the various times in which parts of the book were initially written and partly because I am as yet unprepared to abandon a linear model of history—if arranging the material consecutively by century implies a linear reading. There are practical advantages to studying the seventeenth century before the eighteenth and the nineteenth before the twentieth, such as to assess possible relations between earlier and later social and artistic developments even if a linear temporal order is as unsustainable scientifically as the cohesiveness of a brick. While I accept complexity theory as an overarching model, my study is arranged in chapters that discuss specific examples or issues within a chronological continuum. I suffer, if you will, from an ambivalence similar to that which characterizes the work of the Deleuzian theorist Manuel de Landa, who constructs a historical theory based on complexity along a thousand-year time line.66 In this study, cosmopolitanism explores the imbrications of power relations with visual culture. Accordingly, the book is not only about the visual qualities

19   ■  Introduction of objects but also about discourses, ideas, desires, and practices fundamental to the very existence of visual objects. Some of the chapters are concerned less with aesthetics and semiotics than with the conceptual apparatus and with the invisible practices that render the objects visible and assign them value.67 Consequently formal analysis, the primary method of art history, does not always perform the same necessary function. Historical studies of cosmopolitanism are transdisciplinary and hence must improvise methodologies. They offer no certainty (proof) or definitive closure. If disciplinary faithfulness is lost, these endeavors yield new interpretive possibilities and understandings that envision history and theory not as mutually exclusive fields but as simultaneously inside and outside each other. While theory helps to make sense of relational dynamics beyond what is accepted or self-evident, the study of history is required to identify the singularities of specific cosmopolitanisms. The studies in this book draw ideas from a multiplicity of sources, an approach indebted to poststructuralism and cultural studies without attempting to replicate the work of any one theorist or scholar of visual culture. Because the book is a collection of essays written over a twenty-five-year period (1982–2007), the chapters vary methodologically. Some are more historical and others more theoretical, often depending on the date when the text was written. Although most of the historical material was original when the essays were first written, my intention now is less to contribute new facts than to propose interpretive alternatives and possibilities for subsequent research. As in Mignolo’s and Cheah’s theorizations, cosmopolitanism in my work concerns movements of integration and disjunction of regional with international tendencies. Rather than specifying a single political orientation, cosmopolitanism refers to a field of interactions. I claim that colonialism, cosmopolitanism, and nationalism are intimately related. Through a variety of means, colonialism brings together diverse peoples and cultures, resulting in cosmopolitan formations. In the colonies the relational patterns that Homi Bhabha first theorized as “the ambivalence of colonial discourse” are central to the development of subjectivity, identity formation, nation building, and nationalism.68 All of these processes are predicated upon the trauma of colonialism.69 This implies that violence is fundamental to some forms of cosmopolitanisms and consequently is an integral and often neglected aspect of visual culture. Signifying practices in the visual arts emerge in conjunction with social, political, and economic processes whereby visual elements are vested with specific cultural value. The consumption of cultural products from distant lands as well as the integration of local and international expressive tendencies in regional visual cultures may function to reaffirm the power of either the local or imperial cultures.

20   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture After Mignolo, I believe that in the modern era cosmopolitanism begins with colonial ventures of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, but I recognize that cosmopolitanism also can aptly describe a field of material and ideational exchanges that occurred in previous eras through trading, warfare, conversion, and imperialism.70 Pre-Hispanic cultures of the Americas manifested their own forms of cosmopolitanism. The Mexica Aztecs, for example, constantly integrated other cultures into their empire. This resulted in distinctive synthetic art forms. Like later Mexican ruling elites, the Aztecs used visual culture to associate themselves with preceding civilizations and with significant contemporaries.71 The concentration of the essays in this book on later periods need not obscure earlier phenomena. The cosmopolitanism that interests me is concerned with more than the international or the universal and is less invested in erasing local histories and vernacular expressions than in reinventing and disseminating them. In contrast to the presumed political detachment of cosmopolitans, Mexican cultural history demonstrates that many cosmopolitan artists and intellectuals were politically invested in the local. They were cosmopolitan patriots in Appiah’s sense. As in Cheah and Robbins’s model, my investigations demonstrate that the Mexican postcolonial state is necessarily cosmopolitan: by virtue of its economic dependence it operates in a global field of power relations and material, cultural, and scientific production. In this study cosmopolitanism is detached from travel. As Clifford, Cheah, and Robbins suggest, people’s ideas and attitudes about places can be stimulated through experience with diverse media. In the course of the sixteenth century Spain initiated intercontinental trade routes between Europe, Asia, and the Americas. These made possible the travel of peoples and goods. Printed material, texts, and images linked European centers and the colonies in the realm of the imaginary.72 Prints were vehicles for the dissemination of aesthetic and moral values. In this sense, the print culture of the colonial era can be considered a nascent network, although there was no organized structure for the dissemination of information comparable to today’s transnational media. I reject the idea that cosmopolitanism entails primarily the consumption of elite products, as inexpensive objects from distant lands have always enjoyed widespread diffusion. Often such objects replicate elite tastes in affordable form. Prints and textiles, among other media, served this function in the colonial period. In our own era, examples include imitations of Persian rugs, plastic replicas of ancient Greek sculptures, copies of famous paintings in poster form, and so on. I use the word “universal” to refer to phenomena construed as such, like the classical tradition in architecture, which I endeavor to interrogate here. The word “global” refers to widespread systems and networks such as capitalism

21   ■  Introduction and media. I use the words “international” and “cosmopolitan” interchangeably to refer to the extension of a phenomenon beyond a singular locality or nation, with the proviso that the cosmopolitan always exceeds the meaning of the international as it refers to relations, qualities, and aspects of behavior beyond the strictures of political geography. Most scholars refer to Mexico’s indigenous inhabitants as “Indians.” Many use the terms “Indian,” “Native Mexican,” and “indigenous [person]” synonymously. Because these words do not have the same cultural valence, I have opted for the terms “indigene” (in Spanish indígena), its synonym “native” to mean originating from a place, and “Native Mexican,” with the understanding that none of these names designates a purely racial category or escapes power relations.73 As discussed above, mestizaje was frequent during the colonial period, affecting indigenous communities to varying extents. After independence individuals were identified as “Indian” if they lived in indigenous or rural communities, but this designation was linked primarily to culture and class rather than exclusively to race. Indigenous peoples seldom referred to themselves as “Indians” during the colonial period, and few do so now.74 In fact, many groups reject the name because it continues to affirm the Spanish colonial hierarchies.75 Mexican indigenes, however, do refer to themselves as indígenas in addition to using specific ethnic names. The term “Native Mexican” is used mostly by North American scholars and seldom by Mexicans. Each chapter in the book examines a different set of issues involving both the local and the global and often overlaps with other chapters. In the first two studies the classical tradition of art and architecture constitutes a cosmopolitan current, which in the last six chapters is overtaken though not entirely replaced by modern science and technology. These flows mobilize not only material products such as artworks or specific technologies but also ideas, values, and future projections, individual and collective. Several of these studies demonstrate the insistence of the local through intellectuals’ and artists’ iterations of the Aztec past from the seventeenth century until the present day. Many of the works discussed in the book actually performed important aspects of critical cosmopolitanism by simultaneously envisioning the past and the future to shape the present. Missing from some of these examples, however, was a dimension of ethical responsibility that contemporary critics and artists are now engaging, as Chapters 4 and 8 suggest. The book is loosely divided in three parts, corresponding to the seventeenth and eighteenth, the nineteenth, and the twentieth century, respectively. Chapter 1, “Vernacular Cosmopolitanism,” on ephemeral architecture, focuses on a triumphal arch designed by the scholar Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora for the reception of the Spanish viceroy Don Manuel Antonio de la Cerda y Enríquez,

22   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Conde de Paredes, to Mexico City in 1680. The work survives only through a textual description and explanation written by Sigüenza. No period illustrations of the original building exist. According to Sigüenza, twelve paintings illustrating the virtues of good government constituted the core of the monument’s decorative program. Rather than relying exclusively on textual and visual models of classical virtues as was customary, Don Carlos used the Aztec rulers as examples. In this manner the Teatro elevated local antiquity to the universal status of Greek and Roman classical antiquity. In other worlds, it cosmopolized a regional history. Further, it suggested that the viceroy, the representative of the Spanish king in the Spanish dominions, should learn the arts of government from local and not exclusively European examples. I argue that this arch contributed to the creation of a Creole Mexican identity, which became manifest during the second half of the seventeenth century. This identity rested to a large extent on the Creole elites’ appropriation of indigenous history to create new narratives that allowed them conceptually to separate themselves from Spain. Sigüenza’s arch was influential for future representations of the Mexican nation. For the next three centuries numerous governments referenced local antiquity for official representations of collective identity. In the second chapter, “Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings,” I investigate analogies among international discourses on architecture and representations of racialized bodies in texts and casta paintings (Fig. 2.2 to 2.5) in late seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Mexico. I show that educated Mexicans simultaneously adopted and resisted reigning European discourses on both architecture and the body, indicating an ongoing tension between local Creole pride and internationalism. This chapter foregrounds my discussion of nineteenth-century architecture: I suggest that the fixation on purity and legibility evident in discourses of the body in the eighteenth century inflected later classifications and criticism of architecture. The essay thus investigates the epistemic violence perpetuated in the discourses of architecture history. In Chapter 3, “Experiments in the Representation of National Identity,” I demonstrate that official representations of national identity in the architecture of independent Mexico were constructed from both inside and outside in parallel with the nation’s industrialization, which relied primarily on foreign capital. Focusing on the Pavilion of Mexico in the 1889 Universal Exhibition in Paris (Fig. 3.1) and more briefly on the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City (Fig. 3.2), I show that images of the local and the cosmopolitan can both be founded on ideas imported and adapted to fit specific political, cultural, and economic agendas. Divergent in style, both buildings exemplified aspects of Mexico that local elites wanted to project. While the pavilion’s pre-Hispanic

23   ■  Introduction revivalism advertised Mexico’s cultural uniqueness, the classicizing Palacio de Bellas Artes represented Mexico as already modern. Both buildings united interpretations of international architecture with visual markers of both the pre-Hispanic past and modern materials such as glass, iron, and a variety of modern machines. The designers’ attention to the technological aspects of the project suggests that technology, like architectural style, had acquired semiotic values. The conflation of these diverse elements constituted a localized or vernacular internationalism that became the standard for subsequent government commissions of architecture in the twentieth century. In the nineteenth century pre-Hispanic ruins became sites of interest for travelers, scholars, and the popular press. The Mexican government funded programs to restore and reconstruct ancient buildings, and images of preHispanic antiquity began to figure in literature, painting, sculpture, and architecture. In Chapter 4, “Of Ruins and Ghosts,” I show that the appropriation and revitalization of the ancient past was part of an effort to define Mexican culture in terms of both ancient Mexican civilizations and the scientific culture of modernity. Taking the site of Teotihuacan as an example (Fig. 4.1), I demonstrate that the construction of an archaic local within this cosmopolitan field often involved violence against indigenes and rural peoples. The cultural valorization of the past was to a large extent dependent on the destruction of living indigenous cultures. Drawing from both history and theory I discuss possible affective implications of such violence and argue for the necessity to imagine an ethics of visuality. My discussion of nineteenth-century Mexican architecture would be wanting if it were severed from an examination of its critical reception. Because of its stylistic diversity, this architecture is widely recognized and derided as eclectic. Scholars have attempted to classify it with little success, as the buildings consistently elude traditional stylistic classifications.76 In Chapter 5, “Traces of the Past,” I question the grounding for architectural criticism based on homogeneous concepts of style and argue that eclecticism characterizes cosmopolitan architectures rather than exemplifying aberrant architectural phenomena or indicating naive imitation of European and American models. I suggest that in architecture criticism the portrayal of eclecticism as anomalous is indebted to the centrality of notions of purity and consistency to the concept of style as well as to discourses of colonialism and nationalism that often permeate the aesthetic evaluation of buildings but are seldom acknowledged. Generally scholars assume technology to be an intrinsic aspect of modernity, yet the relationship between the two is seldom investigated. Like discussions of cosmopolitanism, traditional scholarship on modernity was limited to Europe and North America. In the last ten years studies of alternative and com-

24   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture parative modernities have called attention to the geographically and historically contingent nature of modernity as a construct, but the relation of modernity to technology remains largely unexamined. Unlike modernity, technology is yet to be investigated as an expanded field of action on the world stage. Influenced by Fernand Braudel, Michael Foucault, and Bruno Latour, who respectively find imprints of the past in the penal system of the Renaissance, insane asylums in the nineteenth century, and the dairy industry in the twentieth, I view modernity as a heterogeneous construct conflating elements from various periods.77 Artists and intellectuals in Mexico continuously sought affirmation in a glorious past and simultaneously reached for a modernity yet to manifest. I contend that in contexts such as Mexico, where high-end technology is scarce, imaginings of the modern are as important as material actualizations of modernity. The Italian and Russian futurist movements that became emblematic of aesthetic modernity, for example, both arose in technologically impoverished environments. In Chapter 6, “Visualizing the Future,” I investigate visions of modernity through technology focusing on estridentismo, which scholars regard as Latin America’s first vanguard movement, and with attention to select murals. Technology appears here as a global domain, indispensable to modernity and subject to reimagination and reconstitution from a variety of perspectives. I view modernity as an evolving virtual and actual complex in which projections and desires play a catalyzing role. In contrast to scholars who dismiss estridentismo as socially irresponsible, I argue that the estridentistas’ attitudes to modern technologies were manifestations of social concerns shared by other artists of their time. Estridentista literature, especially, addressed the way in which technology would change society and the human psyche. These concerns were social but not easily readable as local. I maintain, however, that estridentismo developed more as a response to Mexican nationalism than as a blind imitation of European vanguards and hence was rooted in local conditions. Although international vanguard movements such as futurism were important as sources, the estridentistas carefully filtered aspects of those movements to advance their artistic goals in the specific cultural and political context of postrevolutionary Mexico. My emphasis on the imaginary dimensions of technology and modernity sets this essay apart from other studies of Mexican modernity. In Chapter 7, “Re-creating the Past,” I analyze the reconstruction of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan (Figs. 7.2 and 7.3), designed by the Mexican architect Ignacio Marquina. In the mid-1940s the Mexican government commissioned Marquina to design an architecture model to be exhibited in the Museo Nacional de Antropología. Despite the existence of other reconstructions of the precinct, Marquina’s reconstruction was used almost exclusively

25   ■  Introduction as an illustration of the site in both popular and scholarly settings during the second half of the twentieth century. Marquina monumentally represented the architectural achievements of the Aztec past using classical building proportions and a plan familiar to a Western-educated observer. I propose that it was the reconstruction’s cosmopolitanism, not only its accuracy, that allowed it to become and to remain the favored representation of the site even after the excavations of the temple precinct in the late 1970s and 1980s revealed its shortcomings. In Chapter 8, “Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium,” I discuss a selection of public works of the Mexican/Canadian artist Rafael Lozano-Hemmer from an ongoing series entitled “Relational Architectures,” which I interpret as evidence for the emergence of a technologically compatible biopolitics (Figs. 8.1, 8.2, 8.5, 8.7, 8.9). Issues of identity, subjectivity, space, surveillance, the body, architecture, and technology as well as the multiple expressive valences of light have been consistent interests in the artist’s career. I argue that the works’ active engagement with the body of the participant, technology, architecture, and the city stimulates viewers to imagine alternative physical, architectural, and urban bodies. Because of their abstraction, LozanoHemmer’s “Relational Architectures” preclude nationalistic identification; because they are available to a wide public and are often staged in different locations throughout the globe, the works simultaneously internationalize and deterritorialize the local. Even when the works address specific political issues, they refuse a single aesthetic or political narrative and suggest that political art in our global age, rather than taking a merely oppositional stance, might cultivate more complex and elusive tactics. These essays illustrate different forms of cosmopolitanism. Some are selfaware, meaning that works or objects are designed with the goal of integrating regional themes and idioms into international visual languages. Others are what I call “tacit cosmopolitanisms” in which habits of design, manufacture, or aesthetic value engage the local with the global without necessarily entailing a premeditated intention to do so. The Mexican Pavilion in the 1889 Universal Exposition in Paris exemplifies the first kind of cosmopolitanism, whereas Marquina’s reconstruction of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan illustrates the second. Unlike Gruzinski, I do not offer an end to this story. Various cosmopolitanisms continue to emerge, often in unexpected ways. Despite Mexico’s economic underdevelopment, Mexican art and culture are now integrated with the global at all levels, from cheap Mexican artesanías (crafts) and food stands to international high art in many cities of the globe. Cosmopolitanism in Mexican visual culture continues to be a colossal, continuously evolving open work.78

Vernacular Cosmopolitanism

1 A F

Sigüenza y Góngora’s Teatro de Virtudes Políticas

Introduction On May 7, 1680, Charles II of Spain appointed Don Tomás Antonio de la Cerda y Aragón, Conde de Paredes, Marqués de la Laguna, as the twenty-eighth viceroy of New Spain. On September 7, after a three-month journey from Cadiz passing through the Canary Islands and the Antilles, the new viceroy and his entourage disembarked at the Port of Veracruz. Two more months of travel awaited them, punctuated with welcoming receptions and feasts in officially designated cities between Veracruz and the seat of the viceroyalty. On November 30 the Conde de Paredes made his ceremonial entry to Mexico City. This was the last in a series of rituals with prescribed etiquette that established him as the legitimate ruler of New Spain.1 Like all societies, New Spain relied on myths to achieve internal stability; most social and ethnic groups within its confines shared the belief in the king as the incarnation of goodwill and justice. This myth was restated and affirmed in public ceremonies that commemorated the deaths of kings and queens, celebrated the accession or birth of a new monarch, or welcomed a visiting ruler.2 Because the Spanish king could not personally participate in these events, in New Spain some of the festivities that were organized elsewhere to pay homage to kings took place in honor of viceroys. The architecture and art designed for these occasions functioned as advertisements for the good qualities of the ruler, thereby strengthening the myths of royalty and the prestige of its local representative, the viceroy. The festivities functioned as ritual mechanisms that avowed Mexico’s submissiveness and loyalty to Spain and as outlets for resolving internal crises.3 Since the early years of the colony, it was customary to prepare a ceremonial entry for the arrival of a new viceroy in the major towns of the Spanish dominions. In large cities two ephemeral triumphal arches were constructed for the festivities: one commissioned by the ayuntamiento (City Council) and another one by the church. For the reception of the Conde de Paredes, the ayunta26

27   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism miento of Mexico City commissioned Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, a mathematician and man of letters, to design its arch. The monument survives only through a textual description and explanation written by Sigüenza, entitled Teatro de virtudes politicas qve constituyen a un principe. No illustrations of the original building exist. This means that the Teatro is accessible as a visual object primarily through the act of reading, for any reconstruction, visualization, and interpretation of the monument largely depends on the text.4 In his arch Don Carlos eulogized the viceroy and also proclaimed New Spain’s cultural sophistication, the creativity and erudition of its artists, and the pride and self-assurance of the community that commissioned it. Traditionally the decorations of triumphal arches illustrated myths from Greek and Roman antiquity to publicize the virtues of the future ruler. Don Carlos designed a traditional structure based on European ephemeral architecture, but instead of using classical heroic themes as decorations, he chose the eleven Mexica rulers and the Mexica patron god, Huitzilopochtli, to illustrate the virtues of good government. Huitzilopochtli represented Faith; Acamapichtli, Hope; Huitzilihuitl, Clemency; Chimalpopoca, Sacrifice; Itzcoatl, Prudence; Moctezuma Ilhuicamina, Piety; Axayacatl, Fortitude; Tizoc, Peace; Ahuitzotl, Counsel; Moctezuma Xocoyotzin, Magnanimity; Cuitlahuac, Courage; and Cuauhtemoc, Constancy.5 The monument thus joined indigenous subject matter with Christian and classical themes. Through this union, the Teatro elevated Mexican antiquity to universal status and vernacularized European models. Further, it suggested that the viceroy, the representative of the Spanish king in the Spanish dominions, should learn the arts of government from local and not exclusively European examples. I propose that the work’s mobility between the historical specificity of the indigenous past and European classical and Christian themes, then perceived as universal, constituted a Mexican form of cosmopolitanism or a “vernacular cosmopolitanism.” After Homi Bhabha, “vernacular cosmopolitanism” is here understood as a connection to locality mediated and constituted by continuously changing global relations. According to Bhabha, this kind of cosmopolitanism requires neither the negation of the universal nor a dialogic relation with the local. Rather, it is born of subjectivities on the border or “in between” the local and the global and marked by the creation of regional languages and alternative temporalities.6 In divergence from Bhabha’s focus on marginal immigrant communities living in contemporary European centers, I adapt the term “vernacular cosmopolitanism” to apply to groups in colonial Mexico that shared a sense of marginality with respect to the dominant Spaniards, despite occupying a vast range of positions in the social scale. I have long argued that Sigüenza y Góngora’s Teatro contributed to the cre-

28   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture ation of a Creole Mexican identity, which became manifest during the second half of the seventeenth century. This identity rested both on European foundations and on the Creole elites’ appropriation of indigenous histories to create new narratives that allowed them conceptually to separate themselves from Spain.7 Because of these multiple associations, Creole identities traversed a broad spectrum of regionalisms and internationalisms and performed vernacular cosmopolitanisms to varying degrees. The Teatro was implicitly political, as the inclusion of Aztec themes in a triumphal arch destabilized both the identification of virtues exclusively with European models and the superior status of classicism. My argument presupposes an understanding of identity as multiple, often contradictory, and perpetually in flux. The text and the visual imagery of the Teatro proclaimed several affiliations using similar rhetorical strategies. These multiple and sometimes conflicting identifications imply that cultural complexity, frequently associated with transnational identities in our globalized era, was fundamental to colonial subjectivity.8 Heirs to both the indigenous past and colonial conquest, Mexican identities were fundamentally cosmopolitan.

Modern Reception of the Text Literary critics and historians concur in interpreting the Teatro as an example of nascent nationalism, understating both its political content and its cosmopolitan orientation. Until recently scholars construed Sigüenza’s contradictory statements as signs of confusion. This opinion finds resonance in a tradition of artistic and intellectual criticism in which innovative works, especially those from outside the West, are judged as products of the artists’ misunderstanding of Western conventions.9 In an early and impressive study of the development of Mexican identity, the British historian Anthony Pagden recognized the historical importance of the Teatro as the first “experiment” of the Creole elite to appropriate for itself an indigenous antiquity, but he suggested that Sigüenza’s monument and text failed to communicate a coherent political message.10 Pagden referred to the text of the Teatro as “a treatise combining a number of apparently contradictory political arguments in a manner that suggests conceptual confusion rather than any attempt at synthesis.”11 Thus he simultaneously stressed the original character of the project and denied its author intellectual lucidity. Sigüenza’s text is indisputably difficult to read. Obscuring the messages of the Teatro was the Renaissance conception (still present in the text) of the world and all representations as hieroglyphs, enigmas to be deciphered. In this model

29   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism the function of knowledge is not seeing or demonstrating: it is interpreting and decoding.12 Drawing on Walter Benjamin’s work on allegory and Trauerspiel, the literary scholar Anna More explains the Teatro as a secularized hieroglyph, a text-event in which the Creole author presents himself as administrator or translator of colonial society (el eslabón between Spanish and Mexican culture). According to Benjamin, allegory is an ars combinatoria of fragments, citations, and artifice: a combination of profane objects that acquire a sacred character. Baroque allegory originates in Renaissance emblems inspired in Egyptian hieroglyphs. The sacred status of the hieroglyph is vested in its unintelligibility: it becomes profane at the moment of being read. Baroque allegory is ephemeral, for the work of wit (ingenio) is consumed as the text is read. During the Baroque period the development of ever more obscure emblems kept allegory alive.13 In More’s opinion, the multiple voices evident in the Teatro are a function of the form itself. The literary scholar Gordon Teskey argues that allegory literally means the voice of the other. The role of the Baroque writer is that of a magician-ventriloquist, who is allowed to remain distant from the threats that the work entails.14 These interpretations do not release the author from responsibility, for the selection of one form or motif over another is a voluntary act. Sigüenza’s representation of the viceroy’s virtues with Aztec rulers was not only allegorical; it was an overt contestation of European authority.15 The literary scholar Kathleen Ross noted that any study of the Mexican Baroque must take into consideration the shifting reality of conformity and subversion, domination and power, to which the Creole elites were subject. Spanish Americans were dominant at home but were marginalized abroad.16 In Sigüenza’s work these shifts were manifested in a plurality of seemingly contradictory voices, which offered political propositions despite their inconsistency. In the Teatro at least some of the apparent contradictions seem to have been contrived and were presented in a courtly style of etiquette in which contentious statements were made indirectly and immediately covered with a veil (sometimes a heavy drape) of charm and obsequiousness. This style of writing, which a critic describes as “sugar-coated honesty,” was customary in the Spanish court. Rather than exemplifying servile flattery or direct criticism, a single work articulated multiple objectives.17 A variety of visual forms also often expressed goals that appeared ambivalent or contradictory. In recent studies the art historian Michael Schreffler refutes previous scholarly interpretations of seventeenth-century images of the Aztec past as indications of a Creole identity and “nascent patriotism” and instead characterizes such images as examples of what he calls “the art of allegiance,” an art that celebrates Spanish authority while exhibiting the ambivalence of colonial dis-

30   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture course.18 Schreffler convincingly demonstrates that images of the Aztec past had variable significations depending on patronage and emphasizes Spanish Americans’ loyalty to the colonial power. While his detailed, insightful analysis of individual works are valuable contributions to the history of art, Schreffler’s identification of ambiguities in texts and works of art disturbs the opposition of “allegiance” to “nascent patriotism” in his theoretical scheme. Rather than being mutually exclusive in late seventeenth-century New Spain, patriotism, here taken to mean affirmation and appreciation of the local, was intricately bound with demonstrations of allegiance. In his book Glorias de Querétaro, for example, Sigüenza y Góngora illustrates Creole patriotism by frequently referring to Mexico as “la nación criolla” and praising the beauty and richness of the land, the local fruits and flowers, and the devotion of its subjects to the dark Virgin of Guadalupe.19 These attitudes did not prevent him from lauding the Spanish government and sometimes representing himself as a Spaniard. In my analysis Sigüenza’s Teatro exemplifies a cosmopolitanism rooted in local traditions and values. The work displayed this cosmopolitanism through the synthesis of European and indigenous sources in an attempt to negotiate the power relations that these traditions implied and to visualize an ideal Creole nation. In a double movement from the present to the past in order to create possibilities for the future, the text and the images performed a conflation of temporalities alternative to the popular conception of three distinct and linearly related temporal modes. The Teatro’s blurring of boundaries among the autochthonous and the universal, the past, the present, and the future, prompts the reader to infer the interdependence as well as the tensions between the local and the global in the emerging realm of Creole identity. Don Carlos’s educated, courtly, and equivocal style indicates that the expression of this identity was mediated by social, political, and economic circumstances. In the seventeenth century Spain was a tired, aging power unwilling to face the realities of its rapid decline.20 Constantly receiving criticism from abroad for its abuses in the New World, the Spanish Crown fiercely repressed any criticism from inside its dominions. Writers were commissioned to exalt the achievements of the conquerors, to cast the natives as barbarians in need of salvation, and even the most benign criticism of the Spanish regime was met with exaggerated punishments.21 In this climate of repression the careful tone and the layered, seemingly antithetical statements in Sigüenza’s Teatro could be read as tactical rather than as signs of intellectual weakness. Unlike the text, the triumphal arch resulted from a collaboration between the designer, the artists, and the cabildo. I suggest that it was the Creoles’ awareness of Spain’s vul-

31   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism nerability together with an increasing sense of self-sufficiency that allowed the execution of Don Carlos’s design.22 Because the Teatro survives only as a text, it is both actual and virtual. While text in any form is a medium open to close reading and interpretation, the triumphal arch is a virtual object only partially recoverable through a multiplicity of traces. To begin to meet the challenge of evaluating the Teatro, in the remainder of this chapter I introduce the viceroy and Don Carlos, briefly discuss the tradition of ephemeral triumphal arches in both Europe and Mexico to provide an art-historical context for the monument, and analyze select passages of Sigüenza’s text to illustrate his rhetorical strategies and some of the difficulties that modern scholars might encounter in reconstructing the arch. I demonstrate here that under colonial rule it was common (and indeed wise) to pledge allegiance to Spanish authority while simultaneously critiquing, contesting, and mocking imperial power. Instead of negating the existence of Creole identity and patriotism, these contradictions attest to the complexity of Mexican subjectivities and agency. I assume that the process of subjectification is open-ended and mobilized by imagination and desire. Heir to colonialism and to indigenous histories, Mexican identities were expressed by appealing to both the local and a universal global often signified by the Spanish Empire, the Catholic Church, and the European past, especially Greek and Roman antiquity. The Mexicans’ aspirations for both full participation in international culture and establishment of local roots insert the construction of Mexican identity within the purview of cosmopolitanism.23 The art historian Jaime Cuadriello and others have demonstrated that the affirmation of the dual ancestry of New Spain, Spanish and indigenous, was of great importance for seventeenth-century Mexican artists and intellectuals.24 In the Teatro Sigüenza attempted to unify the two parts of this construct by claiming a shared Aztec ancestry between the Native Mexicans and the Creoles. This historicization construed New Spain as different from Spain and the identity of the Creoles as simultaneously other and like the Spaniards. By associating themselves with one of the most advanced Mesoamerican civilizations, Spanish Americans created a cultural base from which to challenge Spanish authority. As Schreffler’s studies make clear, not every Creole chose to contest Spanish rule.25 Even so, the narrative of a single ancestry as manifested in Sigüenza’s Teatro permitted Mexicans to adopt tactical identifications that were to be reimagined and reworked in nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century nationalisms.26 For the next three centuries numerous Mexican governments invoked local antiquity for official representations of collective identity.

32   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

The New Ruler and Don Carlos The biographies of Don Carlos and the new viceroy illustrate differences between Spanish nobles chosen for the highest offices in the New World and gifted Creoles, which may illuminate sources of tension between the two groups. As a Spaniard, the viceroy was a member of a complex culture associated with a specific geographical space; Don Carlos belonged to the same culture transplanted to foreign soil and further transformed. The members of such a culture fit poorly within the societies of one land or the other. Mexican literary critic Joaquín García Izcabalceta summarizes this condition in his description of late sixteenth-century Creoles: they were “Mexicans who had a feeling of identity with the land and its people that the conquistador could not know. They had been suckled by Indian nurses, were familiar with the fluid music of Nahuatl speech, and relished native dishes. Constant contact between the two races produced some cultural rapprochement and a literary sympathy on the part of the Creole for the Indian together with an increased respect for his past.” 27 In other words, the Creoles ceased to identify exclusively with Spanish culture. In New Spain the customary contrast between noble and plebeian was complicated by issues of origin. The Spanish were given preferential treatment on two accounts: birthplace and qualifications. The influential role of birthplace in determining opportunities greatly frustrated Creoles, as it prevented them from gaining access to powerful positions. In order to challenge Spanish rule, Spanish Americans had to differentiate themselves from their Spanish ancestors and construct an identity that unequivocally connected them to the new land. Spanish viceroys usually came from families who had shared in the power of government for centuries.28 Don Tomás Antonio de la Cerda belonged to an illustrious family that had always held high military and administrative offices in Spain and its dominions. The count and marquis was born in the town of Collogudo on December 24, 1638, as the second son of the seventh count of Medinaceli, Don Juan Luis de la Cerda, and Doña María Luisa Enríquez de Ribera y Portocarrero. He was a descendant of two kings of Castille: Alfonso X (the Wise) in his father’s family and Alfonso XI on his mother’s side. Don Tomás Antonio’s father held a number of distinguished positions including governor (adelantado mayor) of Andalucía, constable (alguacil mayor) of Seville, and viceroy of Valencia in 1641. Don Tomás Antonio was the younger brother of the eighth duke of Medinacelli, a favorite of Charles II. He was also a cousin of the archbishop and viceroy of Mexico, Fray Payo Enríquez de Rivera (1672–1680), and a nephew twice removed of the tyrannical and corrupt Don

33   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism Juan Francisco de Leyva y de la Cerda, Conde de Baños, viceroy of New Spain from 1660 to 1663.29 In 1675 the Conde de Paredes married one of the richest and most illustrious ladies of the Spanish aristocracy of his time: Doña Maria Luisa Manrique de Lara y Gonzaga, eleventh condesa de Paredes de Nava, who at the time of her marriage was lady-in-service of the queen mother, Mariana of Austria. The king and queen personally attended the wedding that took place at the Portrait Gallery (Galería de los Retratos) in the royal palace of Madrid.30 The viceroy’s illustrious ancestry and brilliant career offer a stark contrast to Sigüenza’s life. Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora was born in Mexico City on September 15, 1645. He was the first son of Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Benito and Doña Dionisia de Figueroa and the second-born of ten children. His father, a native of Madrid, had been tutor to the Prince Baltasar Carlos. The elder Don Carlos arrived in Mexico with the entourage of the Marqués de Villena in 1640, and there he married Doña Dionisia Suárez de Figueroa y Góngora from Seville. She belonged to a cultured family; the renowned writer Luis de Góngora was among her ancestors. Despite having connections in the Spanish court, the Sigüenza y Góngora family lived in poverty in Mexico. For most of his life the elder Don Carlos worked as a court clerk, a position for which he drew a humble salary.31 At age fifteen Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora entered the Jesuit seminary in Puebla, where he studied theology and humanities for seven years. Sigüenza’s association with the Jesuits ended sourly with his expulsion from the order in 1668 because of his repeated transgressions of Jesuit discipline. Don Carlos returned to Mexico and continued his studies at the national university. He excelled in mathematics and was soon recognized as the most advanced mathematician in New Spain. In 1672 he won the chair of mathematics and astrology at the national university. In addition to teaching, Sigüenza took other positions to help support his family: capellán (chaplain) of the Hospital del Amor de Dios, inspector general de cañoneros (inspector general of aqueducts), contador de la universidad (accountant of the university), and corrector (corrector) of the Inquisition. In 1680 he was appointed as real cosmógrafo del reino (royal cosmographer); it is rumored that Louis XIV offered him a special pension and favors if he joined his court but that Don Carlos declined the invitation.32 Like many Renaissance humanists, Sigüenza contributed to various fields, including literature, history, religion, astronomy, mathematics, and geography. His best-known book is the Libra astronómica y filosófica, an astronomical treatise in which he refuted the assertion of the Austrian Jesuit Eusebio Kino that comets were signs of bad luck. Father Kino expounded his ideas in Exposición astronómica del cometa, written during his visit to New Spain in 1681. Don

34   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Carlos’s response is of historical significance because it is one of the earliest surviving examples of a Creole’s challenge to European scholarship.33 Like the Teatro, the Libra draws on heterogeneous sources, including works by Enlightenment thinkers such as René Descartes, Johannes Kepler, and Pierre Gassendi; Renaissance mystics like Giovanni Pico de la Mirandola; and medieval religious authorities like Saint Augustine.34 During his lifetime Sigüenza y Góngora was known as the highest living authority on pre-Hispanic Mexican history. Although several historians earlier in the century including Juan de Torquemada (Spanish, 1557–1624), Hernando Alvarado Tezozomoc (1520–1609), Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlixochitl (1568– 1648), and Francisco de San Anton Muñón Chimalpahin (1579–1660) wrote about indigenous antiquity, in the second half of the seventeenth century no other intellectual in Mexico produced as much on the subject as Sigüenza or demonstrated comparable interest. In addition to the Teatro de virtudes políticas, Don Carlos wrote several works of indigenous subject matter, including Año mexicano, also known as Ciclografía mexicana, mentioned by Don Sebastián de Guzmán y Córdova Fator in the prologue to Libra astronómica and partially reproduced in the sixth volume of Giovanni Francesco (Juan Francisco) Gemelli Careri’s travel account Giro del mondo.35 In several works with religious-historical themes, including Primavera indiana (1668), Glorias de Querétaro (1680), Triunfo Parthénico (1683), and Parayso occidental (1694), Sigüenza y Góngora reveals great pride in his native land. The titles of other works of this type now lost are known through references in Sigüenza’s surviving writings.36 Native Mexican histories were fundamental to Don Carlos’s work. Like most Jesuit novices in colonial Mexico, Sigüenza learned indigenous languages at the seminary.37 After his expulsion from the Jesuit order, he began collecting codices, maps, and other manuscripts related to indigenous cultures. Around 1670 he acquired the archives of Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, a Mexican historian and a descendant of the rulers of Texcoco.38 Don Fernando collected historical information about ancient Mexico and owned numerous ancient documents that he had inherited from his ancestors. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s archives housed the Codex Ixtlilxochitl, which includes some of the most detailed depictions of indigenous rulers (Fig. 1.1).39 The manuscript is attributed to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, but the drawings were believed to be part of a lost work by Juan de Pomar (written after 1577 and published in 1582) because of their classicizing style.40 These images were important sources for the portraits of the Aztec rulers in the Teatro and for other paintings of Aztec rulers, including an exceptional anonymous portrait of Moctezuma now in Florence (Fig. 1.2). The Mexican scholar Rogelio Ruíz Gomar attributes this work to Antonio Rodríguez, a painter associated with José Rodríguez, one of

Figure 1.1. Nezahualpilli, Codex Ixtlilxochitl, after 1582. Bibliothèque Nationale de

France.

Figure 1.2. Portrait of Moctezuma II, Xocoyotzin, attributed to Antonio Rodríguez, ca. 1680–1697. Museo degli Argenti, Florence, Italy. With permission of the Ministero per I Beni e le Attivitá Culturali.

37   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism the artists who imaged Sigüenza’s Teatro. Using circumstantial evidence he proposes that the portrait was commissioned as a gift for the grand duke of Tuscany, Cossimo III dei Medici, by none other than Don Carlos.41 Ixtlilxochitl’s major work, Obras históricas, is a collection of historical accounts of Texcoco based on native codices and histories as well as on works by Spanish authors such as Hernán Cortés and Francisco López de Gómara.42 Don Fernando left his archive to his son, Don Juan de Alva y Cortés, a friend of Sigüenza’s. On several occasions Don Juan presented Don Carlos with historical documents and possibly in 1670 gave him the whole family archive in gratitude for saving his property from official attempts to confiscate it.43 Don Carlos based his own work on Ixtlilxochitl’s writings and papers by Fernando Alvarado Tezozómoc, Chimalpahin, Juan de Pomar, Gutiérrez de Santa Clara, Alonso de Zurita, and Bishop Zumárraga in Ixtlilxochitl’s archive.44 Predating the Teatro, Ixtlilxochitl’s work responded to the challenge of existing “between cultures” by integrating the history of his indigenous ancestors to Christian-European history, hence adjusting native historical narratives to biblical models.45 Sigüenza’s Teatro follows Ixtlilxochitl’s methodological trajectory but detours on behalf of the Creoles. Don Carlos died on Sunday, August 22, 1700, of kidney stones. He left his library to the Company of Jesus in Puebla. Many of his writings and books were lost in 1767 when the Spanish king expelled the Jesuits from the Americas.

Ephemeral Triumphal Arches in Colonial Mexico Sigüenza’s design for the Teatro was heir to a long European tradition that acquired a local character in Mexico. The practice of erecting triumphal arches to honor rulers or visitors to a city began during the Roman Empire and continued throughout the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Through time the function of these monuments changed from commemorative to panegyric. In Roman antiquity arches built in stone celebrated an individual’s military victories, achievements that enlarged, enriched, protected, or consolidated the empire. The monuments presumably replicated perishable structures built for the victors when they returned home after their military campaigns.46 In later periods triumphal arches made of ephemeral materials celebrated the victor’s moral qualities, including military valor. Usually these structures were not replicated in permanent materials. In Renaissance Europe arches were used for a variety of festive or commemorative occasions: entries of visitors to a city, weddings, funerals, and other religious ceremonies.47 The entry of kings or royal persons into the towns was celebrated with a popular feast. As part of the ceremonies the ruler guaranteed

38   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture traditional municipal rights by an oath. The oath itself was called the Blijde Inkomst or Joyeuse Entrée.48 The festivities included the erection of one or several triumphal arches commissioned by specific groups or organizations, such as the church or the merchants. The Renaissance triumphal arches developed from the medieval scaffold, a kind of stage erected for dramatic performances on religious and secular occasions. The medieval idea for these constructions was to express religious morality through images. Renaissance triumphal arches and monumental architecture generally expressed secular ideals. In the arches the individual honored was compared to a classical hero in paintings, sculpture, and decorations. Despite their classical lineage, triumphal arches varied in different cultural contexts and referenced the classical tradition only partially.49 During the reign of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, classical and biblical themes were joined to produce an image of the Christian prince as described by Desiderius Erasmus of Rotterdam in his book Education of a Christian Prince (1516). Erasmus’s influence was apparent in a triumphal arch built for the reception of Charles V in Antwerp in 1520, in which princely virtues were represented by Wisdom, Justice, Piety, Truth, Magnificence, Love of Work, Immortality, and Clemency. Each virtue was paired with its opposite vice. By conflating Christian and Roman imperial references, the arch differed from both the traditional system of Christian virtues and Roman classicism.50 Later in Charles’s reign the four cardinal virtues—Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Clemency—were usually added to others of eminently religious character such as Faith, Hope, and Charity to illustrate the virtues of the prince. This model survived in seventeenth-century Mexico. In the Baroque period triumphal arches became allegorical representations. As Octavio Paz observed, triumphal arches underwent the same evolution as the rest of the arts during the Baroque period. As if they were not a physical object but a materialized concetto, they became, more and more, monumental enigmas. The paintings, and all the available surfaces of the walls and columns, were covered with reliefs, medallions, emblems, and inscriptions. The monument was converted into a text and an erudite charade. To decipher the monument one had to recur to wise explanations and lucubrations. Like the Great Glass of Marcel Duchamp, unintelligible without the notes of the Boîte Verte, the triumphal arches of the Baroque age had as obligatory complement a book that ingeniously explained, and with the help of the most extravagant erudition, the meaning of the paintings, the emblems, and the inscriptions.51

The Teatro’s textual and visual complexity illustrated the Baroque predilection for allegory, but the work differed markedly from preceding European and

39   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism Mexican triumphal arches in the inclusion of pre-Hispanic themes in the decorative program. The tradition of designing triumphal arches for the reception of honored guests had been observed in the New World since the early colonial period. The first ephemeral triumphal arch in New Spain was erected on December 22, 1528, in honor of the first Audiencia.52 No illustrations of the arches built in the viceroyalty before 1700 survive. These monuments are known only through descriptive explanatory texts that indicate the authors’ desire to make Mexico more cosmopolitan by clothing the local feast with the mantle of European classical antiquity. In contention with these descriptions, the images of triumphal arches in seventeenth-century Mexico that emerge from various sources indicate vernacular accents, as the architecture seems to have evolved from a combination of European arches illustrated in engravings with the local retablos. Like the feast, the triumphal arches were a collaborative effort supported by the local establishment. A poet or scholar designed the whole work and usually wrote the explanatory text. Painters and sculptors executed the canvases and figures recommended by the designer, and actors and students read the poems composed by the poet for the celebration. The structure of the arches was made of wood, thick paper (papelón), and a variety of fabrics. The sculptures and decorations were made of wood and paper.53 To make a triumphal arch usually took approximately one month. When the arrival of a new viceroy was announced, the priests and civil authorities set out to make the most sumptuous arch. They competed for the poet and sometimes formed an agreement with him as well as with the builder and the painter. José Pascual Buxó, Irving Leonard, and others have demonstrated that poets appointed for public celebrations were usually given a theme and were directed on how to develop it by the ecclesiastical or public authorities that hired them. If the themes were not prescribed, it is unlikely that the patrons were unaware of their nature.54 The artists were paid in advance; the arch was given to them after the feast so that they could sell its materials.55 Renowned artists, including Cristóbal de Villalpando and Luis Juárez, contributed to the decoration of triumphal arches. The textual descriptions of festivities functioned as do today’s tourist souvenirs. They were intended to be virtual “reproductions” of aspects of the feast for the delight of those who either had not been able to attend or wanted to “experience” it a second time.56 The educated public of New Spain recognized classicism as the international visual language of their time. Consequently the arches were described as though they had been directly based on the visual

40   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture vocabulary of classical antiquity, although frequently the architecture, paintings, and sculptures were regional interpretations of that tradition. In the description of the triumphal arch for the Count of Salvatierra, the designer, a Creole Jesuit from Puebla, Mathías de Bocanegra, wrote: “In sum, the proportions of the fabric were so exact, so well guarded, the geometry so well practiced, of the plan, that the Roman Marcus Vitruvius could be proud of his mastery seeing his precepts so perfectly executed.”57 This tendency to classicize descriptions also applied to other media. The classical gods or heroes depicted in paintings were usually described as “in Roman dress” or “as in antiquity,” even though the descriptions themselves often contradicted these assertions. A painting in the cabildo’s arch for the archbishop Marcelo López de Azcona in 1653, for example, featured Apollo dressed as the archbishop.58 The practice of classicizing the art validated the feast as a great event at the same time that it obscured or negated its local character. This emphasis on classicism betrayed the Creoles’ insecurity in respect to a European culture that they regarded as universal. Even if the celebration as well as the architectural monument served a local audience, both entered international circulation through the book. The descriptive text then served the purposes of disseminating the local and localizing or vernacularizing the international. While the wide distribution of the local cosmopolizes it, the vernacularization of the international (such as the personification of Apollo) is a form of domestication.59 Both of these movements contributed to the formation of Mexican vernacular cosmopolitanisms manifested in visual culture, including ephemeral monuments. Maurizio Fagiolo Dell’Arco and Silvia Carandini demonstrated that ephemeral Italian Baroque architecture frequently introduced innovations that could later be adopted in permanent media.60 According to Antonio Bonet Correa, also in Mexico “the works of architecture, structure [sic], and painting realized on perishable materials, with no intention of lasting, were the ones that like a manifesto of avant-garde art opened fashion, introduced novelty, caught people’s attention, offering variety, at least in a stylistic sense, to a ritual that always involved the same etiquette.”61 In contrast to Bonet Correa’s opinion, the extant literature suggests that in the last two-thirds of the seventeenth century the architecture of triumphal arches in Mexico had a fairly uniform design. Most were divided into three stages, each supported by a classical order or by caryatids. Often each of the three stages had an architectural order different from the other two. A total of ten arches out of a total of thirteen sampled descriptions fit the three-stage pattern.62 Of the remaining arches, only one, the arch for the Marqués de Mancera built in 1664, is specifically described as having only two stages.63 No exact description for the other arches remains.

41   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism Images of European triumphal arches reached the New World in the form of engravings. Because of their portable nature, engravings constituted a fundamental source for art in New Spain, not only for painting but also for sculpture and particularly for reliefs.64 An image of one of four triumphal arches built for the entry to Madrid of María Luisa d’Orléans, the first wife of Charles II, on January 13, 1680, exemplifies a contemporary three-level Spanish arch (Fig. 1.3).65 This arch exhibits similarities with Sigüenza’s description of the Teatro and with other seventeenth-century Mexican arches in the three-stage structure, the elaborate sculptural decorations and paintings, and a receding central bay. An imaginary triumphal arch illustrated in the cover of the book Crónica de la Santa Provincia de San Diego (1682) by Baltasar de Medina, probably based on an earlier engraving, offers an indication of what a contemporary Mexican arch may have looked like (Fig. 1.4).66 While the regularity of the structure in the first two stages resembles sixteenth-century European arches, the multiple breaks and curves in the contours of the crowning medallions suggest seventeenth-century design. In Mexico compositions of three or more stages with an arch as a central motif are common in retables (retablos) and seventeenth-century church façades. In part this explains why the writers of the descriptions of festivities spent little time on the architecture: the arch was a traditional, preordained structure. Exceptional arches were noted as such.67 Descriptions of other ephemeral monuments also indicate customary repetition of the designs. Gemelli Careri wrote about the funerary monuments that he saw during holy week in Mexico City in 1697: “The sepulchers or monuments that are erected in Mexico are pretty and colorful but poor in lights. They are all the same and every year are arranged in the same manner.”68 This suggests that ephemeral architectural structures in the seventeenth century usually followed established patterns rather than setting new trends. Retablos are large altarpieces made of wood, gilded and painted and decorated with paintings and sculptures (Fig. 1.5).69 The process of making a retablo and the organization of artisan guilds in colonial Mexico both suggest a strong connection between the arches and the retablos. Although the ordinances for builders (albañiles) of 1599 required masters to know about the design, proportions, and constructions of various kinds of arches, the literature is unclear as to what kind of artist customarily built the triumphal arches.70 Of eleven maestros mayores practicing in seventeenth-century Mexico City, only one is credited with building a triumphal arch. The master in question is Andrés de Concha, who practiced as a painter and sculptor before becoming an architect. The records on the artist, however, are unclear as to whether two individual artists had the same name.71 The records of the ayuntamiento are equally impre-

Figure 1.3. José Tates, José de Acedo, Pedro Dávila Anicientos, Jerónimo González,

et al., arch for the entry of Marie-Luise d’Orléans to Madrid, 1680. Courtesy of Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid.

Figure 1.4. Frontispiece, Baltasar de Medina, Chronica de la santa provincia

de San Diego de México de religiosos descalzos de N.S.P.S. Francisco en la Nueva España.

44   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture cise, for they mention the noblemen who oversaw the projects but seldom the artists involved.72 As was the case for other artisans in viceregal Mexico, sculptors had to be licensed by a guild. This meant that they had to comply with a series of ordinances and pass an examination set by the guild.73 The ordinances specified the guild’s control over the production and sale of works in wood and determined precisely what the specialized artists and artisans who worked in that medium should know.74 Of the artisans who worked in wood, the entalladores (carvers) were the most knowledgeable about architecture. Before being granted a certificate by the guild, the entallador first must know how to arrange, draw, and trace in natural scale the projection planes of a figure [montea], a plan, or plans; if it [the building] has many stages these should conform to good architecture. His abilities to render and execute architectural members in each of the five genres, Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite, should be specially noticed. He should be examined in carving and sculpture, taking account of each area through practice, theory, and demonstration, and the one who was examined in all of this faculty can establish a store. Should he take works in wood or in stone involving more than the material he was examined in he will be fined twenty pesos.75

Entalladores also had to know how to carve foliage, cherubs, and birds and how to execute the background of a retablo.76 Painters and gilders were forbidden to engage in carving, just as carvers were forbidden to make works of architecture.77 It was possible, however, to be licensed by more than one guild.78 Because ephemeral arches were made with wood and given the appearance of gold and marble, they must have been carved by professional carvers and joiners and finished by painters or guilders.79 The triumphal arches were official commissions; thus it is unlikely that either the cabildo or the church would have employed unlicensed craftsmen. Descriptions of festivities mention that only the best artists were appointed to make the arches. The connection between the arches and the retablos matters: if the same artists worked in the two forms, the arches may have manifested stylistic and regional characteristics similar to those of the retablos.80 The foregoing discussion concerns architectural precedents for the triumphal arch for the Conde de Paredes. Because the monument survives only through Sigüenza y Góngora’s explanatory text, the visual media that we might associate with the textual description play supporting roles. To visualize the arch and to assess its significance we must now engage with Don Carlos’s treatise.

Figure 1.5. Retablo, Santo Domingo, Oaxaca, 1575–1611. Photo: Simon Penny.

conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

46   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Sigüenza y Góngora’s Teatro de Virtudes Políticas Sigüenza’s account can be roughly divided into four parts: a dedication; three preludes; a description and explanation of the fábrica, including the architecture and decorations; and a final poem. About one-third of the text is in Latin, the universal scholarly language of his time.81 To support his ambiguous and politically charged arguments, Don Carlos cites numerous authors from Greek antiquity to his own day, including Euripides, Henrico Farnese, Herodotus, Virgil, Saint Augustine, Alejo Vanegas, Fray Gregorio García, Julius Pollux, Macrobius, Seneca, and Homer, among many others.82 Sigüenza’s erudition and multilingualism flaunted his cosmopolitanism and by extension the sophistication of New Spain to his intended audience: educated Spaniards and Creoles. The Teatro offers a lesson not only in representation but also in tactics of contestation through ambiguity. Using apparently inoffensive techniques such as translating, supplementing, and inverting accepted meanings within the dominant language, Don Carlos challenges the tenets of Spanish supremacy. He vacillates between an arrogant and defensive tone and a subservient voice, one often following and masking the other. This technique is maintained throughout the text, resulting in a remarkable collection of double entendres. Sigüenza’s description suggests that visually the arch performed similar work, for the contraposition and conflation of architectural forms, themes, and pictorial conventions from multiple traditions result in ambiguous visual communications. In this manner the author introduces instability into both the established courtly discourse and the visual etiquette of the European triumphal entry. The text and the images create conceptual dissonance, resulting in a simultaneously vernacular and cosmopolitan expression. Sigüenza’s description of the monument purportedly guides the reader through a selection of images, which individuals have the potential to visualize in the process of reading. The problem is that Don Carlos’s style of writing, his impreciseness, the multiplicity of his sources, and the archaic Spanish of his time make his descriptions almost impenetrable to the modern reader. It is extremely difficult for anyone who is unfamiliar with the conventions of Aztec picture writing and royal costume, as well as the attributes for classical virtues, to envisage the paintings. The German scholar Helga von Kügelgen attempted to reconstruct the Teatro, with special attention to Sigüenza’s European sources. She discovered that Don Carlos seldom adhered to any one visual source as a model. His descriptions frequently reveal an “agglomeration” of sources, making it extremely difficult to reconstruct the images faithfully.83 For these

47   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism reasons, she opted for schematic linear drawings to represent the architecture and made no effort to image either the paintings or the sculptural decorations (Figs. 1.6, 1.7). In the opinion of many art historians, when evidence is lacking, this diagrammatic form of representation makes a reconstruction scientifically objective.84 It is not necessary to engage with this assumption here, but I do suggest that even schematic reconstructions involve the viewer’s imagination and subjectivity.

Figure 1.6. Helga von Kügelgen, reconstruction, north façade of the arch for the Teatro de virtudes políticas (1680). Courtesy Helga von Kügelgen.

Figure 1.7. Helga von Kügelgen,

reconstruction, south façade of the arch for the Teatro de virtudes políticas (1680). Courtesy Helga von Kügelgen.

48   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture In his book The Image and The Eye, Ernst Gombrich argued that the apprehension of an image depends in part on past experience. Where the representation is sketchy, the observer supplements with memory images, which consist of schemas, images constructed through repeated observations of the natural world. But these images are insufficient to explain the role of the beholder in viewing, for “it is not to the memory of information previously stored that the image appeals to but to the very faculty that Reynolds invokes, the imagination.”85 In sum, the imagination is an indispensable component in the apprehension of any image. If Gombrich’s assumptions are correct, schematic drawings of Sigüenza’s arch transform his description into an image, which, lacking specific details, functions as a frame for individual imaginings. Guided by Sigüenza’s textual description, each reader’s vision of the arch will constitute a virtual object informed by previous knowledge and imagination.

Dedication and Preludes In the dedication Sigüenza expresses his respect and admiration for the viceroy as well as his delight in having been appointed as designer of the arch. He explicitly states that the viceroy is to serve as a model for the virtues represented in the paintings. I recognize this occasion in which my fortune placed me as a glorious reward for my studies. The greatest happiness to which I could aspire is to prostrate myself at your Excellency’s feet to exalt my fortune; the latter will rise to a greater eminence if I obtain that you accept with affection this triumphal arch of political virtues in which your Excellency can serve as august model so that those [the virtues represented in the arch] can be reformed and be eternally applauded with heroic prerogatives.86

Sigüenza explains that the viceroy comes from such high nobility that “Mexico could do no less than to make use of its kings and emperors” to celebrate his arrival with dignity. He suggests that destiny selected Don Manuel Antonio to resurrect the dead Mexican rulers: And if it was fortune’s destiny that on some occasion the Mexican monarchs were reborn from the ashes in which oblivion placed them, so that like the phoenixes of the West they were immortalized by fame, never could they obtain that better than in the present, Your Excellency being the one who would infuse the spirit in them, as your royal and most excellent house has done other times with the ones [the houses] that enlighten Europe.87

Here Don Carlos suggests that the memory of the Aztec rulers be reborn through the viceroy’s virtues. This invocation of the ancient rulers is reminis-

49   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism cent of Native Mexicans’ exhortations of the spirits of deceased kings to return to life in the songs, poetry, and dances associated with the Ghost Dance Cult during the sixteenth century, including the dances known as tocotínes or mitotes, which I have identified elsewhere as important precedents of the Teatro.88 In this passage Sigüenza’s portrayal of the viceroy as a life-giving force reinforces the belief, used as a justification for the conquest, that the mission of the Spanish was to save the natives. As heathens, indigenous peoples were spiritually dead; only Christianity could restore them to life. By making the viceroy into an earthly savior who would resurrect the Aztec rulers, Sigüenza enfolds one message with the other, a tactic that celebrates Spanish authority while simultaneously asserting the indigenous heritage of New Spain. In the three preludes that follow, Don Carlos declares three purposes for his design of the arch: to exalt the virtues of his homeland through local models, to compare the greatness of pre-Hispanic Mexico with European antiquity, and to link the two. In the first prelude, titled “Possible Motives in the Erection of Triumphal Arches with Which the Cities Receive Their Princes,” Sigüenza proposes that the arch should illustrate virtues of the elders rather than commemorate military victories. In the past, he explains, a triumphal arch “was never erected for anyone who had not killed at least five thousand enemies.”89 But arches built to receive viceroys no longer commemorate or celebrate battles, so they are no longer suitable: “if we have always experienced the princes that have governed us as not at all bloody, how can the display [pompa] with which Mexico receives those to whom it offers its love be denominated triumphal?” 90 Don Carlos argues that the word “triumphal” should be avoided, because the word thriambos in ancient Greek meant “acclaiming and cursing”; consequently “it is an indignity, nothing decent to court with satires princes whom one must only treat with attention and venerate with affection.” 91 This passage seems ironic given the subject of the arch, yet Don Carlos’s respectful and grave tone prevents the reader from interpreting it as such. Sigüenza advises that it would be more appropriate to make the arches resemble the city’s doors as a symbol of the city offering itself to the new ruler. “It would also be a good measure if the first time that doors were opened for princes and governors there were on the doors designs of heroic virtues of the elders . . . so that they [the princes] would begin the exercise of authority and leadership adorned with as many perfections as were presented to them as an example of government.” 92 In contrast to his previous suggestion that the viceroy should serve as a model for the virtues illustrated in the arch, here the virtues serve a didactic function for the new ruler. Through this inversion, the monument, initially framed by a supplication, becomes a test of the worthiness of the new viceroy.

50   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture In the second prelude, Sigüenza proposes that the models for the virtues that adorn the arch should be found locally, as he finds the traditional ways of decorating triumphal arches deceitful and misleading: “It has been a common style of American minds to embellish most of the façades of triumphal arches erected to receive princes with designs from untruthful mythological fables”;93 but erudition can only be enhanced by “truth,” found in living examples.94 The prince is an image of God on earth; hence it is sacrilegious to have pagan deities as models for his virtues. “How then,” Don Carlos asks, “would it be legitimate to have as models for princes, who are the image of God, the shadows of dark deities from whom the gentiles themselves removed the masks of usurped divinity?” 95 To avoid these inconsistencies he proposes to use historical persons as examples, concluding: “My case must not be so disrespectable when in the Mexican emperors, who really existed in this illustrious center of the Americas, I found without difficulty what others had the necessity of begging for in fables.” 96 This move implies that for Sigüenza, Mexican antiquity, personified in the images of the Mexica rulers, constitutes a universalizable aspect of locality. At first Sigüenza’s approach seems to celebrate the assimilation of indigenous elements into Mexican Creole culture. But the third prelude reveals that in the Teatro as in later representations of Mexico the natives first had to be transformed into Europeans in order to become the nation’s ancestors.97 Here Sigüenza attempts to establish the origin of Native Americans in European and Judean antiquity in order to insert Mexico into what he and his contemporaries regarded as a universal history. This entails the appropriation of indigenous histories in favor of a homogenizing narrative, a violent move later replicated in nationalistic accounts of the nation. In order to establish this genealogy, he rejects the idea, advanced by multiple European authors, that America was first inhabited by Africans. Instead he argues that the population of America descends from the people of Atlantis, once governed by Neptune: “Thus, if from Atlantis, governed by Neptune, people came to populate these provinces . . . who would doubt that Neptune was the progenitor of the primitive inhabitants the Toltecs from whom the Aztecs derived, for they resemble in great measure the Egyptians, from whom the inhabitants of Atlantis were descended?” 98 Don Carlos maintains that Neptune is of Hebrew origins and also the son of Isis, a mystical name used to refer to Mizraim’s wisdom: “Neptune was called Conso, Harpocrates, and Sigalim, son of Isis, and consequently son of Mizraim.” 99 According to the Old Testament (Genesis 10:1–32), Mizraim was a son of Ham; but his name was also used in antiquity to refer to Egypt (Genesis 12:10). This reconstructed lineage suggests that for Sigüenza the reclamation of Aztec antiquity aimed to validate Mexican Creoles in European and Judeo-

51   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism Christian history rather than to embrace the otherness of American indigenes. The Teatro proclaimed common roots for Mexicans and Europeans by inserting regional antiquity in universal history and thus affirmed a vernacular cosmopolitanism. Don Carlos’s argument about the Hebrew origins of the American indigenes is anything but original, for already in the sixteenth century it had been advanced by Fray Andrés de Olmos, Fray Bartolomé de las Casas, and Diego de Durán.100 During the seventeenth century the noble Texcocan historian Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, whose manuscripts Sigüenza y Góngora owned, set out to reconcile Nahua history with the Old Testament.101 What makes Sigüenza’s work unique is not his incorporation of the indigenes into Judeo-Christian traditions but the utilization of this reconstructed history to legitimate the cultural and political authority of Spanish Americans. A dualistic attitude toward natives was common among the Creoles. The Franciscan Augustín de Vetancourt in his book Teatro mexicano of 1696 eulogized the aristocratic aspects of the pre-Hispanic past and characterized contemporary natives as lazy, malicious, and vice-ridden.102 Similarly Don Carlos expressed either pity or disdain for the Mexican indigenes of his own time in addition to his respect for ancient Mexican cultures. In the Teatro he referred to them as “[t]he miserable Indians . . . people uprooted from their towns because they are the most foreign in their province, people shattered in defending their homeland and smashed by their poverty, people of terrible sufferings, and after them no others will be so patient and enduring; people who always await a remedy to misery and always find themselves stepped on by everyone.”103 While these words indicate compassion, Don Carlos drastically changed his opinion of the indigenes after witnessing the tumult of 1692, a violent popular revolt against the Spanish government that resulted in the partial destruction of the viceregal palace. The conflict originated because of the scarcity and high prices of maize.104 In a letter to the admiral Don Andrés de Pez, including an account of the tumult, Don Carlos described Native Mexicans as “the most ungrateful, strange, plaintive, and restless people that God created.” Although he mentioned various racial groups among the crowd, he blamed the indigenes for the revolt: “The ones who more urgently pressed protests were the Indians . . . They were the ones, as I have said, that had the greatest complaints and shamelessness since they never experienced a better year than the present one.”105 These divergent attitudes illustrate the ambivalent, anxious, and repetitive modes of representation that contemporary scholars associate with stereotypes and further suggest that Sigüenza’s fascination with Mexican antiquity served the Creoles’ need to establish their own roots in Mexico rather than solely indicating his identification or solidarity with contemporary natives.106 Such social

52   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture contradictions were already established in the sixteenth century. The Creole leaders of the first conspiracy against Spain impersonated Aztec rulers in a máscara in which the sovereigns performatively validated Creole rule in Mexico.107 The rebels were encomenderos—individuals who exploited the natives’ labor. Their adoption of Aztec regalia was less a gesture of solidarity with the indigenes than an attempt to demonstrate their rights to the land. The recuperation of the Aztec past in the seventeenth century was primarily a Creole project launched by a Creole elite. As exemplified by the encomenderos dressed in Aztec garb, Vetancourt’s writings, and Sigüenza’s Teatro, this endeavor precluded the Creoles’ recognition of indigenous peoples as equals. Pre-Hispanic antiquity provided Spanish Americans with material to construct ideal images of a Creole nation that had little to do with the lived reality of Mexico. As is evident in subsequent chapters, the disjunction between official exaltation of the indigenous past and conflictive perceptions of contemporary indigenes persisted through the twentieth century.

Textual Description of the Architecture The arch was erected in the Plaza of Santo Domingo, in the entrance of the street of the same name, which ended in the Plazuela del Marqués, a place designated for the reception of viceroys in the colonial period. According to Sigüenza, the structure was 90 feet high, 50 meters wide, and 12 meters in depth from façade to façade. It was divided in three parts vertically and horizontally. The stages became more elaborate as they rose. The first horizontal stage was Corinthian, the second was Composite, and the third was supported by Attic herms and Persian caryatids adorned with cornucopias and garlands. The arch had a receding central door and two side doors. On each façade was a central painting. Twelve additional paintings were distributed flanking the central images and on the sides of the arch. From the description it is clear that the arch was profusely decorated, like other architecture of its time: It [the arch] was composed of three stages without counting the acroteria and finials. It was supported on sixteen pedestals and a few other marble columns. Each level was decorated with vine leaves, bronze bases, and capitals, as well as the cornice with an architrave, a crown, moldings, and modillions of the same [material]. The frieze did not lack triglyphs, metopes, modillions, and whatever other ornaments are part of the Corinthian order which it [the arch] included. The second stage was embellished with the harmonious variety that the Composite order permits, exceeding the first [stage] with singular lovely things, and this one [the second] was as well surpassed by the third formed by Attic herms and Persian caryatids adorned with cornucopias and frills.

53   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism The architecture was disposed around three passages [entrecalles], one at the center and the lateral ones. All rose [descollaban] on three doors, the one in the center receding to favor perspective, as well as all the rest of that street which was united with others by intercolumniation admirably disposed and embellished (as well as the pedestals of the lower columns) with various hieroglyphs and emblems, which seemed adequate to scholars concerning the subject . . . I omit the tedious specification of the symmetry and parts of this arch or triumphal façade, being content to say that it was designed according to the person that it was for and with the certitude that on these occasions Mexico always leads with great advantage. The four exterior intervals of the two façades gave place, according to the distribution of the stages, to twelve panels, without two more that occupied the places in the center from the dedication, which rested on the middle point of the principal door, to the frontispiece of the crown, which supported the royal coat of arms between those [coats of arms] of their excellencies [the viceroy and vicereine]. They [the paintings] were all framed with barks, festoons, and volutes of bronze and whatever other adornments were fastened to the art.108

In Baroque Mexican architecture, architectural ornament was the main vehicle to stimulate the senses and command the attention of the viewer. In the Teatro as in other Mexican Baroque buildings (Figs. 2.6–2.9), local character was manifested primarily through decorative themes and details.109 Despite the ubiquity and importance of architectural ornament, writers of the viceregal period made no attempt to describe it with precision, and Don Carlos was no exception.110 To reconstruct the basic structure of the arch from the above-cited passages requires several readings and even sketches. Within the parameters established in the description (such as the Corinthian or Composite order), the specificities of the ornamentation remain elusive. To visualize the arch it is necessary to supplement Don Carlos’s description with images of historical architecture and sculpture such as the triumphal arches and the retablos previously discussed. Sigüenza’s description, however vague, constitutes our principal guide to the monument.

Inscriptions The friezes over each of the lateral doors on the front façade of the arch contained inscriptions skillfully crafted for subtle communication of Don Carlos’s political concerns. The one on the right door read: “trIVnfe rija, I goVIerne el Virrey MarqVes De LA LagVna” (May the Viceroy Marquis de la Laguna triumph, rule, and govern). The one on the left door: “triVnfe VIVa I goVIerne el Virrey ConDe De pareDes” (May the Viceroy Count De Paredes triumph, live, and govern). A shield containing a dedication of the arch to the viceroy crowned the central door. The dedication read:

54   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture D.O.M. ET AETERNITATI EXCELENTISS PRINCIPIS D. THOMAE ANTONII DE LA CERDA, SC. Feliciss Pat. Patriae Fortiss. Ob rerum ad eo bene Gerendarun Gloriosum Omen Et Hilaritatis Publicae Testimonium ut Omina et singula AEquus, et bonus consultat Populo Arcum Primerae Gentis Iconibus Imperator Illustrem. CIVITAS MEXICANA (Omnium Votis, Communi Laetitia) Amplitudini, et splendori ejus DEVOTA PRO TEMPORE, PROQUE VIRIBUS POSUIT Prid. Kal Decemb. ANNO A MEXIC. CONDIT CCCLIII To the Best and Most Gracious God And to the posterity Of the most excellent prince Don Thomas Antonio de la Cerda, Senatus Consultum [a decree] The most fortunate father of the bravest homeland The City of Mexico offers the propitious omen of this arch Illustrated with the portraits of the emperors Of the ancient Mexican nation As a testimony of public joy So that, just and virtuous he [the viceroy] may Consult with his people on all matters. Consecrated to its [Mexico’s] splendor, Time and effort generously given With the vows and happiness of all Erected On the day before the first day [Kalens] of December in the 353rd year since the foundation of Mexico.111

In this inscription Don Carlos relies once more on double-coded courtly etiquette to couch a condition within an offering. In this case the condition is that the viceroy “consult with his people in all matters,” meaning that he must recognize the power of the Creoles. This directive is reiterated in various parts of the text. In his discussion of the painting of the ruler Chimalpopoca, for example, Sigüenza stresses the power of the people over the power of any government:

55   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism It is not my intention to investigate the source from which the authority of supreme princes emanates; I presuppose it with the caution and veneration that is proper, and warn that it is the same one that appoints their vicars and substitutes. . . Johannus Altus said in Polit, ch. 18, num. 7: “‘Neither the republic nor the kingdom are for the king, rather, the king or any other magistrate is for the kingdom and the city; since the people are by nature from a previous time, better and superior to their governors as the components antecede and are superior to the composite.”112

By arguing that the power of a people precedes the power of government, Sigüenza gives primacy to the indigenous inhabitants of Mexico. This power is vested on the Creoles by claiming the Aztecs as “ancestors.” Through this association, established in the preludes of the Teatro, the Creoles become indigenous people “from a previous time,” superior to the Spanish government.

Textual Description of the Paintings Each painting in the arch was composed of an image, a short motto, and an epigram or short explanation. Together these elements constituted a hieroglyph, an emblematic construction to be deciphered by the viewer. Sigüenza’s text includes a brief description of each image, the motto, and the epigram and a longer explanatory commentary. The images of the Teatro were a complex exercise of synthesis and translation: the synthesis of European and New World literary sources and the inclusion of Mexican historical subjects in the literary and pictorial space of classical heroes—an exercise in translation. Sigüenza believed that painting was the best means for representing princes because like a good “mirror” it was the medium that most faithfully reproduced a model. For him, the mimetic power of painting also had life-giving qualities. Don Manuel Antonio’s arch was thus “animated” with the “spirit of the Mexican emperors, from Acamapichtli to Cuauhtemoc.”113 The Aztec rulers represented the virtues of a Christian prince portrayed in Spanish arts and letters since the reign of Charles V.114 Integrating local history in international discourses, the images visually asserted the unique and cosmopolitan identity of New Spain. The structure of each painting was based on illustrations from European emblem books and mythological treatises as well as on Aztec pictorial name glyphs. The Mexicas seldom depicted individuals naturalistically. With the exception of a stone relief depicting Moctezuma II carved in the hill of Chapultepec, no portraits are known in Mexica art. Mexica rulers usually were represented through pictorial emblems signifying their names and through costume insignia (Fig. 1.8). Sigüenza explained that from these “names” he had developed his emblems and hieroglyphs: “From the name of each emperor,

56   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture or from the way that the Mexicans represented it in painting, the emblem or hieroglyph was deduced, in which I paid more attention to the smooth explanation of my ideas than to the rigorous laws of their structure.”115 In other words, each painting translated Mexican picture writing to the Western pictorial tradition. The painting dedicated to Itzcoatl, for example, showed the ruler “with his characteristic imperial adornments” (Figs. 1.1, 1.2) reclining on a world that served as his throne. A serpent, an image frequently illustrated in European emblem books, surrounded the world. Sigüenza’s European sources for this emblem include Jacobus Typotius, Costalio (Pierre Coustau), Andreas Alciatus, and Antoni Ricciardo Brixiano, among many others.116 In Nahuatl the name “Itzcoatl” means “serpent of knives,” and the Aztecs represented the ruler’s name glyph as a serpent (Fig. 1.8). Thus each painting in the Teatro relied on a double translation of themes as well as structure.

Figure 1.8. From Aztec Art by Esther Pasztory © 1993: Plate 23, page 51. Drawing

of Name Glyphs of Aztec Rulers, from the Codex Mendoza and Tira de Tepechpan (Cuauhtemoc). Published by Abrams, an imprint of Harry N. Abrams, Inc., New York. All rights reserved.

57   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism Like other scholars of his time, Sigüenza believed that hieroglyphs were efficient representations of history as well as means to wisdom and virtue. The German Jesuit Athanasius Kircher summarized the role of these enigmatic constructions: “The symbolic doctrine (including empresas, hieroglyphs, emblems) is a science in which through brief and concise words we express a few renowned and varied mysteries, some taken from the sayings of the wise men and others from histories.”117 This implied that the hieroglyph could impart knowledge and stimulate the viewer to reflect on universal enigmas. Sigüenza’s synthesis of Western and indigenous historical and literary sources stressed the compatibility of apparently antithetical histories and visual sources. Walter Benjamin once suggested that all languages shared a central kinship and were supplementary even if individual elements such as words, sentences, and structure were mutually exclusive.118 Don Carlos’s use of images and words from diverse languages suggests that finding this supplementarity was essential for him to design the Teatro as the mirror image of a Creole nation. The paintings in the arch may have been as perplexing to contemporary European viewers as Sigüenza’s text has been for multiple generations of scholars. The inclusion of classical virtues and Aztec rulers in the same space made little sense in the recognized pictorial traditions of Europe. Paired with Sigüenza’s explanatory text, the images seem to support the conceptual confusion that scholars diagnosed in Don Carlos. Sigüenza, however, elaborated on visual traditions established in New Spain since the sixteenth century and persistently communicated political messages even if he employed seemingly contradictory means. The Teatro was a complex hieroglyphic assemblage that reader and viewer were meant to work through in order to decipher it. Forgetting that Renaissance enigmas lack the directness of expository prose has prevented scholars of Mexican culture from finding meaning in the work. An elaborate, possibly later, anonymous painting of Moctezuma suggests that the images may have been more readable to educated Mexicans. The portrait exemplifies the conflation of indigenous and European sources and the artist’s mastery of allegorical complexity (Fig. 1.9). Faithful to a pictorial tradition beginning with the Lienzo de Tlaxcala that represents Moctezuma vanquished, the ruler humbly deposits a gold scepter on a tray on which a royal crown adorned with gold reliefs and feathers already rests.119 Through a persuasive iconographic analysis, Jaime Cuadriello associates this portrait with the medieval tradition of divine royalty in which authority was conferred by divine grace and also with native prophesies that predicted the return of the Toltec ruler Quetzalcoatl, whom chroniclers such as Durán and intellectuals including Sigüenza y Góngora identified as the apostle Saint Thomas.120

Figure 1.9. Portrait of Moctezuma attributed to a member of the Arellano family, ca. 1700. Oil on canvas, 185 by 100 cm. Collection Family Maillé Iturbide, Mexico.

59   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism Cuadriello proposes that indigenous nobles commissioned the painting to hang in the tecpan (palace) of Santiago de Tlatelolco after the violent popular revolt of 1692. The image of a deferent Moctezuma would have been appropriate at this time not only to alleviate the fear and suspicion that the insurrection elicited among Spaniards and Creoles but also because descendants of the house of Moctezuma figured prominently in the government of Tlatelolco.121 Like the paintings in the Teatro, this image may have been enigmatic to European viewers yet locally communicated a cogent political message.

North Façade The main painting on the north façade of the Teatro was set in the center between the dedication shield and the royal coat of arms, which stood on the crown of the arch, between the coats of arms of the viceroy and his wife. The painting was the work of José Rodríguez and Antonio de Alvarado, the only two artists mentioned in the Teatro.122 Sigüenza’s description of this painting reveals that in his design he did not discard “foreign models”; rather, he inserted Mexican themes within the terms of reference of established discourses. In this manner he hoped to assert the value of the “local” without offending the lovers of tradition. He writes: To the voices of Love, taken from Psalm 23 [Psalm 24 in King James version], verse 7, “‘Open, oh princes, your doors . . . and it will enter . . .’” the doors of the arch opened. There some of the Mexican emperors were represented, as to clear the way for Mercury and Venus, who, flying on some clouds and adorned as antiquity describes them, carried in their hands shields or medallions containing the portraits from life of their excellencies, the viceroy and vicereine. The motifs were taken from a motto in Genesis, Chapter I, verse 16: “Great stars that would rule.” From the most superior level [of the painting], among clouds that served as a vessel to wide and beautiful lagoons, the City of Mexico assisted in this triumph dressed as an Indian woman wearing her native dress and a crown. She leaned on a nopal, which is its [Mexico’s] primitive coat of arms. And those who saw it, knowing that the arch was about the Mexican kings and emperors and that the flowers of the prickly pear have the shape of a crown, were not surprised to see crowning the nopal the inscription by Virgil, Eclogue 3: “Inscript nomina regum Nascantur flores” [Flowers are born with the name of the kings].123

This description indicates that the painting reasserted the identity of New Spain as visualized in the early years of the colony. According to Cuadriello, the establishment of New Spain as a bipartite entity led to the representations of the viceroyalty as a noble indigenous woman, an image compatible with the personifications of city-states as feminine figures in Europe. Escalante Gon-

60   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture zalbo further suggests that this image of New Spain, exemplified in the Lienzo de Tlaxcala, was the basis for allegories of America that became popular in the Baroque era.124 While females in the Lienzo are rendered wearing traditional attire (huipilli and cueitl), it is likely that, like the images of Moctezuma (Figs. 1.2 and 1.9), the dress of the noble native woman in the painting under discussion incorporated at least some aspects of European attire.125 In early casta paintings, for instance, indigenous women, especially those in the higher castas, often wear indigenous clothing decorated with lace as well as pearl necklaces and earrings.126 Contemporary scholars identify the female protagonist in the Lienzo either as Cortés’s Tlaxcaltecan mistress, Malinche, or as a genealogical reference to Princess Tecuichpo, the last descendant of the ruler Moctezuma, who later became a member of the Spanish nobility.127 As numerous sixteenth-century manuscripts and texts by indigenous historians make clear, the preservation and exaltation of local histories were important to indigenous nobility long before Sigüenza’s Teatro.128 Hence it is probable that early representations of New Spain referred to specific individuals or ancestors. The Native Mexicans’ ownership of their own histories must have stimulated the Creoles’ interest in the Aztec past. Don Carlos’s description of the main painting in the north façade illustrates some of his contradictions. His attack on fables in the Teatro’s preludes notwithstanding, he allocates prominent positions on the canvas to Venus and Mercury. He explains his inclusion of these deities as a mean to satisfy those who disapproved of his use of historical personages: “I think it convenient to prepare those who could object to my mentioning fables in the same manuscript that I reprove them, by saying after Peter Blessence, Epis. 91: ‘Because you listen with displeasure, I introduce fabulous stories,’ so that it may be possible to satisfy [you].”129 To some contemporary readers, Sigüenza’s vacillation indicates confusion. Yet the resulting conceptual (and visual) dissonance allowed Don Carlos a potentially more incendiary act: the personification of a Christian virtue in the image of an Aztec god. One painting in the Teatro featured the war god, Huitzilopochtli, patron of the Mexicas, in the role of Faith. Don Carlos maintained that Huitzilopochtli was worthy of this honor because “it was he who guided them [the Mexicas] from their homeland . . . to these provinces that antiquity called Anahuac.”130 By placing Venus, Mercury, and Huitzilopochtli in the same space, a central painting of the arch which the viewer was likely to see first, Don Carlos implicitly identified the three as pagan deities and in this way detracted attention from the attributes specific to the Aztec god. In light of the history of conquest and Christianization of New Spain, the dedication of a painting to

61   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism Huitzilopochtli could have been perceived as an overt insult to the authority of the church. Because of their European origin and their implied similarity to Huitzilopochtli, Venus and Mercury performed the role of transitional figures between the Aztec god and the other virtues represented in the arch. In his description of the painting of Huitzilopochtli, Sigüenza explains that the name of this deity derives from three Nahuatl words: huitzilin, a little bird that sucks on flowers; tlahuipochtli, meaning sorcerer who spits fire; and opochtli, which means left hand.131 Don Carlos takes pains to explain that in ancient Mexico the word “sorcerer” meant “admirable man, doer of prodigious deeds,” or “magician” and that as in Western antiquity the word also meant wise man, magus, or king.132 Partially based on the god’s name, the painting commemorates the origins of the Mexicas: Among the clouds, a left arm was painted holding a bright torch; it was accompanied by a huitzilin bird resting on a flowering branch. These images illustrated the motto from Virgil, Aeneid 2, Ducente Deo [with God leading]. On the ground the valiant Huitzilopochtli was represented wearing the native dress of the ancient Chichimecas [the migrant ancestors of the Mexicas] and showing the figures in the sky to a group of people. He exhorted them [the people] to travel, proposing to them a goal and a reward with the words of Genesis, chapter 43, In gentem magnam [to the great nation]; it was my intent to make understood the necessity that princes have of beginning their actions with God, so that they excel and are venerated as heroic. We explained this concept as best we could in the following epigram: Actions of unwavering faith By the prince always bear witness. The effects manifest precisely The close presence of God Since they do not deviate from The will of God.133

Sigüenza later explains that the left arm alone has “hidden and mysterious significance,” and fire is a symbol of divinity. Paired, the two images form a propitious symbol.134 According to Helga von Kügelgen, the structural motif of a hand emerging from clouds is widely diffused in Europe and appears in multiple printed sources from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, including Emblemas morales by Juan de Horozco y Covarrubias (1589), Symbolorum et emblematum by Joachim Camerarius (1590), and Symbola divina et humana by Jacobus Typotius (1601–1603). She demonstrates that Don Carlos copied none of these sources but combined the motif with other emblematic illustrations.135 Von Kügelgen suggests that Huitzilopochtli must have been represented in Aztec royal costume and proposes the portrait of Nezahualpilli in the Codex Ixtlilxochitl as a possible model (Fig. 1.1).136 This conclusion is unlikely: Don

62   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Carlos specifically indicates that the god appears in the attire of the ancient Chichimecas. The Chichimecas frequently were portrayed wearing either loincloths or feather skirts; consequently it is probable that Huitzilopochtli appeared in this painting wearing one of these garments. More significant than the god’s attire, however, was Don Carlos’s remaking of Huitzilopochtli to fit the image of a Christian virtue. The art historian Elizabeth Hill Boone has demonstrated that from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century in Mexico and Europe Huitzilopochtli was represented either as a classical hero or as an incarnation of the devil, but the two views were not incompatible: even some of those who compared Aztec gods to Roman deities saw Aztec gods as demonic manifestations.137 According to Boone, the Tlaxcalan-born Franciscan friar Diego de Valadés was the first to advance the classical view. One illustration in his book Rhetorica christiana (1579) shows Huitzilopochtli in Roman attire, atop a central pyramid.138 A similar illustration appears in a plan of Tenochtitlan published in Hernán Cortés’s second letter to Carlos V (1524, Figs. 7.7 and 7.8), although here a headless nude figure appears between the central twin pyramid and a skull rack and is only identified as a stone idol. The figure’s nude body and its striding position are reminiscent of classical statuary. Henry Nicholson opined that the figure referred to Huitzilopochtli’s sister, Coyolxauhqui. According to myth, the god decapitated her, dismembered her, and let her body roll down the hill of Coatepec.139 Other scholars suggest alternatively that the “idol” may refer to a statue found in the temple precinct of the decapitated Coatlicue, Huitzilopochtli’s mother.140 Regardless of the figure’s identity, the important issue here is the relation of Huitzilopochtli to human sacrifice. The Aztecs sacrificed thousands of captives in honor of this deity. The “idol” in the map is decapitated, and streams of blood flow from its hands. These images as well as later depictions of Huitzilopochtli as a classical deity frequently include illustrations of or allusions to human sacrifices (such as signs of blood) related to his cult. Where he appears as a classical personage, the god’s idealized human appearance paired with renderings of sacrificial victims highlights not only Huitzilopochtli’s similarities to European heroes but also his difference, which at least in principle was inassimilable to Christianity. In the Teatro Don Carlos promotes the classical image of the god, omitting the sacrificial references and emphasizing his likeness to European classical deities. In the visual context of the arch and in the explanatory text, Huitzilopochtli is simply a pagan god like Mercury and Venus. Don Carlos thus expands the classical pantheon and by so doing cosmopolizes the Aztec deity. Through this supplementary strategy he asserts local history and challenges the supremacy of European classical mythology. Don Carlos’s representation

63   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism of Huitzilopochtli may have inspired Sor Juana almost a decade later to model on this god her Dios de las Semillas mentioned in the loa to the auto sacramental El divino Narciso.141 In contrast to Sigüenza, in the loa Sor Juana emphasizes human sacrifice to establish a comparison between American religion and Christianity and to stimulate America and the Occident to receive instruction from Religion in the mysteries of the Catholic faith. Like Sigüenza’s Teatro, the loa contradictorily asserts the value of the local while performing subalternity to both the Spanish Crown and the church. The paintings dedicated to the last two Mexica rulers, Cuitlahuac and Cuauhtemoc, reveal Don Carlos’s political inclinations and reiterate the advice offered to the viceroy in the dedication tablet, “to consult with his people on all matters.” In the Teatro Cuitlahuac personifies Courage. This ruler rose to power after the Spanish imprisoned his brother, Moctezuma Xocoyotzin. Cuitlahuac led the Mexicas in the campaigns leading to the famous battle known as the Noche Triste (Sad Night) in which the Mexicas defeated the invaders. Sigüenza explains: This event was painted on the canvas dedicated to this king and in the foreground Cuitlahuatzin appeared with a vestment full of hands imitating Alexander the Great in the act of breaking the knots of the straps of Gordius, father of Midas . . . The motto that seemed most appropriate was “Rumpe moras [break difficulty]” and all that could be said about this was included in this epigram: When moral conflict Would annul action Resolution itself Breaks the difficulty Intentional blindness in crucial Moments is not blameworthy Since action Carries the prince in triumph.142

He concludes his description of this painting by advising the viceroy that princes “must not only support their subjects but also free them from the risks and dangers of foreign violence.”143 Here text and image seem to be at odds; while the text places the responsibility for defense of the territory on the viceroy, the painting illustrates the possibility of his subjects’ self-liberation. In fact, the image supplements the text by alluding to possible consequences of the viceroy’s indifference to or ill-treatment of his people. In his description of a feast in honor of the Virgin of Guadalupe, which was published in the same year as the Teatro, Sigüenza indicated awareness of the potential of New Spain for self-defense. Praising the performance of a group of young natives impersonating a Spanish company of infantry, he commented:

64   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Nothing confused me more than to see that without any other practice than the care with which they watched Spanish marches, behavior, games, and festivities, they [the natives] disposed theirs [their march] with such admirable order that veterans could not surpass them in the measure of their movements, in the evenness of their rows, in their elegance in shooting, in their promptness in charging, or in their harmony in forming a squadron and exiting. From this we can infer that they are not incapable of discipline, in case it were necessary to introduce them to the Martial arts.144

The entity that New Spain needed to defend itself from is unclear in Sigüenza’s comment. During the first two centuries of the colony it was the Spanish who prevented indigenous men from joining the military, so it is possible that he intended his statement as a suggestion for the Creoles. According to von Kügelgen, the painting of Cuitlahuac is based on a single European illustration of Alexander the Great breaking the knot of Gordius in Petrus Costalius’s Pegma, cum narrationibus philosophicis (1555). “It would only have been necessary to dress him [Alexander the Great] in a pre-Hispanic cloth full of hands,” she explains.145 While this suggestion is plausible, Don Carlos’s description of the painting is insufficient to conclude that it replicated Costalius’s illustration. Given the alterations that Don Carlos and his painters made to other source emblems, it is just as likely that the artists used a different pictorial structure. The last Mexica ruler, Cuauhtemoc (Falling Eagle), lost his empire to the Spanish, but not without heroically resisting them. Hernán Cortés imprisoned Cuauhtemoc and subjected him to terrible tortures, including burning his feet. Cortés hoped in vain that physical pain would make the young ruler reveal the location of the Mexicas’ imperial treasures, but he remained silent. Cuauhtemoc was finally hanged during Cortés’s expedition to Honduras in 1525 on the charge of conspiracy. To honor his courage Sigüenza made this ruler a symbol of Constance: To praise his perseverance he was painted with a calm and happy semblance, resting on a column, which is as he should be according to Apuleius, book. de Dogmat. Plato: “The wise man neither disheartens in adversity, nor rises in prosperity, remaining as inflexible and strong as a rock.” War, Hunger, and Death specified by their insignias fought him . . . On the column the inscription “Non inclinabitur” [It will not incline] could be read. Psalm 103, verse 3; and on the head of Cuauhtemoc, in place of a crown: “Mens immota manet” [The steadfast mind endures] Sil. Ital. lib. I. Although these epigraphs were sufficient to explain this emblem, to make it more understandable it was necessary to add this epigram: The diamond column [Fortitude] Which inclines neither to violence

65   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism Nor to Misfortune This king persistently embraces; Because War, Death, And Hunger Serve only to emphasize Its intrinsic qualities.146

Regardless of inconsistencies in Don Carlos’s arguments, his political messages in the Teatro ring loud and clear. The paintings of Cuitlahuac and Cuauhtemoc and their descriptions publicly display models of resistance to tyranny and oppression. In Sigüenza’s reconstructed history the Creoles and the natives share the same ancestry. The Spanish are outsiders and invaders if only by implication. Sigüenza ends his explanation of the Teatro with one more justification for his choice of theme and a vow of truthfulness: “In this way I accomplished the endeavor that my homeland entrusted to me on such a great occasion, observing what Casan says of Plato, lib De Amore, in Cathal. I. consid. 50: ‘The perfect praise describes the origins of the thing narrated and present and shows the subsequent events.’ So in the description of this arch the origins of the Mexican government may be found, and the rest, which I promise is very true. And although I have explained the reasons that obliged me to dispense with fables, apologues, and parables, I must add that I thought it a great crime to disguise truths among lies.”147 As the last part of the Teatro, Sigüenza composed a loa (a rather lengthy laudatory poem) to be recited on the afternoon of the viceroy’s reception by a young woman impersonating the city of Mexico. The poem is full of praise for both the viceroy and the vicereine and restates the purpose of the arch presented in the introduction: to bring the Mexican emperors back to life through the excellent example of the viceroy. The performance would bring the Teatro’s text and images to life, extending these representations to the lived ritual space. In this manner Don Carlos concludes the Teatro as if it constituted a coherent and consistent whole despite his earlier acknowledgment of contradictions.

Reception of Contemporaries Sigüenza’s contemporaries reacted to the Teatro with profound silence. The Marqués de la Laguna accepted Sigüenza’s arch as gracefully as he had all the other arches built for him on his arrival to Mexico. The long trip from Veracruz to Mexico City and the numerous festivities offered in his honor may have made it difficult for him to decode Sigüenza’s enigma. The indigenous rulers that he encountered in the numerous festivities offered in his honor could have

66   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture given him the impression that indigenous rulers were frequently represented in New Spain, and he ascribed no special significance to the images in the arch. If he understood the Teatro at all, courtly etiquette may have prevented him from voicing disapproval. Don Tomás Antonio may have realized the implications of Sigüenza’s work later: in contrast to the protection that the viceroy and vicereine offered Sor Juana during their stay in Mexico, they never favored Sigüenza. The scholar José Rojas Garcidueñas proposed that the unexpected “novelty” of the subject matter explains the lack of official and public reaction to the Teatro. “As we know,” he adds, “it was very different a century later when certain studies and investigations, and especially public reaffirmations of matters of tradition and Indian values and themes, were seen as politically related to nationalism, which could be and in fact were finally harmful to and subversive of Spanish domination in these lands. A lesser gesture than the one made by Sigüenza in 1680 cost Father Mier his first exile and prison.”148 Garcidueña’s conclusion is highly unlikely given that triumphal arches in colonial Mexico and the texts that “explained” them resulted from cooperation between patrons and designers. The Teatro could only exist through corroboration between Sigüenza and the civic authorities. On this basis the silence surrounding the Teatro could be read as a sign of complicity on the part of the cabildo and of respect for the city government or, alternatively, as unwillingness to challenge it on the part of contemporary educated viewers.

Conclusion Sigüenza’s Teatro de virtudes políticas marks a pivotal point in the construction and representation of Mexican identity. Conceiving the paintings of his arch as “mirrors,” Don Carlos created images of New Spain as a territory with a unique character and history that also shared Europe’s cultural and religious heritage. The arch and its accompanying text incorporated aspects of indigenous history and the international spheres of church and empire implicitly to envision Mexico as a Creole nation. Sigüenza wrote no treatises explicitly recommending the separation of Mexico from Spain; nor did the images directly suggest such an event. All he left were foundations for imagining future possibilities. Providing local models for the Spanish viceroy, the rulers in the Teatro illustrated Don Carlos’s belief that ancient Mexican civilizations were equal or superior to the classical civilizations of Europe. This move fostered the self-assurance of Spanish Americans and descendants of Aztec nobility.149 By presenting the Aztec rulers as “ancestors” of all Mexicans Don Carlos established a common heritage that later facilitated a conceptual and affective separation of Mexico from Spain. Like all representations, the Teatro was incomplete. Missing from

67   ■  Vernacular Cosmopolitanism the “mirror” were images of contemporary indigenes who were important contributors to the lived reality of the land. Sigüenza’s text demonstrates how histories are written, favoring certain groups and events and excluding others. Don Carlos selected his sources carefully to offer the reader a version of history that presented the Mexica rulers and the god Huitzilopochtli as personifications of Christian and classical virtues. By casting indigenous personages in these roles he challenged European narratives of cultural superiority. These interpretations presuppose a strong political attitude in Don Carlos’s work. The Teatro belonged to Mexican Creole literature, a minor literature in the Spanish language. According to Deleuze and Guattari, “a minor literature ­doesn’t come from a minor language: it is rather that which a minority constructs within a major language.” The minor is the principal source for innovation: “there is nothing major, nothing revolutionary except the minor.”150 Minor literatures are marked by at least three characteristics: the deterritorialization of language (that is, a condition in which the writer feels a stranger in his or her own language), the connection of the individual to a political immediacy, and the collective value of individual enunciation.151 As members of a transplanted culture that acquired a unique identity in the new soil, the Creoles were strangers to the Spanish language in Deleuze and Guattari’s sense; or, to return to Bhabha’s notion of vernacular cosmopolitanism, they created regional variants of the dominant language. The patronage of the cabildo of Mexico City and the lack of criticism of the work suggest that the Teatro embodied collective concerns. The Teatro did not directly negate established discourses; it introduced its objectives into them, playing a supplementary role. A supplement may not necessarily alter the structure of an original but may well disturb its primacy.152 Don Carlos employed the media traditionally associated with the Joyeuse Entrée but altered the customary iconography to project into the future his images of a Creole nation. Sigüenza used inversions of established meanings, contradictory, ambivalent, or “confused” statements, and translation as tactics for nonconfrontational resistance. Walter Benjamin proposed that a translation marks a stage of continued life in a work.153 As a translation of Aztec “hieroglyphs” to the Western pictorial tradition, the Teatro marked a continuation in the life of the original themes. This realignment of history was a political act. It was a vision of the future through an imagined past and the insertion of a minor history within traditions then understood as universal, a powerful statement of a vernacular cosmopolitanism.

Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings

2 A F

It is no secret that traditional discourses of classical architecture are founded on analogies to the human body. In the third volume of The Ten Books of Architecture, the Roman architect Vitruvius established what would become a permanent union between the proportions of the (male) body and classical architecture. Vitruvius asserted that the ancient Greeks designed their buildings using measuring units that corresponded to bodily proportions. “It was from the members of the body that they derived the fundamental ideas of the measures which are obviously necessary in all works, as the finger, palm, foot, and cubit”; hence symmetry in buildings was equivalent to symmetry in the human body: Similarly, in the members of a temple there ought to be the greatest harmony in the symmetrical relations of the different parts to the general magnitude of the whole. Then again, in the human body the central part is naturally the navel. For if a man be placed flat on his back, with his hands and feet extended, and a pair of compasses centred at his navel, the fingers and toes and his two hands and feet will touch the circumference of a circle described therefrom. And just as the human body yields a circular outline, so too a square figure may be found from it. For if we measure the distance from the soles of the feet to the top of the head, and then apply that measure to the outstretched arms and the breadth will be found to be the same as the height, as in the case of plane surfaces which are perfectly square.1

According to Vitruvius, perfect proportion for the Greeks expressed divine order and harmony; consequently architecture was infused with mystical qualities. Vitruvius’s vision of the man with arms and legs spread within a circle and a square would not be imaged until the Renaissance. Leonardo da Vinci made his famous drawing of Vitruvian man, fundamental for later publications, around 1490 (Fig. 2.1). Fra Giovani Giocondo’s illustrations to De Architectura (1511) followed Cesare Cesariano’s Italian translation of the same text with new illustrations in 1521 and an edition by Francesco Giorgi (1525), among others. Most of these men portrayed Vitruvian man as a solidly built, muscular, Caucasian male in his prime.2 68

69   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings During the Renaissance, visions of the ideal body linked architecture and painting. While architecture materialized ideal bodily proportions, representations of ideal bodies populated frescoes and canvases. Vitruvius’s image of perfect human proportion acquired moral overtones as it became conflated with the figure of Christ as the model of physical perfection.3 Bodily fitness manifested in clearly defined musculature and perfect moral character also were associated with kings as representatives of God on earth.4 Because morality is expressed in attitudes and actions, the association of the body with moral qualities required the discourse of the perfect body to expand from its focus on visual representation to include comportment. Notions of the ideal body then entailed a complex of ideas, images, and physical and behavioral manifestations intricately bound with notions of masculine power.

Figure 2.1. Vitruvian Man. From M. Vitrvvivs per Iocvndvm solito castigatior factvs cvm figvris et tabvla vt iam legi et intelligi posit by M. Vitruvius Pollio. Venice: Ioannis de Tridino alias Tacuino, anno Domini. M.D.XI. die .XXII. maii . . . [1511]. Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library.

70   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Artists and architects assumed the ideal body to be universal. Implicitly, raced bodies in their particularity were distant from this ideal.5 The tension between the universal and the particular in discourses of the body replicated the dynamics of the cosmopolitan and the local. Ideal bodies were cosmopolitan by virtue of their presumed universal aesthetic value; raced bodies, like notions of the local, were specific and had limited appeal. Despite this artificial opposition, the power of each construct depended on the other. Specific bodies were evaluated in respect to the ideal body; conversely, the ideal body could not serve as a model without specific bodies with which to compare and contrast it. In other words, the ascription of universality to the ideal, muscular, clearly articulated white male body carried with it the potential to marginalize all other bodies. The aesthetic principles of classical and Renaissance architecture and painting based on the ideal body were fundamental to the development of the international language of neoclassicism in the eighteenth century. Here I investigate resonances between representations of raced bodies and architectural discourses in late seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Mexico. My intention is to provide sufficient evidence to suggest that notions of the ideal body (and consequently its opposites) were active in casta painting and architecture criticism and contributed to the maintenance and reproduction of the colonial order in each realm. I focus on race because it is the aspect of difference most consistently understudied in architecture criticism. But as this discussion makes clear, notions of race, gender, and class are deeply interwoven with ideas of both the body and architecture.6 To think about architectural aesthetics in terms of the racial body introduces to architecture criticism elements from outside architecture. Drawing on the work of Gilles Deleuze, the philosopher Elizabeth Grosz associates the outside with what is excluded, the unthought, Lacan’s real, the lines of flight, or a virtual or potential condition of an inside. Cultural artifacts such as books, films, paintings, or buildings are conduits for the circulation of ideas, passages from one social stratum to another. These strata are enmeshed, so frequently “the outside of one field is the inside of another. Outside of architecture may be technologies, bodies, fantasies, politics, or economics that it plays on but it does not direct or control. Outside of architecture is always inside bodies, sexualities, history, culture, nature—all those others it seeks to exclude but which are the constitutive edges, the boundaries, of its operations.” 7 These theories imply that ideas disseminate and undergo transformations from one social, cultural, or temporal realm to others even if these trajectories are unapparent or unacknowledged. Accordingly, I show that social perceptions of raced bodies and anxieties about miscegenation evident in casta paintings permeated

71   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings architecture imaginaries and colored the criticism of Mexican architecture for centuries (see Chapter 5). The racial and gendered connotations in discourses of architecture implicate architecture history in the perpetuation of epistemic violence generated by the colonial order. Thus this essay may help clarify or complicate, depending on the reader’s orientation, fundamental aspects of the traditional aesthetic evaluation of buildings. My discussion also illustrates contradictions between architectural theory and practice. While Mexican intellectuals enthusiastically welcomed the values associated with neoclassicism in architecture, the persistence of the Baroque suggested ongoing disparities between what was promoted and what was built and between homogenizing internationalisms and local tastes. These inconsistencies contributed to continuous difficulties in the classification of buildings, which, like the taxonomies of raced bodies, attempted to check the proliferation of new types. As discourses of architecture and the body emerged from regional and international spheres, they illustrate multiple connections between the local and the global that change, disappear, and persist through time.

Casta Paintings During the second half of the eighteenth century in Mexico, the production of a locally developed genre known as casta painting reached its apex.8 These works represented the process of racial mixing among Spaniards, natives, and Africans.9 The Spanish referred to racially mixed people as castas. Each racial mixture received a specific name, but in everyday usage the designations were not always consistent. Terms frequently used in official documents included but were not limited to Spaniard, black, Indian, mestizo, castizo, mulatto, morisco, albino, lobo, and coyote. Many of these names originated in zoological designations for crossbreeds.10 This alone indicates the pejorative connotations of the castas, for animals lacked reason and self-control and consequently ranked below humans in the realm of creation. Most casta paintings were made as sets of sixteen paintings in which each image portrays a man, a woman, and one or two of their children. Only a few examples of multiple scenes painted in a single canvas remain. Each set of paintings depicts a hierarchical classification of racial types as well as a variety of locally manufactured objects, foods, flora, and fauna.11 According to the nomenclature inscribed in Mexican casta paintings, Spanish and Indian produced a mestizo, mestizo and Spanish a castizo, castizo and Spanish a Spaniard, Spanish and black a mulato, Spanish and mulato a morisco, Spanish and morisco an albino, black and Indian a lobo, mestizo and Indian a coyote. In addition,

72   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture casta paintings illustrated the categories of torna atrás (from a Spaniard and albino) and tente en el aire (from an albarazado and a mulatto and also from no te entiendo and a cambujo), among others. While sexual liaisons among all ethnic groups had occurred in New Spain since the sixteenth century, these contacts proliferated in the late seventeenth and eighteenth century, especially in Mexico City. By the end of the eighteenth century one-quarter of the population of the viceroyalty, most of which resided in the capital, was racially mixed.12 Especially in the late eighteenth century casta paintings portray a hierarchy where white Spaniards appear as the superior, most affluent, and socially harmonious group. Other racial groups are associated with lesser occupations and mixtures descended from black ancestors often are depicted as violent, vice-ridden, and unruly.13 In a set of casta paintings by Andrés de Islas, now at the Museo de América in Madrid, for example, Spaniards appear fashionably dressed and engaged in leisurely activities such as writing, playing music or games, strolling, or sitting.14 In painting number 3, De castizo y española nace español of 1774 (Fig. 2.2), the couple sit on separate chairs in a room with a drawn drape above the window behind them. The woman, elaborately coiffed and clothed, wears jeweled earrings, a necklace, and a bracelet as well as a stylish chiqueador (an artificial beauty mark) on her right temple. Wearing white stockings and blue breeches with a matching jacket and a red vest, the man plays the violin, an instrument associated with high culture. The child sits on his mother’s lap, delicately reaching for the violin’s bow with his right hand. The father regards him with a composed, tolerant expression. Both the father and mother have powdered their hair in the rococo mode. The use of white wigs and powdered hair in casta paintings was usually restricted to the highest castas. In contrast to this harmonious family scene, Painting number 4 of the same series, De español y negra nace mulata (1774, Fig. 2.3), takes place in a kitchen. Unlike other casta paintings where food is peacefully prepared, here the black woman seizes a surprised Spaniard by his moustache and threatens to hit him, agitating a molinillo (an implement used to prepare chocolate) with her right hand above her head. The man holds the woman by her left wrist and gently pushes her body with his left hand. Standing between the two adults, the mulatto child reaches for her mother’s skirt with a frightened expression. The restrained response of the Spaniard stands in sharp contrast to the uncontrolled aggression of his assailant. In a 1785 series by Francisco Clapera, aggression, exuberance, excess, and debasement are associated with the castas. In painting no. 5, De mulato y española morisco, set in an interior, a large mulatto man rests his arm on a table on which a bowl with a white liquid is turned on its side. He pushes the woman who reaches toward his head, attempting to

Figure 2.2. Andrés de Islas, De castizo y española nace español, 1774. Museo de

América, Madrid.

74   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture grab him by the hair. Two hats lie on the floor, indicating that some physical struggle has already taken place. The child pulls his mother by the skirt in an effort to separate her from the man. Painting no. 13, De barcino y mulata, chino, takes place in open air. The barcino man plays a guitar and dances along with the child, while a corpulent mulatto woman sits cross-legged on the ground clapping. These kind of unconstrained bodily expressions, as well as the woman’s undignified posture, rarely appear in depictions of Spaniards. Painting 15, De genízaro y mulata, gíbaro (Fig. 2.4), in the same series depicts the mulatto woman and the gíbaro child attempting to lift the genízaro from the floor. The man lies unconscious with his mouth open, his body covered only by a ragged garment below his navel. This scene illustrates the excessive, uncontrolled, and vice-ridden nature attributed to the lower castas.15 The earliest-known sets of casta paintings date to the second decade of the eighteenth century, but most of the existing sets were made between 1760 and 1790. These decades corresponded to the intensification of mestizaje, which, in contrast to the rigid hierarchy depicted in the paintings, generated a fluid society in which some castas achieved positions of prominence. As various authors have observed, in colonial Mexico a set of visual physical characteristics (such as hair texture and skin color) was used to identify race, but signs of economic and social standing or calidad mattered just as much.16 From the early years of the colony, the offspring of Spaniards and noble natives could achieve noble status. From the late sixteenth century onward, nobility titles could be purchased, dependent on certificates of racial purity based not only on birth documentation but also on the opinions of select witnesses and on proof of the petitioner’s economic ability to support a noble lifestyle. Race and class were intricately connected; hence it would be misleading to argue that notions of race were nonexistent or that race was entirely subsumed by class.17 According to the historian María Elena Martínez, with the expansion of mercantile capitalism, the medieval Spanish concept of limpieza de sangre (purity of blood), closely associated to religious lineage, gradually became conflated with the notion of casta, which initially signified chastity and good breeding and later referred to people of mixed race. By the eighteenth century these ideas were subsumed under a visual discourse about the body, especially about skin color. The body, she explains, “was thus read as a system of signs, external appearances taken to reflect moral and ethical inclinations.”18 In order to be able to read morality from bodies, a notion of perfect morality manifested in an ideal body implicitly was central to this discourse. The art historian Ilona Katzew proposed that casta paintings were forms of resistance by an increasingly threatened nobility, against the commoners’ encroachment on its privileges and wealth. In her opinion, the depiction

Figure 2.3. Andrés de Islas, De español y negra nace mulata, 1774. Museo de América,

Madrid.

Figure 2.4. Francisco Clapera, De genízaro y mulata, gíbaro, ca. 1775. Denver Art Museum: Collection of Frederick and Jan Mayer. Photography courtesy of the Denver Art Museum.

77   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings of a system of racial classification in the paintings served didactic purposes, instructing viewers on the most desirable patterns of racial mixing to follow in order to reach the ideal, superior status of whiteness. Rather than being side effects of a social order, the paintings contributed to the production of social identity.19 The depiction of disagreeable mixtures in the paintings nonetheless articulated profound apprehensions about racial mixing. For Spaniards and other Europeans, casta paintings encapsulated what scholars now understand as a constructed difference between the New World and the old: Mexico’s racial heterogeneity. In the eighteenth century the idea that the New World was racially mixed and Spain and other European countries racially homogeneous predominated among Spaniards, along with the belief that racial mixing resulted in physical, social, and moral degeneracy.20 Racial mixing, particularly with blacks, was believed to accelerate physical and moral decline and to preclude a return to whiteness. Continuous mixing with whites, by contrast, could reverse mixtures of whites with indigenous people.21 The anxieties about race, miscegenation, and degeneracy evident in casta paintings resonate with contemporary discourses of architecture that figuratively contrast firm, muscularly defined, masculine bodies to soft and debased effeminate mixtures. I suggest that the metalanguage of classical architecture embeds fundamental values of purity, clarity, definition, and legibility compatible with eighteenth-century discourses of the body and consequently of race. These values, dear to academic architects, survived in the nineteenth and later centuries.

The Ideal Body and Its Others As in the Renaissance, seventeenth- and eighteenth-century European discourses of the human body implicated aesthetics and morality; but eighteenthcentury writers also emphasized the relations among bodily expression, attire, and moral character.22 In an extensive study of representations of the body in late seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Spanish literature, Rebecca Haidt argued that social changes resulting from commercial capitalism brought about a new ideal of masculinity. As luxury goods from various parts of the world became readily available through intensified trade, it became increasingly difficult to differentiate aristocrats from commoners. In response to this challenge, a refined model of manliness based on temperance, sensibility, and taste emerged in Europe. Taste, the ability to perceive quality and to distinguish perfection from unworthiness, was conferred on society’s upper classes.23 In the eighteenth century Spanish and English theorists and moralists promoted this ideal of masculinity based on simplicity and moderation. The ideal

78   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture male exercised restraint and controlled his passions, and these moral qualities manifested outwardly in a man’s simple clothing and composed bearing. As in antiquity and the Renaissance, physical attributes such as muscular solidity and agility also were associated with masculinity. Eighteenth-century elites drew these ideas from the work of authors from Greek and Roman antiquity, including Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Quintilian, and Seneca.24 In Spain, however, this austere masculine model also had antecedents in an ideal of heroic masculinity established during the Middle Ages, which in the opinion of some scholars was used in later centuries to characterize both the Spanish character and the Spanish Empire.25 The exaltation of this image of Spanishness frequently entailed the feminization of outsiders, especially those deemed of impure blood: Muslims and Jews.26 At the death of Charles II in 1700, the transfer of the Spanish throne to the Bourbon dynasty may have contributed to the longevity and transformation of this masculine model, as some Spaniards initially responded to the new regime by affirming Spanishness and things Spanish.27 In contrast to the luxury associated with the French court, the model of masculinity promoted in eighteenth-century texts dictated avoidance of bright colors, rich fabrics, and elaborate attire. These prescriptions do not imply, however, that the cult of simplicity was merely a Spanish reaction to the Bourbon regime.28 Court portraits made under the Habsburgs such as Diego Velázquez’s portraits of Philip IV already exemplified the values of masculine severity and unadornment that eighteenth-century writers advocated.29 Court portraiture under the Bourbons suggests frictions between the values of intellectuals and the practices of the nobility as courtiers ultimately adopted French fashions decried by the writers and favored by the Bourbon monarchs.30 These contradictions notwithstanding, ideals of emotional control and restrained bodily comportment associated with perfect character appeared in critical literature on the aesthetics of the representations of human figures in painting. For the influential philosopher Esteban de Arteaga (1747–1799), a Spanish Jesuit exiled in Italy, the achievement of beauty in art depended on the study of nature and on the imitation of the arts of antiquity. Expression was the aspect of painting that represented “the movements of the soul, its passions and ideas.”31 He recommended that a painter’s expression of emotions be balanced and appropriate to the circumstance. To represent figures in action, Arteaga argued, the painter must give to the expression of their faces and to the rest of the specific situation those movements that the soul would really produce in bodies in that [specific] state; but because in these movements there is a plus and a minus, that is to say, some are forced and others easy; some noble and others ordinary; and in a thousand other ways; it depends on the taste of the painter to choose those that

79   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings produce beauty. If the passion he wants to express is very violent, and he materially copies an ordinary model, he will make an ugly and affected thing that, moving the fibers of the senses too much, will cause sorrow rather than pleasure. [The painter] must not forget for one instant that great principle, which is the mystery of his art; that is, that the object of painting is to content the soul and the senses and not to fatigue them.32

In accordance with these beliefs, Arteaga advised that images of Jesus Christ should conserve his perfect beauty “without alteration even in his greatest torments and anguish”: otherwise the painter risked debasing his subject. In Arteaga’s opinion, the Italian painter Daniele da Volterra had achieved a deplorable result in his painting Descent from the Cross by depicting unrestrained emotion. “The distressed face of the Virgin is no different from that of a base woman [mujerzuela] who cries and whines in the streets,” he protested.33 Arteaga’s differentiation of Mary, the Catholic ideal of womanhood, from a common woman through the expression of emotion suggests that ideal beauty, like masculinity, was filtered by class distinctions. Arteaga’s aesthetic ideals of dignity and emotional composure were compatible with the hierarchy depicted in casta paintings, where the Spanish appear serene, while nonwhites manifest uninhibited emotions. The association of emotional volatility with weakness of character, femininity, savagery, and animality was deeply rooted in European thought. Philosophers in classical Greece and Rome defined the masculine body as superior, in contrast to women and animals, and understood human character as being determined by climate and physiognomy. Because foreign climates were considered intemperate, the ancients often described foreigners, especially Asians, as imbalanced, animalistic, and effeminate.34 Similarly, eighteenth-century European intellectuals including the philosopher Anthony Ashley Cooper, third earl of Shaftesbury, and the Spanish writers Juan Fernández de Rojas and Luis Álvarez Bracamonte upheld the ideal of masculine supremacy; believed women to be by nature soft, excessive, and inclined to capricious fashions and luxury; and regarded individuals who incorporated characteristics from both sexes as monstrous.35 Because animals were driven by instinct, they stood outside of culture and morals. Petimetres (fops), men who behaved like women by adopting women’s movements and mannerisms and by giving inordinate attention to fashion and appearance, were deemed animalistic and monstrous.36 As Haidt explains, “the body of the petimetre implies gender instability in the way that the body of the hermaphrodite or of the monster placed in doubt the solidity of the social and cosmic structure . . . the existence of monsters belied the fixedness of humans’ superior status within the order of creation and introduced the question of the relation

80   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture to the Other.” In eighteenth-century Spanish letters, the Other included all bodies different from the ideal male norm. The petimetre was above all a cipher of readable difference.37 Although she associates petimetres with foreigners and with the love of luxury imports, Haidt has little to say about Spaniards’ attitudes either toward the New World’s peoples or toward race. In recent work Ilona Katzew demonstrates that, after their Greek and Roman predecessors, many European intellectuals in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries held the conviction that the people and animals of the New World were feeble, effeminate, and depraved due to the “torrid” climate and racial mixing, and this judgment included the Creoles.38 Casta paintings and other eighteenth-century documents make clear that for some Spaniards racial mixtures, especially the lower castas, were threats to social stability as powerful as the body of the petimetre is in Haidt’s analysis. To understand this analogy it is useful to remember that notions of monstrosity were not far removed from practices of cross-breeding. The historian of science Harriet Ritvo notes that in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Britain, for example, hybrids resulting from the union of dissimilar species or breeds were widely stigmatized, not only as mongrels but as “monsters.” Moreover, she explains that the adjective “monstrous” had functioned as a metaphor of disparagement in Europe since the Renaissance, applicable to realms beyond natural history. As a group, monsters were united only by their incapacity to be fitted into the category of the ordinary, “a category that was particularly liable to cultural and moral construction.” In eighteenth-century scientific discourses, presumed to have universal applicability, this category admitted newly discovered animals, animal crossbreeds, human racial mixtures, a variety of physical anomalies, and inappropriate behaviors such as cross-dressing and “unnatural” sexual practices.39 Spanish elites often regarded the castas as impure and illegible, hence monstrous.40 Further, European visitors to the New World routinely remarked on the inhabitants’ love of luxury and ostentation, characteristics that implicitly associated New World peoples with the values that literati satirized in the petimetre.41 Casta paintings depict a hierarchy that simultaneously affirms and resists the cosmopolitan values of self-control, emotional restraint, and unadornment. Like the ideal males in Haidt’s study, the Spaniards in casta paintings appear calm and dignified even in situations of stress. Blacks and castas are more frequently represented displaying excessive emotion. Contrary to ideals of masculine indifference to fashion, Spaniards in the paintings often appear fashionably attired even in the privacy of their own homes. In a painting attributed to José de Alcíbar, illustrating the mixture De español y negra, mulato (ca. 1760, now in the Denver Art Museum), the group appears in a kitchen, where

81   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings the black woman stirs the contents of a jar with a molinillo (Fig. 2.5). The child holds a silver burner while his father lights a cigarette. The man is dressed in a flower-patterned banyan, a loose knee-length coat of Asian origin en vogue among European gentility, a white scarf, and a white lace cap. The banyan was used exclusively in the home and seems to have been common in New Spain given its repeated portrayal in casta paintings.42 These and many other paintings of fashionably and often luxuriously dressed Spaniards suggest tensions between masculine images in the New World and European ideals. Ironically, colonial mercantilism, the same force that brought values of unadorned masculinity to life in England and Spain, underwrote Creole differences. Due to the growth of international commerce and the wealth of New Spain, New World Spaniards and castas also could acquire luxuries previously reserved in Europe for the few. Bernardo de Balbuena, a Spanish-born prelate and intellectual, celebrated the cosmopolitization of New Spain through commerce in his poem Grandeza mexicana (1604), a panegyric to Mexico City including extensive descriptions

Figure 2.5. De español y negra, mulato, attributed to José de Alcíbar, ca. 1760. Denver

Art Museum: Collection of Frederick and Jan Mayer. Photo © James O. Milmoe.

82   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture of the architecture, peoples, habits, Mexican language, climate, landscape, and trees and products of the land.43 Part of the poem lists merchandise from numerous countries “traded and sold” in New Spain: The silver of Peru, the gold from Chile End up here, and from Ternate Fine cloves and cinnamon from Tidoro, From Cambray [Cambrai] fabrics, from Quinsay [Hanzho] currency, Coral from Sicily, from Syria nard From Arabia incense, and from Ormuz garnet, Diamonds from India, and from the Handsome Scytha rubies and fine emeralds, Ivory from Goa and from Sian gray ebony.44

The poem includes goods from the Philippines, the two Javas, China, Flanders, and Italy, among others, to demonstrate that in New Spain one could find “the cream” of all that was “known and practiced.” Balbuena portrayed Mexico as “the richest city under the sun,” where “enjoyment, entertainment, and happiness” were found every day.45 The availability of commodities from every corner of the globe, acquired through international trade, attested to the city’s sophistication, well-being, and affluence. In the late seventeenth century Mexico City was an increasingly rich city. Visitors often remarked on the wealth, extravagance, and racial makeup of its citizens. In an influential and much critiqued text, the English Dominican Thomas Gage disapprovingly observed: Both men and women are excessive in their apparel using more silks than stuffs and cloth. Precious stones and pearls further much their vain ostentation; a hatband and rose made of diamonds in a gentleman’s hat is common, and a hat-band of pearls is ordinary in a tradesman; nay a blackamoor or tawny young maid and slave will make hard shift but she will be in fashion with her neck-chain and bracelet of pearls, and her ear-hobs of some considerable jewels. The attire of this baser sort of people of blackamoors and mulattoes (which are of a mixed nature, of Spaniards and blackamoors) is so light, and their carriage so enticing, that many Spaniards even of the better sort (who are too prone to venery) disdain their wives for them.46

In other words, material excess, ostentation in dress, and personal adornment encouraged immoral behavior and miscegenation. Gage’s exaggerations aside, the physical markers traditionally associated with race such as hair texture and skin color were unreliable indexes of social rank in his widely disseminated description. Similarly, some scholars posit that in eighteenth-century New Spain clothes and personal adornment were as important as physical characteristics and were literally read as race.47 The body

83   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings as concept thus expanded to incorporate dress, which simultaneously indexed race and class.48 As Mexico became wealthier, more cosmopolitan, and racially diverse, the white elites grew fearful of losing their power and prestige. Katzew demonstrated that this anxiety was manifested in casta paintings made after 1760 in detailed depictions of costume that made race and by association social rank more legible.49 In tandem with the ongoing social transformations in the seventeenth and eighteenth century, various travelers and colonial officials depicted the inhabitants of New Spain as corrupt, excessive, and dissolute. Inebriation due to the abundance of pulquerías, for example, often was cited to exemplify the Mexicans’ licentiousness.50 The Bourbon kings Philip V (1700–1746), Ferdinand VI (1746–1759), and Charles III (1759–1788) undertook a series of measures, as part of the reorganization of the empire known as the Bourbon reforms, under the pretext of revitalizing the moral fabric of the viceroyalties. In reality these initiatives were intended to administer better and to extract more revenue from the colonies by extensively restructuring the colonial administration and wresting power from the church and wealthy Creoles.51 To limit Creole influence in the church, for example, in 1717 Philip V reissued a decree (originally emitted in the sixteenth century) that no convents should be founded without authorization of the king. In 1734 he dictated that no new novices be accepted in religious communities for a period of ten years. In 1771 Charles III sent legions of Spanish reformers to all American provinces to curb the relaxation of religious morals attributed to the Creoles. From 1776 to the end of his reign this king ordered a systematic revision of the licenses, ordinances, and finances of the lay brotherhoods or cofradías. Charles IV continued these efforts with the ultimate result of the suppression of many brotherhoods. With a façade of morality, the Crown justified the subjection of a group of corporations that until then had lived on the margins of state control.52 The reforms, ostensibly precipitated by the lack of morals of the colonial subjects, indicate that in the estimation of many Spanish officials the peoples of New Spain were distant from the ideals of sober comportment and morality associated with the ideal body.

Architecture The Bourbon reforms coincided with the introduction of neoclassicism in Mexican architecture and the educated public’s vehement rejection of the Baroque. Neoclassicism is understood as a tendency to base architectural forms on the architecture of classical antiquity or on later buildings derived from that tradition. The renewed authority of classicism implied the reinstatement of classical rules of proportion and symmetry to a central role. This is not to suggest that

84   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture classical currents were new. Mexican architecture showed classicizing tendencies as early as the sixteenth century, but neoclassicism became the officially recognized language of tasteful, cosmopolitan architecture during the second half of the eighteenth century. Many Baroque buildings and works of art, including the main altar or ciprés of the metropolitan cathedral, were unceremoniously destroyed in favor of a modern neoclassical international style with strong French accents.53 The Bourbons played a formative role in this change in taste. While serving as king of Sicily and Naples, Charles (Carlo VII) sponsored the first systematic archaeological excavations at the Roman sites of Herculaneum and Pompeii after their discovery in 1748. The remains of these ancient cities kindled the interest of European artists and intellectuals in the classical world. When in 1759 Charles ascended to the throne of Spain as Charles III, he appointed the Bohemian painter Anton Rafael Mengs as his court painter. While studying in Italy under the patronage of Augustus III of Saxony, Mengs had established a close friendship with Johann Joachim Winckelmann, founder of the discipline of art history in its modern form and the leading advocate of the Greek revival.54 As did Winckelmann, Mengs believed in the perfection of Greek art and recommended that contemporary artists take inspiration from the ancients and aim to surpass them. He attributed the decline of ancient art to the Romans’ predilection for luxury over philosophy, admired the work of Renaissance artists, especially Raphael and Correggio, and regarded Gothic and Moorish styles as well as Baroque art as manifestations of poor taste.55 As court painter, Mengs had considerable influence in the Spanish court. He advised the king in matters of art, including the royal art collections, the work of contemporary Spanish painters, and the Real Academia de San Fernando. Academicians held him in such high regard that they declared him to be the greatest painter alive. During his residence in Spain he made contact with influential intellectuals, artists, and thinkers. Mengs was a regular guest in the house of the renowned architect Ventura Rodríguez and also established a close friendship with Antonio Ponz, secretary of the Real Academia de San Fernando and a prominent author and critic of art. Ponz’s influential art criticism relies heavily on Mengs’s theories and judgments of art.56 Neoclassicism was promoted, disseminated, and enforced internationally through the academies. The Academy of San Carlos was founded in 1783 in Mexico City in response to the initiatives of Jerónimo Antonio Gil, a sculptor from the Royal Academy of San Fernando, appointed by the king as “Tallador Mayor de la Casa de la Moneda” (principal sculptor of the Royal Mint), and José Mangino, superintendent at the same institution. The Spanish monarch requested from the viceroy of New Spain a report judging the merits and

85   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings economic feasibility of the proposal. This task was entrusted to Don Ramón Posada, fiscal of the Real Hacienda (fiscal of the Royal Treasury), who wrote in favor of the foundation of the academy. In Posada’s opinion, the new institution would stimulate the development of arts and crafts as well as the growth of industry, all of which would decrease Mexico’s dependence on imports from European nations other than Spain.57 From the outset the king granted Spaniards control of the academy and reinforced the privileges of the elites. A royal statute awarded academicians the title of hidalgo, one rank below pure-blooded nobility, with the stipulation that those who joined a guild would lose this honor. In 1784 Charles III prohibited all tribunals from employing nonacademicians to measure or direct architectural projects. In this manner artists and architects were separated from craftsmen and integrated into the high bourgeoisie. Local building methods and aesthetic sensibilities usually were passed on from generation to generation of craftsmen, so these mandates also had the potential to suppress regional traditions and establish an international architecture hegemony. Antonio González de Velázquez, the first director of architecture at the academy, arrived in Mexico in 1778. Sculptor Manuel Tolsá succeeded him in 1791, and Rafael Ximeno y Planes took the post in 1794. These men, especially Gonzáles de Velázquez, forcefully attempted to prevent anything other than neoclassical buildings from being erected.58 The towers of the Metropolitan Cathedral by José Damián Ortiz de Castro (1787–1791), the Palacio de Minería (1797–1813) by Manuel Tolsá, and the Fábrica de Tabacos (1807–1810) by Antonio González de Velázquez exemplify neoclassical work by academic masters. Scholars offer multiple explanations for the Mexican elites’ enthusiastic reception of neoclassical architecture. In the opinion of Abelardo Carrillo y Gariel and Manuel Toussaint, the academy controlled architects with a series of rewards. Dismayed by what they regarded as the deformations of the Baroque, the academicians decided to welcome to the academy all the architects approved by the ayuntamiento and award them the title of académicos de mérito, “with the absolute condition that before beginning any work, whether church, convent, or other considerable building, they must present the plans directly to the Junta Superior de Gobierno [Superior Government Council] and submit, without any objection or excuse whatsoever, to the corrections made to them, and with the warning that in case of disobedience they will be severely punished.”59 To the art historian Justino Fernández, Mexicans’ eager acceptance of neoclassicism indicated a new attitude toward the future that welcomed rationality, liberty, and progress—in other words, modernity. In his view, these attitudes were coherent with the nascent spirit of Mexican independence.60

86   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Eduardo Báez Macías attributes the development of neoclassicism during the late eighteenth century both to peninsular economic imperatives and to the academicians’ desire to revitalize architecture in reaction to symptoms of “architectural decadence.” In his opinion, the degeneration of Mexican architecture was evidenced by “bulbous bodies” and a “softening” (ablandamiento) and consequent dissolution of architectural structure, which “degraded” the canonical estípites of Lorenzo Rodríguez.61 A renewal could only occur by a return to the classical styles.62 Báez Macías anchors his analysis on bodily images previously established in Mexican architecture criticism. As the historian Francisco de la Maza explained, “the estípite is a geometrical schema of the human body. The capital is the head; the cube or bulbous section is the chest; the narrowing between the cube and the superior part of the pyramid clearly forms the hips and legs, tapering as it descends to the feet. It is possible that its great Latin diffusion is due to this, although in a subconscious manner.”63 De la Maza implies that the basic design of the estípite reproduces the human body, which unconsciously impacts the viewer. Consequently for Báez Macías the dissolution of structure is suggestive of the softening of bones and muscles, the attenuation of a vertical member (the estípite), along with appearance of “bulbous bodies,” implying impotence and feminization. This art historian’s language is not too distant from the way late eighteenth-century educated publics described the Baroque. Spanish and Mexican elites associated neoclassicism with new cosmopolitan tendencies and ascribed to neoclassical art and architecture values of dignity, sobriety, and decorum. Like the values ascribed to live human bodies, good architecture depended on purity, legibility, and wholeness. In contrast, elites viewed the Baroque as an excessive, degraded, and “deformed” style. Architectural discourses of the perfect body disseminated in the Renaissance and revitalized in the eighteenth century underpinned these attitudes. As mentioned earlier, numerous architects and theorists during the Renaissance, including Fra Giovanni Giocondo, Leon Battista Alberti, Cesare Cesariano, and Leonardo da Vinci, reiterated the fundamental connection between the body and architecture.64 With the advent of the Baroque, architects’ interest in nature, geometry, optics, and theatricality displaced the classical discourses of perfect symmetry and the human body. The formal innovations that characterize Italian Baroque (the traditional focus of study in the field of Baroque architecture) were rare in the New World. In contrast to the complex geometries and dramatic illusions of movement displayed in buildings by Italian masters such as Francesco Borromini and Guarino Guarini, most architectural plans in New Spain remained rectilinear and the buildings’ façades static. There was significant formal innovation in ornamentation. In fact, it was

87   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings through ornament that the architecture of New Spain constructed its visual identity. Mexican elites (both Creoles and natives) favored lavishly decorated spaces, which often bore a local stamp. Although Mexican art and architecture of this period are usually described as “Baroque,” Mexican artists created their own distinctive interpretations of European models from various periods. Because of the expansion of trade networks and increasing internationalism, artistic traditions from the East also contributed to artistic developments in ceramics, painting, textiles, and the decorative arts, all of which were incorporated in architecture.65 Ornamental richness on a traditional structure is evident at the Rosario Chapel in the Church of Santo Domingo in Puebla (built 1571–1611, completed 1690; Figs. 2.6, 2.7, and 2.8). Here geometric and organic ornament of varied forms and complexity spreads over everything like a live, growing organism traveling from the walls to the picture frames to the retablos and the statues in them and the dome. The interiors at Santa María de Tonatzintla (Fig. 2.9) and San Francisco de Acatepec also are laden with surface relief decoration that complements and often merges with gilded altarpieces (retablos) incorporating paintings and tridimensional sculpture.66 If ornament were conceived as the clothing of architecture, the buildings of New Spain were as “excessive in their apparel” as the people in Gage’s account. In eighteenth-century Mexico City, the Spanish architects Gerónimo de Balbás and Lorenzo Rodríguez developed a current of the Baroque based on the use of the estípite as the main decorative element. The style became known as Churrigueresque after the rich decorative style of Spanish sculptor José Benito Churriguera, who included estípites in his famous design of the catafalque for the funeral of María Luisa d’Orléans in 1689.67 Francisco de la Maza describes this monument as “so vigorous and decisive that it changed the formal taste of the Hispanic baroque for five decades.” 68 Other examples of estípites in Spain before 1712 include the arch for the Puerta del Sol built for the ceremonial entry of María Luisa d’Orléans to Madrid in 1680, Balbás’s retablo for the main altar of the Cathedral of Seville, and the retablo of Santiago designed by Francisco Hurtado for the Cathedral of Granada; but many scholars concur that the Churrigueresque reached the greatest splendor in Mexico.69 In his Altar de los Reyes, dedicated in 1737 in the Cathedral of Mexico, Balbás used tall, powerful estipítes and multiple breaks in the entablature to create the illusions of height and lightness in the retablo structure. In the sagrario (1749–1760) of the same cathedral, Rodríguez brought the estipítes and the retablo structure to the building’s exterior (Fig. 2.10).70 As Báez Macías suggested, the estípites as well as the horizontal divisions of the façades in the sagrario are defined and legible. In later Baroque buildings such as the anonymous façade of the Balbanera Chapel

Figure 2.6. Chapel of El Rosario, Santo Domingo, Puebla, begun 1571–1611, com-

pleted 1690. Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 2.7. Rosario Chapel, Santo Domingo, Puebla, begun 1571–1611, completed 1690: Ornament detail. Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 2.8. Rosario Chapel, Santo Domingo, Puebla, begun 1571–1611, completed

1690: Ornament detail. Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

91   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings

Figure 2.9. Santa María de

Tonatzintla, ca. 1700: Ornament detail. Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

in the Church of San Francisco in Mexico City, among others, the structure loses its clarity: the estípites flatten and the inter-estípites rupture to frame statues and other decorative elements (Fig. 2.11). Entablatures and capitals shatter, and the pieces often float detached from the supporting members, magnifying the effects of dematerialization that Balbás initiated in his altarpiece. It was these later Baroque edifices that modern critics decry. Similarly, eighteenthcentury critics objected to the lack of symmetry and harmony, which in their view resulted in misshapen buildings of “perversa talla” (perverse size), exuberant ornamentation, especially the “hojarasca” (vegetation) that obscured active architectural supports, and “columnas sin oficio” (idle columns), decorative columns that served no structural function.71 With the theoretical establishment of sober neoclassicism as the dominant language of architecture and the reintroduction of an aesthetic of the ideal body in the eighteenth century, Baroque buildings came to be regarded as

Figure 2.10. Lorenzo Rodríguez, Sagrario Metropolitano, Mexico City, 1749–1760.

Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 2.11. Balbanera Chapel, Church of San Francisco, Mexico City, 18th century. Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

94   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture monstrous and deformed. In Spain the most acerbic critic of the Baroque was Antonio Ponz, who in his eighteen-volume work Viaje de España (1772–1794) undertook the herculean task of describing worthy works of art and architecture in all of Spain. A lover of all things classical with modest admiration for the Gothic, Ponz argued that Alonso Berruguete, Alonso de Covarrubias, and Diego de Siloé had established in Spain a good school of architecture that reached its apex in the work of Juan Bautista de Toledo, Juan de Herrera, and later Francisco de Mora.72 He praised, for example, the unornamented façade of the Escorial begun by Juan de Herrera and completed by Juan Bautista de Toledo (1563–1584) for its seriousness and precise proportion.73 In his opinion this school had declined in the following century and had been supplanted by “monstrosities” and “bestialities” that disconcerted the viewer and made no sense. For Ponz bad architecture was comparable to “moral vices” and indicated social decadence. He opined that “solidity, convenience, variety, harmony, decorum, unity, and simplicity in buildings are difficult to compose: they are what constitutes true beauty and what has given the first artifices such a great reputation.” 74 Deviations from these ideals resulted in “despicable works dishonorable to their peoples and unworthy of the great creator of the universe, who ordered everything with proportion and measure.” To reinstitute the good reputation of Spain he recommended in no uncertain terms that such disgraceful buildings be destroyed.75 Ponz also objected to the Baroque for practical reasons. In 1776 he rationalized and explicated the danger that Baroque altars posed for public safety due to the flammable nature of wood and the popular custom of adorning the structures with many candles on religious celebrations. He added that this practice caused churches to look ugly and dirty and that the constant lighting of the candles distracted the faithful. The Parish Church of Santa Cruz, located in front of the School of Santo Tomás, was set ablaze years ago. It was said that one of the many candles that burned in the retable on a festive occasion caused the destruction . . . [this] should suffice to abandon once and for all the use of such wooden promontories as well as the puerile practice of placing on them so many opportunities for burning . . . It must be added that, with four or five hundred candles as are frequently gathered in our retables, in addition to the risk of fire, the churches and the images rapidly become blackened. It is a distraction to those in the temple to see those who are busy lighting so many candles cross up and down the altar and a continuous preoccupation to observe, as in theater decorations, if a candle twists or if a wick falls that in an instant can ignite the whole edifice.76

The authorities received Ponz’s work with enthusiasm. The king funded the publication of Viaje de España after reading the first volume. In 1777 the

95   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings Count of Floridablanca, minister of the Real Consejo, published a letter from Charles III in the Mercurio Histórico y Político in Madrid in which the sovereign reiterated Ponz’s advice almost unedited. He urged archbishops, bishops, city councils, and the religious orders to banish from temples “the deformities evident in their fabrics and decorations and in the structure of altars.” These measures would assure that the architecture expressed “reverence, sobriety, and decorum” proper to the majesty of those places and avoid fires caused by “fragile and combustible materials” frequently used for building decorations and ceilings. In his opinion Baroque altars were expensive and flammable, so he recommended that permanent materials be used instead of wood. The gilding of altarpieces was to be avoided because the golden surfaces darkened with time, making the decoration an ugly sight. The designs of projects paid with public funds were to be submitted to the appropriate authorities in advance, so that the latter could in turn present them to the Academia de San Fernando for approval.77 Echoing the king’s and the Spanish academy’s distaste for the Baroque, the director of the Academy of San Carlos in Mexico City reported to the sovereign in 1795 on the condition of contemporary architecture in New Spain: The architects’ unwillingness to subject themselves to the rules of their art is the cause of the deformity which one sees in public buildings of this city. Some houses rise to a height, which the notorious instability of the terrain makes unwise, at the imminent risk of collapse. In all of them there is disregard of that selectivity and taste in facade decoration which determines the elegance and exterior beauty of a building. In many of them one perceives with horror a confused and disagreeable mixing of the Three Orders; doors and windows are placed arbitrarily, without balance or symmetry; the stairways are as perilous as they are unsightly; and the interior plan offers none of that ease and convenience which was the precise object of its invention. Finally, one can hardly find a single building in which the different members which should compose it can be distinguished clearly, and in none of them does one note the least sense of proportion, of that relationship of the whole to the parts, and of the parts to the whole, which constitutes the elegance of a good design. The root of these defects is that the architects are accustomed to begin building before putting their ideas together on paper, because they are generally ignorant of rendering and mechanical drawing. Precisely from this lack of composition there results the general monstrosity of the constructions which disfigure the streets of this fair capital and are a matter of ridicule in the eyes of every intelligent man, for they have cost their owners large sums of money.78

The writer emphasizes the importance of purity, legibility, and rationality and calls the reader’s attention to the deleterious effects of unnatural mixtures (the mixture of the three orders). In the view of this critic, the Baroque no longer

96   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture communicated divine harmony and proportion as expressed in Vitruvian man; buildings had become deformed, monstrous bodies. There is a remarkable resonance between the language of architecture criticism and previously discussed contemporary discourses on the body, which, as manifested in the racial classifications depicted in casta painting, also hinged on purity and legibility. Bodily images also were applied to the social fabric and to the city.79 The historian Alejandro Cañeque explains that the state was the collective body of the king in seventeenth-century Spain as the church was the collective body of Christ. The conception of the church as the mystical body of Christ originated in the twelfth century, as did the idea of society as a living organism systematically compared to the human body.80 Few writers in New Spain illustrated these analogies more pointedly than Hipólito de Villarroel, who in his book Enfermedades politicas que padece la capital de esta Nueva España (1785) extensively described a diseased social body, progressively decaying by indulging in a multiplicity of vices: excessive luxury, avarice, drinking, smoking, gambling, robbery, and violence. Villarroel attributed this social degeneration to the effects of racial mixing, which progressively eroded the qualities of pure races. To support his arguments, he described numerous aspects of city life and in addition cited a report to the king authored by Don Fernando de Alencastre Noroña y Silva, Duque de Linares and viceroy of New Spain from 1711 to 1716. In his report the viceroy observed: The masses are pusillanimous but ill inclined and because of that and their great multitude deserve some reflection . . . They are constituted by different castes that the unions among Spanish, Indians, and Blacks have procreated; but confusing their first origin in such a way that there are no words to explain and distinguish these classes of people who are the majority of the inhabitants of the kingdom. Always degenerating their liaisons, their inclinations are correspondingly vicious; they regard the noble caste of the Spanish with deep abhorrence and the Indian with loathing and contempt. They adjust neither to the honorable costumes of the former nor to the humble and somewhat laborious habits of the latter, and the truth is that the corrupt castes of New Spain could well be compared with the genuine or supposed gypsies of the old Spain.81

Villarroel elaborated: The true Gypsy by profession does not recognize his place of residence; he lives without modesty or shame; it is indifferent to him to be clothed or naked; his cradle is deceit and untruth, his inclination theft; his occupation and business those which facilitate him the means for robbery; he makes gambling, inconstancy, and drunkenness his delights . . . This is also the faithful portrait of a coyote, a lobo, a tente-enel-aire, a saltaatrás, and the generations of men with distinct denominations that compose the indefinite number of corrupt castas of New Spain, without dispute

97   ■  Castas, Monstrous Bodies, and Soft Buildings worse than the gypsies . . . The inferior castes from New Spain form a monster of so many species to which are added infinite Spaniards, Europeans, and Creoles lost and vulgarized with poverty and idleness.82

In Villarroel’s opinion, many of the lower-class Spaniards who came to America were already evil and vicious in Spain and their character only worsened in America, “center of libertinism and asylum of vices and wantonness.”83 According to various Spanish writers, a further source of degeneration for Spaniards was the affluent families’ damaging custom of hiring wet nurses (chichiguas), who tainted decent Spanish blood with their impure milk.84 As in racial classifications in New Spain, discourses of monstrosity also engaged race and class. The deformities of buildings and other arts were sometimes associated with the castas and the lower classes. In 1746, in a proposal to amend and add to the ordinances of architecture, a group of architects petitioned to restrict membership to native nobles and deny entry to mixed-race individuals altogether in order to maintain the calidad of the academy.85 Gregorio Francisco Bermúdez Pimentel, corregidor (magistrate) of the City of Mexico, disagreed with the petition to limit indigenous commoners but agreed to exclude mixed-race applicants.86 In 1749 His Majesty’s fiscal Juan Andaluz reiterated the judgment of the corregidor on the admission of natives. He added that mestizos and castizos should be allowed to enter but that mulattos, lobos, and other people of equally low quality should be denied admission.87 In a petition to the viceroy in 1799 to close the workshops of local artisans, the professors of the academy explained: “It causes horror, Excellent Sir, so many abuses as ignorance produces in Effigies, Retablos, and Public Oratories. We do not see anything but our own dishonor at the hands of Indians, Spanish, and Blacks, who aspire without rules or foundations to the imitation of Sacred objects.”88 These untrained artisans most likely belonged to the lower classes and castas. The foregoing discussion suggests that the castas, society, and Baroque architecture in New Spain were comparable to monstrous creatures in need of rehabilitation and treatment in the view of some eighteenth-century intellectuals. Traversing various social and cultural realms, ultimately these arguments were based on ideals of the human body that incorporated moral values, taste, and conduct. Where casta paintings indicated the right mixtures to produce a healthier social body, critiques of architecture promoted neoclassicism as a cure. In architecture this tendency emulated Renaissance ideals of proportion based on bodily perfection. Yet, like bodies, style was impossible to control. Baroque buildings continued to be built through the nineteenth century, especially in towns and cities outside the capital.89 Notable examples of Mexican

98   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Baroque architecture completed in the eighteenth century include the chapel of the Balbanera in San Francisco (Fig. 2.11) and El Pocito in Mexico City (1791), the churches of San Francisco Javier at Tepozotlán, (1760–1762), the Valenciana in Guanajuato, El Carmen in San Luis Potosí, Santa Prisca in Taxco (1758, Fig. 2.12), and the Cathedral of Zacatecas (1752). The existence of these buildings demonstrates the persistence of the local predilection for exuberant decoration in contradiction to the academy’s attempts to classicize and regulate taste. While Creole academicians adopted Spanish ideals, in architecture as in discourses of race, theory was in tension with practice. Prolonged conflicts between official notions of taste and the Baroque were evident in a series of essays by the respected intellectual and statesman Don Carlos María Bustamante published in the Diario de México in 1809. Drawing from Ponz, he wrote vehemently against the commission of Baroque altars not only because they were expensive and frequently the cause of fires but also because they served as hiding places in the house of God for rats, “filthy bugs,” and criminals.90 He especially condemned the imposition of “churrigueresque adornments” on the neoclassical altar of the temple of the Convento de Santo Domingo with “bouquets and silver trifles,” describing these decorations as testaments of the profound roots that bad taste had grown in Mexico during the centuries of domination.91 On August 17, 1810, an anonymous critic responded to Bustamante: “And why are the bouquets and the adornment of the central altar of Santo Domingo trifles? . . . the magnificence of a temple is not measured by inedited copies but by the tradition of the Church .  .  . You should read the magnificence of the Temple of Salomon and there you will notice that even though the alabaster of the tabernacle is not visible [it is sufficient] that an excess of offerings and vows of the faithful are visible.” 92 By justifying the local predilection for ornamental richness as an expression of religious faith, this critic countered the internationalism of the academy with the long-standing internationalism of the Catholic religion. After independence, Mexican intellectuals and politicians rejected the colonial casta system. In the opinion of writer and revolutionary Fray Servando Teresa de Mier, the classification of the population according to castas only revealed the “iniquity of the preoccupations and the arrogance of the white race of the Caucasus.” Like the respondent to Bustamante, de Mier founded his arguments against racial divisions on the Catholic religion: “At any rate, because men are Africans, or Americans, or mixed, black, olive skinned, or brown . . . they do not cease to be sons of a common father and consequently [they are] of the same species . . . Europeans should remember that almost all of them have been slaves as was the great majority of the Roman Empire . . . until

Figure 2.12. Diego Durán, Cayetano de Sigüenza, and Juan Caballero. Church of Santa Prisca, Taxco, 1751–1758. Photo: Alejandro Linares García. conaculta–inah.– mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

100   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture the twelfth century when Pope Benedict, considering that all Christians are brothers in Jesus Christ . . . called us with the Gospel to liberty.” 93 The Mexicans’ invocation of the church to defend both Baroque sensibilities and postindependence Enlightenment values indicates the lasting impact of colonial power structures in the popular imaginary and in the continuously evolving fields of interaction between the local and the global.

Modern Criticism Traces of the colonial period also haunt modern scholarship. Modern architecture history, for example, shares with casta painting the will to resolve the messiness of the material world within an orderly system of classification consistent with Enlightenment values. Colonial architecture routinely challenged traditional stylistic classifications. Scholars responded to this problem by creating additional categories, which like casta painting might help the observer to identify new types. At present we can choose to classify Mexican “Baroque” buildings into schemes ranging anywhere from two to more than a dozen classifications, including seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Baroque, sober Baroque, rich Baroque, exuberant Baroque, or Ultra Baroque; Baroque of transition; Solomonic, estípite, Anástilo or Neóstilo Baroque; Baroque of movable flutes; and Baroque of multiple panels.94 These categories, in an attempt to make the buildings fit into a European scheme, render meaningless the canonical category of the Baroque. The point here is that just as human variety exceeds the taxonomy represented in casta paintings, the architecture is active to such a degree as to render traditional stylistic frameworks ineffectual. Some scholars fruitfully have questioned the conceptual differentiation of the late Baroque from neoclassicism but have left the problem of formal classification unresolved. The art historian and critic Jorge Alberto Manrique denominated the last phase of the Mexican Baroque as Neóstilo, a stylistic modality marked by the return of the column and the pilaster, the rupture of reticulated façades, and unconventional decorations. In his opinion, Neóstilo developed as a reaction against “the tyranny of the estípite” but remained resolutely Baroque in its departures from the classical tradition.95 For example, Neóstilo buildings employ and simultaneously negate the structural function of columns and pilasters, as these members rarely support traditional elements such as architraves, friezes, and cornices. In the front façade of the church of Santa Prisca in Taxco (1758, Fig. 2.12), Solomonic columns surmount columnar supports with unadorned shafts and Corinthian and composite capitals. Yet the columns on the second stage bear only fragments of entablature and seem detached from the façade. The bell towers include estípites and columns richly

Figure 2.13. Francisco Guerrero y Torres, La Enseñanza, Mexico City, 18th century. Photo: Leigh Thelmadatter conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

102   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture decorated with festoons and beaded patterns reminiscent of Plateresque architecture. The church of La Enseñanza in Mexico City (Fig. 2.13) and the chapel of El Pocito (1791), both by Francisco Guerrero y Torres, exemplified this new architectural consciousness through the use of octagonal plans, multilobed arches, and unconventional supports (undulating pilasters like flattened Solomonic columns at El Pocito and columns with zigzagging flutes at La Enseñanza). Because of the heterogeneity of these innovations, Manrique argued that the return of the column had nothing to do with classical architecture and concluded that it was erroneous to consider Neóstilo a transitional style between the Baroque and neoclassicism.96 Like Manrique, Martha Fernández views the late Baroque and neoclassicism as separate tendencies; but in contrast to his identification of neoclassicism as the style of the Enlightenment, she believes that a critical and rational spirit was common to the two currents. After Manrique, she maintains that “‘the Neóstilo constituted the last card of the novo-Hispanic Baroque,’” but for her the style also was to become “the first card” of the Mexican Enlightenment. Evident in both scholars’ arguments is the difficulty of clearly differentiating neóstilo from both the Baroque and neoclassicism. If, as Fernández notes, “Mexican neoclassicism conserved much of the Baroque spirit,” 97 it is uncertain which buildings may be properly read as late Baroque and which as neoclassical. Neóstilo buildings belong exclusively to neither the Baroque nor neoclassicism but, like the castas, constituted new types that transcended the existing classifications in European thought. Throughout this chapter, my readings of casta paintings and architecture criticism from various periods have led me to suggest that representations and discourses of the ideal body both imply and occlude notions of race, gender, and class. The disavowal of race creates a specter that haunts architecture criticism. Although the idea of race ostensibly exists outside of architecture, the foundational discourses of classical architecture rely on analogies to bodies, which invariably imply race. Hence ideas of race have continuously affected the evaluation of buildings; as typologies of race in casta painting enable the viewer to visualize racial hierarchies and establish models for superior types, stylistic classifications survey the propagation of difference and guide aesthetic judgments. Discourses of the body and discourses of architecture engage multiple temporalities as they develop from interactions between local and international spheres and preserve imprints from previous eras. Potent and invisible, the idea of race moves inside and outside architecture, bearing the potential to restrict and open possibilities for future scholarship.

Experiments in the Representation of National Identity

3 A F

The Pavilion of Mexico in the 1889 Universal Exposition in Paris and the Palacio de Bellas Artes After independence in 1821, the Mexican elites’ previous identification with Spain took the form of a general identification with Europe and later with the United States. This resulted in imitation of European and U.S. cultural patterns. Simultaneously, Mexico’s leaders continued to look at the most developed indigenous civilizations, especially the Aztec Empire, as episodes of their own past. This double identification of the Mexican upper classes with indigenous civilizations and also with foreign powers replicated in a postcolonial era the identity dynamics of the colonial period. Architecture was shaped by and also affected these forces. Like other aspects of visual culture, buildings incorporate existing perceptions of the nation and inform future visions, thus participating in the process of national identity formation central to nationalism and associated with cosmopolitanism. After a brief introduction to relevant social and architectural developments in nineteenth-century Mexico, in this chapter I discuss two buildings of markedly different styles to demonstrate the dual footing of significant architectural commissions of the period within and outside of the nation: the Pavilion of Mexico in the 1889 exposition in Paris and Adamo Boari’s project proposal for the National Theater of Mexico (1904). The later edifice was completed by Federico Mariscal and renamed the Palacio de Bellas Artes in 1934. Despite their formal differences, both designs aspired to represent Mexico’s modernity, especially through technical infrastructure. This suggests that, like style, technology acquired semiotic values. In the unification of tradition and innovation both buildings served a similar experimental function in the representation of the nation. To facilitate comparison with the pavilion, the discussion of the theater concerns primarily Boari’s design from the Porfirian era. The two works were government commissions eventually intended to serve public functions. Although the pavilion no longer exists and the theater as built differed from 103

104   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Boari’s design, sufficient records of the construction of each edifice remain to make such an exercise possible. Commissioned during the Porfiriato (the government of Porfirio Díaz, 1877–1880, 1884–1911), the two buildings exemplify seemingly divergent forms of architectural expression (Figs. 3.1, 3.2). The first building appears to represent the local through myriad references to Mexican antiquity; at first sight the second, informed by European architectural models, engages with the international languages of classicism and art nouveau. In fact both buildings portrayed Mexico as simultaneously exotic and modern. While the pavilion advertised Mexico’s uniqueness within a Beaux-Arts design frame, the Palace of Fine Arts took the opposite approach, featuring classicizing forms sparsely seasoned with local motifs. My discussion of the pavilion demonstrates that the use of indigenous antiquity to represent locality in architecture was a complex international affair despite its associations with nationalism. Architectural representations of the Mexican past were first modeled abroad; these models were then adopted at

Figure 3.1. H. Blancard, view of the Pavilion of Mexico in the Universal Exposition,

Paris, France, 1889, platinum prints. Collection Centre Canadien d’Architecture/Canadian Centre for Architecture. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

105   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity

Figure 3.2. Palacio de Bellas Artes, Mexico City, begun 1901 by Adamo Boari, com-

pleted 1934 by Federico Mariscal. Photo: Simon Penny. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

home and subsequently exported. Thus images from pre-Hispanic cultures not only signified the local but became signs of seduction to stimulate the desire of outsiders. Invoking both tradition and industrialization, the pavilion was intended to alert foreigners to the rich potential of Mexico. The Palacio de Bellas Artes displayed Mexico’s achievements in the realms of high culture and modernity by using a similar admixture. The marketing of difference was integrated into the strategies of capitalism.1

Setting During the first two-thirds of the nineteenth century Mexico was ravaged first by the wars of independence and later by civil wars and foreign interventions, including the French invasion in 1838 and the Mexican-American War (1845– 1847). From independence in 1821 to 1876, Mexicans experimented with various forms of government including two empires: one ruled by a Creole, Emperor Agustín de Iturbide I (1822–1823), and another established under French pro-

106   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture tection with Maximilian of Habsburg as emperor (1864–1867). Such political instability was unfavorable for architecture, and little building took place between 1810 and 1887. Additionally, a series of laws designed to decrease the influence of the church during La Reforma (1855–1876) prevented the commissions of sumptuous religious buildings that had enriched the urban environments of the colonial period. The most important work of architecture before 1870 was the renovation of the castle of Chapultepec by the architect Vicente Manero, commissioned by Maximilian to transform the old colonial building into a veritable palace.2 The Porfiriato was the most stable period for politics, economics, and architecture. In fact, most of the architecture of the century was built during Díaz’s presidency. Anxious to modernize Mexico, the Díaz regime was characterized by an open-door policy to industrialization and foreign investments and by an ardent enthusiasm for modern technologies. The Porfirian administration introduced to Mexico technological innovations such as potable water and sewage systems, electric lighting, telephones, automobiles, movies, and a significantly expanded railroad network.3 Throughout the Porfiriato the government launched campaigns to attract foreign investments and European migration to help to industrialize the country. In pace with the regime’s ambitions, affluent Mexicans readily imported ideas, goods, architects, and architecture. This resulted in a cultural cosmopolitanism that favored European and North American products and innovations, unlike the Creoles’ global outreach in the late viceregal period. During most of the Porfiriato upper-class Mexicans wore French and English clothes, danced the minuet, listened to French and Italian operas, and even preferred English to Mexican food. Exclusive neighborhoods with sumptuous neoclassical homes resembled sections of Paris and Brussels. The owners of these houses often purchased architectural designs in Europe and had them executed in Mexico. The École des Beaux-Arts became the educational destination of young and promising Mexican architects, displacing the Academia de San Fernando in importance. Concurrently, in Europe the art and architecture of the colonies began to have an impact in visual culture as the proliferation of Asian motifs in the decorative arts and the later integration of African aesthetics into modern European art attest.4 The project of constructing a national style of architecture in Mexico began in the context of these transnational crossings. Patrons and architects manifested two impulses: to create an architecture that would demonstrate Mexico’s modernity and to emphasize the nation’s autochthonous character. The first goal took precedence over the second during most of the nineteenth century.

107   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity While multiple nineteenth-century regimes demonstrated a marked preference for neoclassicism, in the second half of the century various stylistic currents from Europe and the United States were adopted and adapted, including Gothic, Romanesque, and Islamic revivals. These styles did not exist in isolation but were often combined with others. In this context neoclassicism entailed neither archaeological correctness nor exclusive use of the classical language of architecture. Architect Israel Katzman, a pioneer in the study of nineteenth-century Mexican architecture, once remarked that it sufficed for a building to have classical columns for architects and critics to designate it as neoclassical.5 Neoclassicism had multiple significations in Mexico. On the one hand, the introduction of classical traditions to the New World through Spain as well as the revival of classicism under the Bourbons implicated neoclassicism in a colonial relation; on the other, it was part of local efforts to legitimize independent regimes and to define Mexico as a modern nation. In various historical periods political regimes adopted neoclassical architecture for official buildings. Because neoclassicism is based on the art of ancient civilizations, its use in later eras is part of a process of validation. Neoclassical government buildings are ritualistic gestures of empowerment, for they imply the association of the nation that commissions them with the great civilizations of Western antiquity. The status of neoclassicism as an international architectural language during the nineteenth century further problematizes these readings. Architectural and artistic tendencies understood as “international” were traditionally developed in Western Europe and in the United States and subsequently exported. In this light, neoclassical architecture in Mexico signaled both the nation’s postcolonial independent status and its subaltern relation to Europe and North America. In the last two decades of the century official architectural commissions often instantiated vernacular cosmopolitanisms by incorporating colonial and indigenous architectural motifs into contemporary buildings. The classical language of architecture continued to have enormous prestige, but it failed to signify progress by itself. Industrial materials such as iron, glass, and reinforced concrete (introduced to Mexico in the second half of the nineteenth century) and new mechanical and electrical technologies became the most reliable markers of modernity. Hence these materials and technologies had signifying functions in the architecture of this period as important as style and decoration, but their aesthetic value was ambivalent. Architects frequently covered industrial materials so that the edifices appeared to be constructed with traditional materials.6 Iron was used alone only for discrete elements such as the roof, decorations, and outdoor furni-

108   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture ture. Iron details imitated architectural forms in traditional styles.7 Buildings with whole iron structures were first erected during the Porfiriato. A great part of the materials and machinery used for these buildings was imported.8 This implies that Mexico depended on other countries for imports in order to be able to construct a modern image of itself, replicating the dependency of a colonial relation. The Pavilion of Mexico in the 1889 Universal Exposition in Paris was the first official attempt to create a national style of architecture based on ancient Mexican models. In an earlier essay on the building, which I partly reproduce here, I demonstrated that representations of national identity in architecture were driven by domestic and international politics.9 In a later and more extensive study, reaching similar conclusions, Mauricio Tenorio-Trillo correctly interpreted the ephemeral Mexican pavilions at international exhibitions as exercises or experiments in the architectural representation of the nation.10 Ephemeral architecture frequently plays an experimental role in all periods.11 In Porfirian Mexico, as in other cosmopolitan cities, architects and patrons also experimented with permanent buildings to portray diverse visions of national identity. In fact, pavilions commissioned for international expositions often were preserved and reerected in cities such as London, Paris, New York, and Mexico City. In the nineteenth century at least two of Mexico’s pavilions for world’s fairs were designed so that they could be disassembled and later reerected as permanent structures in Mexico City. Just as the nation can be conceived as an ongoing experiment, which sometimes preserves tradition and at other times welcomes innovation, so can the urban environment. Ephemeral and permanent architecture both emerge and operate in a field of intricate relations between the nation and the outside in which the buildings perform generative and mediating functions.

The Pavilion of Mexico at the 1889 Universal Exposition In February of 1888 the Mexican Secretariat of Public Works, Colonization, and Commerce organized a competition for the design of a Mexican pavilion for the 1889 Universal Exposition in Paris. The secretary of public works, Carlos Pacheco, appointed two committees to design the building. Luis Salazar, Vicente Reyes, and José María Alva were on the first committee; Antonio María Anza and Antonio Peñafiel were on the second one.12 With the exception of Peñafiel, all the committee members were practicing engineers and architects.13 Peñafiel was a physician, a historian, an antiquarian, and one of Mexico’s leading scientists. His fields of interest included geography, statistics, numismatics, natural science, and philology.

109   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity Instructions for the competition specified that the pavilion should be a single building in a style that represented one or several ancient indigenous monuments. The government also required that the building be constructed so that it could be transported back to Mexico when the exhibition ended. The pavilion was then to be transformed into a museum or a public building.14 Each committee submitted a written proposal and drawings to Carlos Pacheco, who in turn presented each project to the president of the republic, Porfirio Díaz. The president, Pacheco, and the exhibition’s board of directors judged the designs. Each of the appointed committees designed a building based on Beaux-Arts models emphasizing regularity and symmetry (Figs. 3.3, 3.8). The decorations were derived from ancient Mexican motifs from various mediums. Peñafiel and Anza modeled the main entrance of their building (Fig. 3.1) on post-Classic Central Mexican temples, particularly the temple of Xochicalco (Fig. 3.4). Peñafiel described the pavilion’s portico as “a compendium of Mexican worship,” including symbols for the sun, the earth, and fire.15 A sun disk flanked by crocodiles was placed above the main entrance. In Aztec cosmogony the crocodile symbolizes the earth. Fire symbols modeled after Xochicalco emblems were placed on the alfardas at each side of the stairs.16 Above each alfarda was a brazier representing Huehueteotl, the fire deity. The “caryatids” supporting the portico’s lintel were based on Toltec prototypes. On the right and left wings of the façade were relief bronze panels representing mythological figures. On the right side of the building (the viewer’s left) Centeotl, goddess of agriculture, appeared in the center; Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of water, on her left; and Tlaloc, god of water, on her right. On the left side of the façade (the viewer’s right) Xochiquexzal, patroness of the arts, was flanked by Camaxtli, god of hunting, to her right and Yacatecuhtli, god of commerce, to her left. On the center of the building were figural panels representing Aztec rulers (Figs. 3.5, 3.6). According to Peñafiel, these panels indicated the dawn and end of Aztec civilization. The rulers Itzcoatl, Nezahualcoyotl, and Totoquihuatzin represented the Triple Alliance; Cacama, Cuitlahuac, and Cuauhtemoc illustrated the end of the “Aztec monarchy.” The relief figures were based on color tracings from the Florentine Codex that the German scholar Eduard Seler lent to Peñafiel.17 Salazar, Reyes, and Alva based their design (Figs. 3.7, 3.8) on Central Mexican and Mayan archaeological remains as well as on ancient Mexican architecture illustrated in contemporary history paintings. To name a few among many motifs, the second-floor windows of the front façade were based on the Maya corbeled arch; the pilasters at the base of the towers on each side of the building imitated supports at Teotihuacan’s Palace of Quetzal-Butterfly, sun disks encircled the skylights, and masks modeled after mascarones at the Nunnery

Figure 3.3. Antonio Peñafiel and Antonio María Anza, ground floor plan, Pavilion of Mexico, Universal Exposition, Paris, 1889. From Antonio Peñafiel, Monumentos del arte mexicano antiguo: Ornamentación, mitología, tributos y monumentos. Atlas, vol. 2, 292. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 3.4. Xochicalco, Main Pyramid, 900–1200 ad, eastern side. From Antonio Peñafiel, Monumentos del arte mexicano antiguo: Ornamentación, mitología, tributos y monumentos. Atlas, vol. 2, 170. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 3.5. Partial view of the Pavilion of Mexico in the Universal Exposition of 1889 in Paris, France. Collection Centre Canadien d’Architecture/Canadian Centre for Architecture. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

112   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 3.6. Project drawing for the Pavilion of Mexico designed by Antonio Peñafiel

and Antonio María Anza, Universal Exposition of 1889, Paris. Drawing by Lieutenant Bodo von Glumer. From Antonio Peñafiel, Monumentos del arte mexicano antiguo: Ornamentación, mitología, tributos y monumentos. Atlas, vol. 2, 291. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

building at Chichen Itza framed the lateral windows. The sloping walls and the doors on the left façade of the building were copied from José Obregón’s painting Discovery of Pulque, which was exhibited inside the building. The wealthy lawyer Felipe Sánchez Solís had commissioned this painting for the 1876 Philadelphia exposition.18 In the 1880s the Mexican government purchased it along with El senado de Tlaxcala by Rodrigo Gutiérrez for exhibition at world’s fairs and on other special occasions.19 Conscious of the need to represent Mexico as a country in the process of industrialization, both committees chose an iron structure for their building. Salazar, Reyes, and Alva proposed to cover the iron with wood; Peñafiel and Anza chose a more evidently high-tech construction: sheet-iron frames, glass for the inner walls and for the skylights, marble for the staircases, corrugated iron plates covered with cement for the floors, and zinc or iron plates for the exterior decorations (Fig. 3.9).20 The materials were chosen to indicate that Mexico could compete with the developed countries. Peñafiel and Anza stated

Figure 3.7. Luis Salazar, Vicente Reyes, and José María Alva, building model, project proposal, Pavilion of Mexico, Universal Exposition of 1889, Paris. From Antonio Peñafiel, Monumentos del arte mexicano antiguo: Ornamentación, mitología, tributos y monumentos. Atlas, vol. 2, 289. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 3.8. Luis Salazar, Vicente Reyes, and José María Alva, first and second floor

plans, project proposal, Pavilion of Mexico, Universal Exposition of 1889, Paris. From Antonio Peñafiel, Monumentos del arte mexicano antiguo: Ornamentación, mitología, tributos y monumentos. Atlas, vol. 2, 290. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

114   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture in their proposal that in the covering for each hall they tried to follow “a similar arrangement to that which Paxton employed in the Crystal Palace.” 21 In addition, they carefully described the drainage systems, lighting, and elevators. By late summer of 1888 the government chose Peñafiel and Anza’s project as the winner. Pre-Hispanic motifs were previously used in a monument to the last Mexica ruler, Cuauhtemoc, designed by architect and engineer Francisco Jiménez in collaboration with the sculptor Miguel Noreña in 1877 (Fig. 3.10). The monument consisted of an idealized portrait statue of Cuauhtemoc resting on a tall pedestal modeled after various pre-Hispanic architecture and sculptural motifs. Jiménez first proposed to revitalize contemporary architecture with an

Figure 3.9. Antonio Peñafiel and Antonio María Anza, interior, Pavilion of Mexico,

Universal Exposition of 1889, Paris. The Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (89.r.25) conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

115   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity infusion of pre-Hispanic forms. The government’s instructions to the participants of a competition for the monument held in 1877 indicated the location, materials, and general configuration of the monument, but no specification was given as to the use of ancient indigenous architecture as a basis for the design.22 In his own description of the monument, Jiménez wrote: “I believed that no style of architecture would be better suited than a renaissance including among its elements beautiful details that are visible today in the ruins of Tula, Mitla, and Palenque, preserving as much as possible the character of the ancient inhabitants of this continent; an architecture that contains richness and details so beautiful and appropriate that they lend themselves to develop a characteristic style that we can call the national style.” 23 The quest for inventing a national style of architecture was only one aspect of representing a Mexican identity. As others have shown, in the nineteenth century efforts were made to represent this identity in painting, literature, and other media.24 In effect, a selection of paintings presented at the exhibition (including the two mentioned above as well as sixty-eight works by the renowned landscape painter José María Velasco) all contributed toward this end. In his canvases Velasco ably conveyed the beauty and richness of the land as well as the growing industrialization of the country by including in his panoramas markers of the industrial world such as trains and railroads (Fig. 3.11).25 During the Porfiriato, the most important architectural commissions were given to foreigners. Adamo Boari (Italian) designed the Post Office (built by Gonzalo Garita, 1902–1907) and the National Theater (1904); Silvio Contri (Italian) was responsible for the Secretariat of Communications and Public Works (1902–1911); Émile Bénard and Maxime Roisin, both French, designed the Legislative Palace in 1905. Because imported architects and styles were dominant in architecture, the pavilion for the 1889 Exposition received strong criticism in Mexico. Architects found it lacking in style, nonfunctional, and deceitful. Archaeologists rejected it because it reproduced ancient architecture inaccurately. Francisco Álvarez, one of the most influential architects of his time, wrote: “I regarded it [the pavilion] as totally bizarre and anti-artistic and imagined a Mexican man properly dressed in a dress coat, white tie, and gloves and muffled up with a zarape (serape) from Saltillo. In the first [Mexican man] I saw the products of our industry marking our development; in the zarape [I saw] the Indian façades of the edifice in question concealing iron columns, stairs, skylights, and especially the products of our industry.” 26 Leopoldo Batres, director of archaeological monuments, disliked the pavilion because it lacked a genuine Aztec style. In his description of the building, Peñafiel had stated that his architectural and decorative sources were purely Central Mexican. In Batres’s view, the pavilion’s “caryatids” and relief sculp-

Figure 3.10. Francisco Jiménez and Miguel Noreña, Monumento a Cuauhtemoc, Mexico City, 1877. Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

117   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity ture panels were nonexistent in Mexico.27 The French reception of the building was mixed. Some critics praised its balanced mixture of modernity and exoticism, while others condemned its use of obsolete architectural models as well as the inferior quality of the sculptural decorations.28 The pavilion was sent to Mexico after the Paris exhibition according to the original government plans, but it was never rebuilt. The building’s parts were stored; the bronze sculptural panels of the Aztec rulers were placed in the patio walls of the Museo Nacional de Artillería. In 1940 some of the reliefs were incorporated in the Monumento a la Raza by Luis Lelo de Larrea. The remaining reliefs today adorn the exterior of the Museo del Ejército at the intersection of Calle Tacuba and Filomeno Mata. The Universal Exposition of 1889 in Paris marked Mexico’s formal reentry into the realm of international commerce and politics. Following the French intervention in Mexico (1861–1867) and the execution of Emperor Maximilian of Habsburg by the Mexicans in 1867, most European countries severed dip-

Figure 3.11. José María Velasco, El Citlaltépetl, 1879. Museo Nacional de Arte, Mexico

City. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

118   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture lomatic relations with Mexico. Mexico’s presence at European international exhibitions between 1867 and 1888 was compromised. In 1876 Mexico attended the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, where it exhibited a modest edifice consisting of a triumphal arch flanked by two low wings.29 At the New Orleans Exposition of 1884–1885 the Mexican government commissioned an Islamic pavilion designed by José Ramón Ibarrola. Ibarrola’s submission of two projects to the competition, one inspired by English wooden architecture and the Islamic pavilion, was indicative of Mexicans’ indecision as to how best to represent the nation.30 The Centennial Exposition may have prompted Mexico’s urgency to renew diplomatic relations with European countries, as this exhibition established the United States as the world’s most powerful industrial country.31 France invited Mexico to attend the Universal Exhibition of 1878 in Paris, but Mexico declined because of diplomatic difficulties. Mexican products were displayed unofficially at the exhibition.32 Mexico reestablished diplomatic relations with Belgium, Portugal, and Bulgaria in 1879, with France in 1880, and with Great Britain in 1884. Mexico’s economic affluence and stability during the Porfiriato were to a large extent deceptive. By 1911 two-thirds of Mexico’s industries were foreignowned. American companies controlled both the domestic railroads and the steamship lines between New York and New Orleans and Veracruz. By 1910 the United States supplied 55 percent of Mexico’s imports, challenged only by Great Britain.33 In the late 1880s Mexico’s economic dependence on the United States led the Díaz administration to seek commercial and diplomatic relations with European countries, particularly with France. Mexico’s territorial losses during the Mexican-American War exacerbated Mexico’s fear of the United States.34 This is evident in a conversation between the French minister Camille Blondel and the president of Mexico’s Chamber of Deputies, José López Portillo y Rojas, in April 1901. López Portillo spoke of an invasion of Mexico with American capital, railways, and industry that had taken place over the last few years: There can be no question that we cannot respond to this invasion in a radical fashion . . . We must keep such a powerful neighbor in a good mood and we must do nothing to antagonize it. On the other hand, we have the right, and also the duty, to look elsewhere for a counterweight to the constantly growing influence of our powerful neighbor. We must turn to other circles, from which we can draw support under certain circumstances, in order to preserve our industrial and commercial independence. We can find such a counterweight in European, and particularly French capital.35

In 1888 Mexico approached France, England, and Germany requesting a loan. In 1889 the French minister reported that the U.S. attempts to intervene in the negotiations had been politely rejected “because Mexico fears the Unit-

119   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity ed States.”36 In the course of the Porfiriato, Mexico kept shifting patrons. The Germans were Mexico’s main lenders in 1890, and the English were given top positions in the board of directors of a national company that broke U.S. control of the railroads in 1908.37 The Mexican pavilion in the 1889 exhibition articulated two disparate images: a preindustrial imperial antiquity and a technologically sophisticated present. The building’s materials suggested that Mexico was as capable of building as the most powerful lands; the indigenous decorations displayed Mexico’s distinctiveness, paradoxically catering to Europeans’ desire for exoticism and implying Mexico’s resistance to assimilation by another country. The pavilion’s design thus obeyed the rules of a discourse combining mimicry and differentiation. At the same time, pairing what were then considered technologically advanced materials with images of indigenous rulers and deities presented an imaginary resolution of Mexico’s socioeconomic contradictions. The government’s intention to compete with the developed countries is evident in a report by the commissioner general of the exhibition, Manuel Díaz Mimiaga, dated December 1887, informing the president that the original location given to the Latin American nations for the exhibition was unacceptable because it was too small, and if they were next to the pavilions of the European nations and the United States there would immediately be a point of comparison that would be unfavorable and would make them lose much of their interest.38 In the same report, he offered to investigate the styles of the pavilions that would be next to the Mexican building, although this was secret. The Mexican pavilion finally occupied a lot in front of the Palace of Liberal Arts in the exhibition.39 Both Salazar’s and Peñafiel’s pavilion designs achieved a balance between modernity and individuality that the Porfirian regime was interested in projecting. The government’s choice of Peñafiel’s over Salazar’s project was influenced by the opinions of French critics, solicited by the Mexicans. In June 1888 Luis Salazar and Antonio María Anza were both sent by the Mexican government to make arrangements for the exhibition. On August 12 Luis Salazar wrote to Pacheco recommending that Anza and Peñafiel’s project be selected: “The originality of Anza’s project was well liked because it presents a sui generis form that is believed will cause interest and will be attractive to the visitors of the exposition, and consequently Mexico will look better with an edifice [built] according to Anza’s project. These ideas were supported by the director of the Trocadero Museum whom we secured at my initiative to assess the projects.”40 The French had been interested in Mexican archaeology at least since 1864, when along with the French intervention Napoleon III sent an archaeological commission to study Mexican ruins. In 1867, the last year of French rule in

120   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 3.12. Unknown photographer, view of a Mexican temple at the Universal

Exposition of 1867, Paris. Centre Canadien d’Architecture/Canadian Centre for Architecture, Montreal. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Mexico, the French exhibited a version of the Temple of Xochicalco for the international exposition that year (Fig. 3.12). The French government customarily exhibited the architecture of the French colonies in order to justify France’s “civilizing mission.”41 Peñafiel’s choice of the Temple of Xochicalco as the basis for his pavilion design must have been informed by previous French interest in that building. Hence the pavilion’s pre-Hispanic revival details exhibit the complexity of colonial and postcolonial relations—mimicry, resistance, and seduction— by offering an image of the exotic other, made paradoxical by the fact that the “other” had been already formulated by the French. French influence on the modern image of Mexico projected by the Porfirian administration is evident in the great difference between Peñafiel’s and Anza’s original drawings for the reliefs of the kings and the finished products. In Peñafiel and Anza’s proposal, the reliefs of deities and kings follow the restrained style of Bernardino de Sahagún’s codex (Fig. 3.6); in the finished reliefs commissioned to Jesús Con-

121   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity treras the figures exhibit idealized European features and adopt dramatic positions and gestures characteristic of French Academic sculpture (Fig. 3.5). In the nineteenth century few Mexicans adopted pre-Hispanic revival architecture. Two triumphal arches built in honor of Porfirio Díaz in Mexico City in 1899 count among a handful.42 In 1900 Luis Salazar remained one of the few enthusiasts for pre-Columbian revival architecture. In a lecture to the Eleventh Congress of Americanists in 1895, he encouraged architects to create a national style of architecture based on the study of pre-Columbian ruins.43 Mexican architects would not consider Salazar’s suggestions until twenty years later.44

The National Theater (Palacio de Bellas Artes) The Porfirian administration also asserted its claims to modernity with the commission of several neoclassical buildings in the center of Mexico City that employed modern technologies and construction methods, including the National Theater (Figs. 3.2, 3.16) and the Legislative Palace (Fig. 3.13). The Mexican government previously had sponsored a pavilion inspired in neoclassical architecture for the International Exposition of 1900 in Paris. The sequence of these commissions suggests that the lessons learned from ephemeral architecture at that world’s fair were later translated to the urban environment.

Figure 3.13. Émile Bénard and Maxime Roisin, Legislative Palace project, 1905: rear

façade. Archivo General de la Nación, Mexico.

122   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture The most monumental example of these urban experiments was to be the Legislative Palace. The importance of this neoclassical building for the Díaz regime as a testament to Mexico’s high cultural status is evident in the government’s scheduling of the ceremonial laying of the first stone during the celebrations of the centenary of independence in 1910. The construction of the building had begun a few years earlier; but during the celebrations, the project could be displayed in the presence of national and international officials as an achievement of the regime.45 The project was aborted after Díaz’s deposition from power. Construction of the edifice ceased. Some of the marble decorations were temporarily placed in an open pavilion at the Bosque de Chapultepec, and in 1938 architect Carlos Obregón Santacilia integrated the steel structure of the building’s gigantic cupola in his Monumento a la Revolución.46 Even if the connection of neoclassicism with modernity seems contradictory to a contemporary reader, this architectural tendency proclaimed Mexico’s cultural sophistication through its relation with European historical styles. The use of industrial materials and technologies demonstrated Mexico’s prowess in the realm of industry. In the pavilion for the Universal Exhibition of 1900 designed by José María Anza the Mexican government exploited these associations (Fig. 3.14). Sebastián B. de Mier, commissioner general of the Mexican Delegation for the Exhibition, explained that the criteria the Mexican government had used for the design of the Mexican pavilion of 1889 had to be modified because both the conditions of Mexico and those of the exhibition had changed. In 1889 the Mexican government attempted to attract capital, skills, and labor in order to develop its industrial base and to promote its industrial products in the international marketplace. In contrast, by 1900 the country had made unprecedented advances. Because Mexico lacked a national architectural style, the administration adopted the “Neo-Grecian,” a serious style of architecture that appropriately represented the government responsible for the nation’s ongoing progress. Mier concluded: “To summarize . . . it can be said that if the participation of Mexico in 1889 was total and extensive to all orders of human activity in order to demonstrate our latent potential, the exhibition of 1900 needed to be limited to showing all that we had already achieved in practice.”47 In other words, in contrast to the pre-Hispanic revival architecture, which acted as part of a lure to attract European capital, the neoclassical-style building demonstrated Mexico’s cultural equality with the developed nations. For most of the twentieth century there was controversy regarding the designation of the Palacio de Bellas Artes as an example of neoclassicism, art nouveau, or art deco.48 This confusion resulted from misguided attempts to fit the building into a single stylistic category, although in recent decades

123   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity

Figure 3.14. José María Anza, Pavilion of Mexico, Universal Exhibition of 1900,

Paris. From Sebastián B. de Mier, México en la Exposición Universal Internacional de París, 1900. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

several scholars have noted that it was an amalgam of several styles since its inception.49 The project began in 1900 with a proposal to restore the National Theater designed by Spanish academician Lorenzo de la Hidalga in 1842–1844 (Fig. 3.15).50 The government’s initial objective was to make this sober neoclassical edifice more hygienic and to reorganize the plan so that it could serve the public and the theater’s administration more efficiently. In 1901 the Porfirian administration commissioned Adamo Boari in collaboration with engineer Gonzalo Garita to build an entirely new theater. The project would require the demolition of the old building and adjacent properties, private and public.51 Boari was an Italian architect educated at the Polytechnic of Bologna, who had gradually acquired work experience on the American continent. In 1889 he traveled to Brazil, where he took part in that country’s preparations for the forthcoming Universal Exposition in Paris and in the construction of the Santos-Campiñas Railroad. In 1893 he worked in Chicago as assistant to D. H.

124   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 3.15. Pedro Gualdi (1808–1857), Exterior of the Teatro Santa Ana. Oil on

canvas, 70 by 97 cm. Collection Banco Nacional de México/Colección Banco Nacional de México.

Burnham in the World’s Columbian Exposition. Six years later he obtained a diploma to practice architecture in the United States. Boari’s involvement in Mexican architecture began in 1897, when he obtained the first second place in the competition for the Palacio Legislativo.52 The jury decided not to award the commission to anyone until two years later, when it was offered first to the Spanish architect Emilio Dondé and later to the Frenchman Émile Bénard. From 1898 to 1900 Boari built various edifices in Mexico, including the Nuevo Templo Parroquial de Matehuala (1898), the Santuario de la Virgen del Carmen en Atotonilco el Alto, Jalisco (1899), and the Templo Expiatorio in Guadalajara (1900). Almost concurrently with the commission for the new theater, the Díaz administration selected him to design the Post Office in Mexico City, built between 1902 and 1907. In addition to these edifices, Boari left his mark in the education of a generation of Mexican architects. Between 1902 and 1912 he taught composition at the Escuela Nacional de

125   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity Bellas Artes along with architects Antonio Rivas Mercado and Manuel Gorozpe. In 1916 he left Mexico, never to return. He died in Rome in 1928.53 On April 2, 1905, Porfirio Díaz placed the first stone of the new National Theater.54 The completed building was to be ceremonially inaugurated on the centenary of independence in 1910. The anticipated presentation of the Legislative Palace project during that important celebration indicates that the administration expected both buildings to meet the highest level of excellence and critical scrutiny. For Boari as well as for the government, the new theater project was an opportunity to erect a great modern building that compared to, if not surpassed, the best theaters in the world. In order to present a state-of-the-art proposal, Boari made two trips to research European theaters, the first in 1901–1902 preceding his submission of preliminary plans and the second in 1903 before completing the final project proposal.55 In his design for the building Boari was specially inspired by Charles Garnier’s Opera in Paris (1861–1875) and the “modernity” of the 1900 Universal Exposition in Paris, specifically the style of art nouveau, in which he especially admired works by the Viennese Secession.56 Throughout the design process, three issues were of prime importance to the architect: the building’s monumentality, the respectful integration of the architecture with its surroundings, and the expression of modernity through style and building materials. Boari visualized the new theater as the landmark of the “true center of Mexico City,” with the most important avenues converging on its plaza. Hence it merited “a fastuous edifice” that characterized “the progress of the modern metropolis.”57 He proposed a massive building occupying an area of 5,850 square meters. The size slightly increased in the final design proposal to 6,009 square meters.58 From the start he intended to integrate the theater with its surroundings by placing it as close to the Alameda Park as possible while preserving the natural environment.59 In contrast to most theaters that open only for shows, Boari envisioned a multifunctional building serviceable for theater spectacles but also able to accommodate civil functions such as balls, concerts, meetings, and other events “so necessary to an expansive Latin race.”60 To these ends he adopted a rectangular plan broken by two intersecting spaces that marked respectively the rooms destined for social functions and the theater stage with its adjoining facilities. He assigned the rooms at the front of the building to civil purposes and placed the theater, stage, and associated service rooms at the back (Fig. 3.16). Ramps and staircases at street level gave the visitor access to five entrances at the front of the building. These led to a vestibule that accommodated ticket counters and other administrative functions. An equal number of staircases connected

126   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture this area to a great hall that substituted for the traditional foyer. At the lowest level this space encompassed a restaurant, a grand staircase leading to the theater galleries, and a smoking or meeting room. The restaurant would have an entrance facing Alameda (Fig. 3.17), with a covered access for carriages on the Santa Isabel Street on the opposite side. These two entrances, each marked by a semicircular columnated portico with a corresponding terrace, would assure the independence of the public spaces from the theater proper.61 Above the vestibule Boari placed a salón de fiestas (ballroom) that would be accessed from the grand staircase below. This space would open into two lateral terraces and seven central loggias decorated with natural flora. Boari’s project united aspects of great industrial exhibition halls such as the Crystal Palace (1851) and theater design. Inspired by Joseph Paxton’s famous building, the great hall would be illuminated by natural light filtering through a central cupola and two semidomes made of crystal and bronze (Fig. 3.17). This arrangement would allow natural light to enter and reflect throughout the whole building by using a series of strategically placed reflective glass surfaces. All electrical illumination would remain hidden.62 The hall and the porticos

Figure 3.16. Adamo Boari, project drawing for the National Theater, draft of the first floor plan, 1914. Palacio de Bellas Artes, Gift Elita Boari. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

127   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity

Figure 3.17. Adamo Boari, bird’s-eye perspective drawing for the Alameda Garden

and the site of the new National Theater, 1903. Palacio de Bellas Artes, Gift Elita Boari. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

would be decorated with native plants grown in great cement flowerpots covered with decorative majolica. The hall would thus function as a greenhouse that in Boari’s opinion would be “a great homage that the new theater would offer to the City of Flowers.”63 Boari originally intended to design the theater in the new style of art nouveau, which he believed to be “the most modern cosmopolitan movement,” enlivened with Mexican accents. But despite his love for innovation, he also felt pressured to capitulate to the aura of the classical tradition.64 In his initial project proposal he praised the synthetic qualities of art nouveau: “the forms of the Orient have been mixed with those of the Occident and as in the mastery of science all men walk with uniform and constant movements, in the field of art the world unifies and begins its triumphal march, which nothing will be able to detain.”65 He cautioned, however, that this objective did not require the

128   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture architect’s renunciation of the past: “Today more than ever each country must proudly exhibit its typical architectural forms, modernizing them.” He assured his audience that the Mexican theater would be built with classical proportions but “rejuvenated” with the new art nouveau style.66 The architect’s attempt to balance the old with the new suggests that in addition to representing modernity the building would play a mediating role. In an attempt to emulate the sinuous patterns of art nouveau, a convex semielliptical portico with eight columns on the front façade of the building and similarly shaped porticos with six columns in each of the lateral façades contributed to give the otherwise rectilinear construction a curvilinear silhouette. Boari attempted to display the buildings’ metallic structure through “abundant curves in architraves and tympana,” including a great niche decorated with sculptures over the front portico, which revealed the structure of the vault behind it. The hall’s great cupola, flanked by a half dome on each side, was designed to resemble “a mountainous grouping,” as a sign of allegiance with the natural forms favored by art nouveau designers.67 In addition to his preoccupation with style, Boari was highly conscious of the innovative potential of new technologies for architecture and for theater design, yet this awareness did not always dictate his selections for materials. The theater’s structure, which he described as “the most modern steel construction, fireproof and earthquake proof,” was raised over an enormous rigid concrete platform. But in deference to tradition all the façades were to be covered with cement and dressed with Italian and Mexican marble.68 In Boari’s estimation, the new art of cinema augured imminent changes in the function of theater buildings. “What will be the architectural physiognomy—still nonexistent—of the phonostereocinematograph [ fonoesterocinematógrafo]? . . . The existing theaters for Cinema, still embryonic, seem destined to merge with the ancient opera theaters in a more complex environment, vaster and ideal for the two united sensations of sight and ear.” Accordingly, the new theater of Mexico would accommodate various kinds of spectacles, from great operatic productions to operettas and comedies, and could also function as a cinema and conference hall.69 Initially Boari proposed that the theater’s stage be made entirely of iron and the orchestra floor divided in three sections so that it could be mechanically raised to the level of the stage according to specific needs.70 Later he opted for a combination of wood and metal for the stage and wood to cover the walls because of its excellent reverberating qualities. A small stage placed behind the main one would fulfill service functions, including a great elevator that would run from the street to the level of the main stage to transport vehicles, horses, and autos needed for theatrical productions.71 Electricity and hydraulics would

129   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity be used to move all the machinery.72 He also included a mechanical ventilation system for the whole theater in his design.73 The government commissioned prominent international specialists for the technical and mechanical aspects of Boari’s project. As communications scholar Carolyn Marvin has argued, the development of new technologies engendered new classes and hierarchies of experts and managers in the nineteenth century, in which civil and mechanical engineers occupied the higher strata.74 It was through the display of new technology and implied technical expertise that buildings such as the new National Theater expressed modernity. The required technical proficiency was often imported, but that was of no consequence for the Mexican government’s cosmopolitan outlook. The firm Milliken Brothers of Chicago was contracted for the construction. The government also had appointed this company to build the foundations for the Legislative Palace. After Garita’s resignation from the project in 1904, the renowned engineer William H. Birkmire from New York was hired to make calculations and specifications for the plans. The German Albert Rosenberg was responsible for the design of the stage. The two German firms Vereinigtemaschinenfabrik and Maschinenbaugesellshaft provided and installed the mechanical equipment, including elevators for the upper and lower stages of the theater, the platform for the orchestra, the hydraulic apparatus, and the rain and fog generators for scenic effects. The Allgemeine Elektrizitäts Gesellshaft from Berlin was in charge of the electrical infrastructure for the entire building.75 Robert H. Hunt and Company from New York provided the cement and the structural steel. Additional steel beams were furnished by three companies: Monterrey Steel, established in Mexico by American Bridge Company in 1900; Iron Works de México; and the Verband Rolling Milles from Germany, all under the supervision of Milliken. Boari initially was going to employ local marble, but the company he selected was late in delivering the material, so he gave the contract to Grolière and Company in 1906. Italian marble was used for the front façade and interior loggias. Because Boari was dissatisfied with the carving of marble at local workshops, at his behest most of the marble architectural details such as columns and pilasters as well as the reproductions of models for marble and copper sculptures were made in Europe by the companies Walton, Goody, and Cripps and Triscornia and Hereaux.76 By Boari’s own admission, the buildings’ sculptural program lacked coherence and uniformity because of the impossibility of employing a single sculptor given the large scale of the project.77 The Hungarian sculptor Géza Maróti; the Italian artists Leonardo Bistolfi, Gianetti Fiorenzo, and A. Boni; and the Catalan sculptor Agustín Querol, among others, were responsible for the

130   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture sculptural decorations. In Boari’s opinion, Querol was “the most notable decorative sculptor in Spain” and Bistolfi, whom he compared to Auguste Rodin, “the most famous sculptor from Italy.” 78 Most of the sculptures were allegorical figures inspired by classical models. Bistolfi, for example, among other sculptures executed a relief group entitled Harmony for the central tympanum of the front façade. It consisted of a nude female accompanied by flying putti and surrounded by the figures of pain, the passions, and ire on one side and peace, happiness, and love on the other. Querol was commissioned four groups of bronze sculptures, each consisting of a winged Pegasus and two figures to be placed to crown the exterior of the theater stage. He died in 1909 before the groups were cast. The firm Pietro Lippi in Pistoia, Italy, later executed the designs.79 In addition, the government held a competition among Mexican sculptors for eight minor statues of muses that would crown the cornice of the front façade. Manuel Concha, José Tovar, Leopoldo Goday, Enrique Guerra, and Fidencio Nava submitted projects. The Italian artist Alessandro Mazzucotelli was commissioned to manufacture iron decorations for the exterior.80 This division of labor with the assignment of the most important works to European sculptors underscores the cosmopolitan pretensions of the project. Despite the predominance of foreign artists and consultants, the National Theater integrated indigenous motifs and themes into the building’s decorative details to enhance its local character. Boari included among the sculptural decorations for the façade eagle warriors and feathered serpents based on Aztec prototypes designed by Gianetti Fiorenzo (Fig. 3.18). In 1908 the Hungarian sculptor Géza Maróti designed a great state curtain, featuring (at Boari’s suggestion) the legendary Mexican volcanoes Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl.81 Tiffany in New York executed the work, utilizing more than a million opalescent crystal pieces arranged in 206 plates, each measuring 0.90 square meters.82 It was 30 cm deep and weighed 21,228 kg.83 Tiffany exhibited the curtain in New York in 1911 before installing it in Mexico the next year under the direction of the artist Walter G. Wilber. According to Boari, the theater realized under his direction cost the Mexican government 25 million Italian liras.84 Although Boari initially envisioned a more daring and synthetic building in the style of art nouveau, he graciously accepted the compromises that the commission required. In his final report on the project, he explained: “The use of steel in structures has given the construction new bones, has modified its skeleton: the body must also be modified. But there exists an ethic that forms part of the conscience of the architect and prevents him from exorcising the past: architecture, born from itself, is a constant and progressive transformation of millennia of human work.”85 These comments suggest that the building resulted from his own negotiation of innovation and tradition. In reality,

131   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity

Figure 3.18. Gianetti Fiorenzo, eagle

warrior, Palacio de Bellas Artes, 1907– 1912. Photo: Miguel Rivera. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

contrasting opinions among Mexican elites regarding art nouveau may have compelled the architect to observe the traditional “ethic.” One of the most acerbic critics of art nouveau in Mexico was none other than Sebastián B. de Mier, who characterized it as a “banal imitation of nature” in which “the furor of employing totally unknown forms dictated by neither reason or necessity obliges architects slavishly to copy the leaf of a tree to give form to a doorway in order to seem original.” He also objected to the whimsical forms in which “the most eccentric types from diverse architectures are intimately mixed.”86 In contrast to de Mier, powerful patrons including President Díaz adopted the new style, albeit in domestic realms. Díaz’s richly decorated arms room in his house at Cadena Street (today Venustiano Carranza) designed by Antonio Fabrés before 1905 was one of the finest examples of art nouveau in Mexico. In light of the contradictory receptions of art nouveau, Boari took the most judicious course: a building that would please the lovers of tradition and acknowledge contemporary stylistic tendencies. The government’s approval of Boari’s project indicates interest on the part of the Díaz administration in claiming a place for Mexican culture next to the cultural heritage of Europe. Like the Pavilion of Mexico in 1889, Boari’s design for the National Theater united tradition and modernity to manifest Mexico’s cosmopolitan sophistication and cultural uniqueness. In contrast to the pavilion, however, this building referred primarily to Western European architec-

132   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture tural traditions. The autochthonous figured only in a few decorative details derived from Maya and Aztec art. At the time when work on the Palacio de Bellas Artes started, several architects, including Luis Salazar, Nicolás Mariscal, and Jesús Acevedo, were actively engaged in a search for solutions to create a modern style of architecture with a national character. While Salazar advocated a Mexican architecture based on ancient indigenous building traditions, Mariscal and Acevedo proposed a national architecture based on colonial models.87 The Palace of Fine Arts presented an affluent and sophisticated image of Mexico. The state-of-the-art construction techniques, building materials, and infrastructure suggested modernity and economic solvency. The neoclassical and art nouveau styles of the related artworks indicated internationalism and cultural refinement, while the minor references to ancient indigenous cultures and the local landscape identified the building as Mexican. The references to indigenous antiquity, however, harmonized with the globally oriented and synthetic qualities of art nouveau, of which Boari was well aware. This sophisticated yet regional image of Mexico was meant to impress visitors and appeal to a small section of the Mexican public: the cosmopolitan upper class. As in the pavilion of 1889, this building included no references to contemporary indigenes, who constituted a significant part of the population. The construction of the National Theater stalled after Díaz’s deposition. But unlike the Legislative Palace, which was abandoned after the revolution, subsequent regimes were committed to the completion of the project. In 1913 the budget allowed only for the maintenance of the existing structure. Boari continued to direct the work, although he received remuneration only when monies were spent on the construction. His salary was 4 percent of the expenses generated by the building. In March 1916 Boari moved permanently to Italy. He left to the Secretaría de Comunicaciones y Obras Públicas (National Office of Communications and Public Works) 1,095 plans, numerous plaster models, and various samples of decorations in wood and bronze.88 Progress on the construction of the National Theater was slow during the revolution and from 1917 to 1929 due to economic scarcity and numerous interruptions.89 Work on the theater resumed in full in 1930, and the building was completed in 1934 under the direction of Federico Mariscal. In 1932 at the initiative of Alberto Pani, secretario de hacienda y crédito público (Treasury Department and Public Credit), the building was renamed Palacio de Bellas Artes and its functions correspondingly redefined. According to its new patrons, Boari’s theater design had no place in a revolutionary society. In a report on the termination of the construction commissioned by Pani and Mariscal, the writer José Gorostiza explained that the palace reflected the radical transformation

133   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity of Mexican society from an aristocratic to a socially conscious regime. The old building, especially its exterior, had inscribed on it much of the spirit of the Porfirian era, “its blind confidence, its thoughtless banality, its uprooted comfort, its taste for ostentatious and complicated ornamentation.” The new building would no longer hold aristocratic gatherings but would be an institution of social service, an “indispensable” center to foment and disseminate all genres of Mexican art in a direct, nonacademic manner.90 Correspondingly, the design was altered to include a National Theater, a Museum of Plastic Arts, a Museum of the Book, a library, a hall of temporal exhibitions, a Museum of Popular Arts, and a restaurant. As part of these reforms, Mariscal assigned the Museum of Plastic Arts the space previously allotted to the second level of the great hall, covered the central cupola with cement and painted ceramics, and artificially illuminated the interior of the building: in his assessment, Boari’s crystal-covered hall was impractical and inappropriate for the building’s new functions.91 The uneven quality of the sculptural work of the finished edifice was partially due to the improvised inclusion of decorative elements originally intended for other buildings. In an effort to economize, some of the marble statues made by French sculptors for the Palacio Legislativo were integrated in the exterior to substitute for sculptures in Boari’s model. These included two pairs of female figures and six individual female sculptures. The pairs, entitled Virile Age and Youth by the sculptor André Allar, were placed on each side of the portico. The other six sculptures, three by Paul Gasq and three by Laurent Honoré Marqueste, were distributed in the niches of the front and lateral façades. Like Boari, Mariscal included decorative details based on indigenous art, such as metallic masks of the Maya rain deity, Chac, which were added to the interior hallway pilasters (Fig. 3.19). President Abelardo Rodríguez inaugurated the new building on September 29, 1934.92 To conclude, in the late nineteenth century Mexico faced serious international pressures for control of its resources. The Mexican urban elites strove to transform Mexico into a modern nation; yet the country was economically and culturally dependent on the industrialized nations. The government commissioned the pavilion for the Universal Exposition of 1889 to define Mexico as an independent and wealthy country while taking care to secure European approval. The Mexican state strategically employed pre-Hispanic revival architecture in order to construct an image of national identity that differentiated Mexico from Europe and the United States. The building’s plan and materials linked the pavilion to European architecture. By simultaneously expressing difference and similarity the pavilion’s design submitted to the demands of colonial discourse, which ambiguously requires the other to be alike and dif-

134   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 3.19. Edgar Brandt, Chac mask, Palacio de Bellas Artes, 1933. Photo: Miguel Rivera. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

ferent from the colonist.93 The Mexicans played their role in the theater of colonial discourse, perhaps knowingly, in requesting the French to advise in the selection of the design. This strategy was aimed to attract potential investors. The Palacio de Bellas Artes, by contrast, spoke to a local and cosmopolitan upper class, anxious to see Mexico as one of the developed nations. Along with other urban commissions, such as the Legislative Palace, this building made Mexico’s wealth and cosmopolitan taste evident to local publics and international visitors. Although at first sight the pavilion and the palace seem dramatically different from one another, both exemplify the imbrications of the local with the cosmopolitan. The predominant models for each building were con-

135   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity structed abroad and later appropriated to emphasize different aspects of the nation: the greatness of local antiquity in the pavilion and affluent modernity dressed with the sophistication that elite Mexicans accorded to classicism in the Palace of Fine Arts. The progressive connotations of modern technologies reinforced these images. Technology supplemented style to claim Mexico’s rightful place in modernity. In both buildings the nation’s architectural representation depended as much on domestic factors as on political, economic, and cultural relations with dominant nations.

The Past in the Future The National Theater and the pavilion had a different impact on future architectural expressions of the nation. The revaluation of the role of indigenous antiquity in architecture evident in the pavilion became important after the Mexican revolution and remained central to Mexican architecture for the remainder of the twentieth century. The Palacio de Bellas Artes had no direct heirs. Because of the intimate connection of neoclassicism with the Porfiriato and the rapid ascent of modern architecture as an international style after the Mexican revolution, neoclassicism and art nouveau played no overt part in the architecture of the twentieth century even if the aura of classicism persisted.94 Both buildings conceptually anticipated the integration of international design tendencies with decorative details based on indigenous antiquity that became characteristic of Mexican architecture, especially in the second half of the twentieth century. Multiple regimes notwithstanding, the tensions between cultural and economic dependence and autonomous expression evident in the nineteenth century also continued. In the middle of the twentieth century, for example, the painter Diego Rivera and his colleague the architect and painter Juan O’Gorman advocated the creation of a Mexican style of modern architecture that incorporated aspects of pre-Hispanic building traditions, mural painting, and polychrome sculpture. Both men believed that it was necessary for Mexico’s survival as a culturally and economically independent nation to preserve cultural values while meeting modern needs.95 Rivera’s Anacahualli Museum (1943–1957), Juan O’Gorman’s house (1958, now destroyed), and University City (1950–1956) were based on these ideas. Built under the direction of architects Mario Pani and Enrique del Moral, University City presents an image of the country simultaneously traditional and modern through the inclusion of buildings of varied architectural tendencies and even idiosyncratic positions.96 The site selected for the complex had been covered with volcanic lava in antiquity, so the architects integrated volcanic stones into their designs. The buildings also featured pre-Hispanic

136   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture architectural and decorative motifs and modern murals associated with Mexican revolutionary art. The Central Library designed by Juan O’Gorman, Gustavo Saavedra, and Juan Martínez de Velasco became the most famous edifice in University City (Fig. 3.20). As in O’Gorman’s house (destroyed) the exterior of the building is covered with stone mosaics. The mosaics at the library illustrate the history of Mexico, perhaps after Rivera’s great mural program of the same theme at the National Palace. While international style elements such as pilotis, open plans, and strip windows communicated an image of cosmopolitan modernity, the references to local building and artistic traditions aligned this architecture with nationalistic ideologies. The buildings asserted the vernacular within the cosmopolitan.

Figure 3.20. Juan O’Gorman, Gustavo Saavedra, and Juan Martínez de Velasco,

University City, Central Library 1951. © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/ somaap, Mexico City. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia and the Dirección General del Patrimonio Universitario, Universidad Autónoma de México. Photo: © 389195 conaculta.inah. sinafo.fm.mexico.

137   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity Despite claims that University City was inexpensive due to the use of local materials and expertise, the project relied on costly imports. In a speech given at the Palacio de Bellas Artes in June 1954, Diego Rivera addressed Mexican architects: “Tell me if it is not true that one of the main causes of economic disequilibrium is the sobreimportación, the excessive importation of construction materials from abroad. I would like you to please tell me: Of the millions spent in University City, how many millions were employed in materials imported from abroad, not only on machinery, which was indispensable since we have not been allowed to make it in Mexico .  .  .  , but in materials?” 97 In Rivera’s view, the project continued the dependency models of the previous century. The construction of University City also necessitated the expropriation of 6 million square meters of communal lands with the proviso that the owners be given new homes; 2 million square meters were used for the construction.98 As Chapter 4 demonstrates, land expropriation practices to construct national monuments that spoke to local and international publics also were prevalent in the nineteenth century. University City showcased Mexico’s creativity and affluence. Yet, as in the previous century, the country’s development was compromised. Despite later administrations’ attempts to substitute Mexican-made products for imports, the value of imports continued to surpass the value of exports. The high quality of modern architecture built in Mexico from 1960 to 1980 depended upon increased foreign debt and relaxed restrictions on imported technology and materials.99 The integration of pre-Hispanic forms and contemporary architectural idioms characterized important Mexican architecture, especially state commissions, until the end of the century.100 For example, Pedro Ramírez Vázquez et al. incorporated abstracted ornamental Chac masks reminiscent of Mariscal’s citations of Maya architecture at the National Theater in the courtyard walls of the Museo de Antropología (1963, Figs. 5.3, 5.4). The plan of the Heróico Colegio Militar (1975), designed by Agustín Hernández and Manuel González Rul, is reminiscent of pre-Hispanic ceremonial centers in the arrangement of monumental buildings in open spaces connected with avenues. The volumes in the Edificio de Gobierno in this complex configure a gigantic Chac mask. Similarly, Hernández designed each floor of the Conjunto Hospitalario IMSS (Instituto Mexicano del Seguro Social) (1975, Fig. 3.21) in the form of a pyramid profile from the archaeological site of Monte Albán.101 Such works indicate that until recently monumental international architecture that alluded to the pre-Hispanic past still constituted the official image of Mexico.102 During the same period, this tendency expanded to include architecture designed for tourist sites such as the pyramidal Hotel Princess in Acapulco (1971), to cite one example among many.103

138   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 3.21. Agustín Hernández Navarro, Hospital Complex imss, Clínica Gineco-

Obstetricia, Instituto Mexicano del Seguro Social, Villa Obregón, Mexico City. Photo: Courtesy of Agustín Hernández Navarro. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia and the Instituto Mexicano del Seguro Social.

During the late 1980s and early 1990s Mexico became firmly integrated into transnational capitalism, with the reduction of nationalized industry, the privatization of services, intensified foreign investments, and the proliferation of maquiladoras (assembly plants) in the north part of the country. During the regime of Carlos Salinas de Gortari, there were high hopes, particularly among the elites, that Mexico would transcend underdevelopment under the guidance of the president’s economic advisors and the approval of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). This belief found support in Forbes magazine’s 1994 report of twenty-four Mexican billionaires (a dramatic increase from one in 1987) and was manifested physically in the fabric of the city through a series of monumental architectural projects that visually pro-

139   ■  Experiments in the Representation of National Identity claimed Mexico’s prosperity. To facilitate such projects, the Mexican government relaxed building controls in Mexico City’s center, a decision that in the view of environmentally minded critics demonstrated blatant disregard for the zone’s fragile geological constitution.104 During this period, governmentsponsored public housing projects steadily decreased. In their place, millions of ephemeral self-made shelters steadily proliferated in urban areas.105 To some, the incorporation of Mexico into international economic conglomerates implied the necessity to improve technical standards in Mexican architecture to guarantee Mexico’s architectural fitness and competitiveness in the global marketplace. In 1994 Xavier Cortés Rocha, director of the School of Architecture at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM), opined: “These years, furthermore, have marked the beginning of the opening of markets, regional and international interchanges and influences. The country is on the way to overcoming underdevelopment . . . Architectural design and the construction of buildings form a vigorous economic factor and consequently a marketable object, subject to the rules and norms of competition and quality.” He hoped that Mexico’s alliance with the North would include architecture, for “to form part of economic, commercial, and cultural blocs presupposes, of course, to achieve exchanges in all senses.”106 Rocha’s observations concurred with the construction of a number of buildings in Mexico with few local references and built with technologically sophisticated materials, which like the National Theater and the Palacio Legislativo in the previous century would confirm Mexico’s cosmopolitanism.107 One of the most impressive commissions of the Salinas de Gortari regime was the Centro Nacional de las Artes, an extensive complex in which each building was assigned to a prestigious Mexican architect. Ricardo Legorreta designed the Escuela Nacional de Artes Plásticas, the Edificio Central, and the Torre de Investigación Artística. Teodoro González de León and Ernesto Betancourt were responsible for the Conservatorio de Música; the Grupo LBC (Alfonso López Baz and Xavier Calleja) designed the Teatro de las Artes; Luis Vicente Flores and Associates the Escuela Nacional de Danza; and TEN Arquitectos: Enrique Norten y Bernardo Gómez-Pimienta the Escuela Nacional de Arte Teatral. The Centro Nacional de las Artes is more than a collection of masterful buildings. The project made evident the heightened importance of contemporary technologies in new cosmopolitan images of the nation. The architecture houses advanced teaching, research, and production facilities. On site are the national cultural television channel, Estudios Churubusco (the largest film studio in Mexico), and the Centro Nacional Multimedia (CNM), a research center for artists, which at that time had no parallel in Latin America or in

140   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture the United States. The Centro Nacional Multimedia initially included several exhibition spaces and six basic studios: digital graphics, moving image, sound, interactive systems, virtual reality, and robotics.108 For some Mexicans, technological projects such as CNM demonstrated Mexico’s parity with the developed world. Digital art, despite its immateriality, was expected to play a role comparable to monumental architecture in advertising Mexico’s affluence.109 In reality, the use of digital technologies in Latin America as a whole was limited to a tiny section of the population. In 1995 Africa and the Middle East each accounted for approximately 0.9 percent of the total world value of imports of data-processing equipment; Latin America totaled 2.8 percent.110 Like the materials and machines employed in Teatro Nacional and in the 1889 Pavilion of Mexico, digital technologies were expensive imports. CNM continued to operate after the devastating fall of the peso in 1994, the resulting economic crises, and the disgrace of Salinas de Gortari’s government, but the administration of Ernesto Zedillo demanded practical productivity from the center and reduced its budget for artistic projects. In 1996 CNM produced documentation of Mexico’s museums on CD-ROM and virtual-reality simulations of archaeological sites such as Tenochtitlan and Monte Albán, intended to encourage tourism and support education. As in the Pavilion of Mexico for the 1889 Universal Exposition, the governments resorted to vernacular visual art to bolster commercial development. The deployment of state-of-the-art technologies also had the potential of stimulating nationalism by demonstrating Mexico’s technological equality with the developed world. Like the design of the pavilion, the production of digital media art in Mexico became mired in the country’s battle for economic survival and the invigoration of nationalism. In the last decade of the twentieth century Mexican architecture achieved the global visibility that Rocha had wished for: buildings inspired in regional Mexican traditions were erected in various parts of the globe. Architectural currents based on regional traditions developed locally, especially in luxury vacation homes, often owned by foreigners. Like the Pavilion of Mexico in the 1889 Universal Exposition and the National Theater, the architecture of the twentieth century emerged from the vernacular and cosmopolitan cultural flows that nurture the construction of national identity and consequently mirrored the tensions between local and external powers established in the colonial period and remapped in the nineteenth century.111

Figure 1.1. Nezahualpilli, Codex Ixtlilxochitl, after 1582. Bibliothèque Nationale de

France.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 1

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 1.2. Portrait of Moctezuma II, Xocoyotzin, attributed to Antonio Rodríguez, ca. 1680–1697. Museo degli Argenti, Florence, Italy. With permission of the Ministero per I Beni e le Attivitá Culturali.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 2

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 1.9. Portrait of Moctezuma attributed to a member of the Arellano family, ca. 1700. Oil on canvas, 185 by 100 cm. Collection Family Maillé Iturbide, Mexico.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 3

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 2.2. Andrés de Islas, De castizo y española nace español, 1774. Museo de

América, Madrid.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 4

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 2.3. Andrés de Islas, De espa-

ñol y negra nace mulata, 1774. Museo de América, Madrid.

Figure 2.5. De español y negra, mulato, attributed to José de Alcíbar, ca.

1760. Denver Art Museum: Collection of Frederick and Jan Mayer. Photo © James O. Milmoe.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 5

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 2.9. Santa María de Tonatzintla, ca. 1700: Ornament detail. Photo: Simon

Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 6

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 2.10. Lorenzo Rodríguez, Sagrario Metropolitano, Mexico City, 1749–1760.

Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 7

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 3.11. José María Velasco, El Citlaltépetl, 1879. Museo Nacional de Arte, Mexico

City. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

Figure 3.21. Agustín Hernández Navarro, Hospital Complex imss, Clínica Gineco-

Obstetricia, Instituto Mexicano del Seguro Social, Villa Obregón, Mexico City. Photo: Courtesy of Agustín Hernández Navarro. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia and the Instituto Mexicano del Seguro Social.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 8

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 4.2. Félix Parra, Fray Bartolomé de las Casas, 1875, Museo Nacional de Arte,

Mexico City. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 9

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 6.3. Diego Rivera, Man Controller of the Universe, 1934, Palacio de Bellas Artes,

Mexico City (detail). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Schalkwijk/Art Resource, New York. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

facing page Figure 6.4. José Clemente Orozco, The Spanish Conquest of Mexico, 1938–1939, Hospicio Cabañas, Guadalajara (detail: “Portrait of Cortez”). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Bob Schalkwijk, Mexico City. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011. Figure 6.5. José Clemente Orozco, The Spanish Conquest of Mexico, 1938–1939, Hospicio Cabañas, Guadalajara (detail). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/ somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Bob Schalkwijk, Mexico City. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 10

9/9/13 12:04 PM

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 11

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 7.1. Founding of Tenochtitlan, Codex Mendoza, 1541–1542. MS Arch Selden a.1, fol. 2r. The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 12

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 7.18. Reconstruction of the Templo Mayor. Museo del Templo Mayor, Mexico City, 1991. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 13

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 8.1. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Vectorial Elevation: view, Mexico City, 2000. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 14

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 8.3. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Displaced Emperors: Linz, Austria, 1997. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

Figure 8.5. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Body Movies: Rotterdam, 2001. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 15

9/9/13 12:04 PM

Figure 8.8. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, surveillance grid, Under Scan: Lincoln, United

Kingdom, 2005. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

fernandez_COLOR SECTION_(16).indd 16

9/9/13 12:05 PM

Of Ruins and Ghosts

4 A F

The Social Functions of Pre-Hispanic Antiquity in Nineteenth-Century Mexico

Archaeological remains are more than traces of civilizations past. Like other sites of nation-building they serve as stages for the contestation of multiple interests. Official histories, tourist literature, art history, and archaeology often obscure these tensions by focusing on the impressive materiality of the monuments and on deciphering their original significance (Fig. 4.1). While these efforts illuminate our knowledge of the past, they leave out aggregates of individual and collective experiences that also contribute to the signification of the works. Ancient monuments belong to places. As E. V. Walters argued, the significance of a place is inaccessible through rational processes alone: “a place is a location of experience. It evokes and organizes memories, images, feelings, sentiments, meanings, and the work of imagination. The feelings of a place are indeed the mental projections of individuals, but they come from collective experience and they do not happen anywhere else. They belong to the place.”1 This description acknowledges the relationality of a place as well as the intangible dimensions, feelings, memories, dreams, fantasies, and myths that give it meaning in addition to form.2 In the nineteenth century archaeological remains of the pre-Hispanic past became central to official representations of the Mexican nation. This was not an entirely new phenomenon. As discussed in Chapter 1, images from preHispanic antiquity were integral to representations of New Spain during the colonial period. In the eighteenth century, with the influx of ideas from the European Enlightenment, Creole intellectuals began to explain ancient monuments and representations of the local past in terms of rationality and progress. Presenting their arguments under the rubric of science, these scholars attempted to validate Mexico’s cultural heritage and intellectual prestige in the learned international circles of their time. In the next century archaeology was progressively understood as a science that contributed to unify Mexicans under the mantle of a common past and gave the country international visibil141

142   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 4.1. Teotihuacan: Avenue of the Dead, view from the Pyramid of the Moon. Photo: Simon Penny. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

ity. Thus it was central to both nation building and the cosmopolitan ambitions of Mexican elites. Nineteenth-century regimes, especially Porfirio Díaz’s administration, bestowed official and scientific legitimation on pre-Hispanic antiquity. Several scholars have interpreted the glorification of the past during the Porfiriato as an appropriation of history by the Mexican upper classes and noted the contradiction between the regime’s valorization of antiquity and its denigration and dispossession of contemporary indigenes.3 I have argued for a more complex reading of these phenomena, for the appropriation of the past during this period would have been meaningless outside the national and international nexus of power relations that gave it value.4 In this chapter I present a kaleidoscopic view of seemingly unrelated aspects of culture to suggest connections between nineteenth-century Mexican visual culture, industrialization, and violence. Linking these multiple spheres through threads of history and

143   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts theory, this exercise precludes a linear argument with any pretensions to comprehensiveness. Like E.  V. Walters’s theory, it requires our consideration of nonvisual, indeed invisible aspects of the visual, but it relies on the evocative qualities of fragments rather than on a single unifying framework. While Walters critiqued the compartmentalization that academic disciplines imposed on the understanding of place and attempted to devise a holistic theory, I work with fragments from multiple disciplines and aspects of experience. The goal is to open multiple possibilities for inquiry rather than to provide a seamless, comprehensive narrative. The scientific interpretation of indigenous antiquity was a fundamental aspect of Mexico’s version of modernity, which simultaneously validated the nation’s heritage and sought to demonstrate its cosmopolitanism.5 The incorporation of antiquity in modernity, however, was not without cost. I attempt to show that in nineteenth-century Mexico the cultural valorization of antiquity was compatible with the destruction of native cultures and that both of these phenomena in turn were related to industrialization. This implies that the cultural recuperation of the past and official policies toward living indigenous peoples, rather than just being parallel or contradictory, were linked by violence. Violence was evident in the official campaign against specific indigenous groups and in the representations of indigenes in various media. Utilizing Teotihuacan as an example, I demonstrate the government’s violence against indigenes in the process of creating an archeological site. Teotihuacan was selected because of its importance to Mexican history and archaeology. It must be clear that my purpose is to evaluate neither the aesthetics nor the accuracy of the reconstructed site but the processes, lived and imaginary, that undergird its existence. This orientation differs from traditional art history in its emphasis on social and nonvisual phenomena that impinge on the visual. For example, my discussion of Teotihuacan includes the voices of dispossessed peasants, a gesture unfamiliar to art historical literature but imperative to illustrate the consequences of the government’s “reconstitution” of the site for the local population. To conclude, drawing from the work of various theorists, I discuss possible affective implications of such violence and propose that, in order to imagine a necessary ethics of visuality, scholars of Mexican visual culture must first contend with the dead. Violence and its effects appear here as the nonrational underbelly of scientific rationalism. Through these multiple juxtapositions I expect to draw out unapparent aspects of cosmopolitanism and nationalism ultimately to imply that these phenomena share violence as a primal scene with imperial and colonial ventures. This approach is intended to complement, not to replace, the visual analytic methods fundamental to the history of art.

144   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Ruins, Science, and History Educated Mexicans became interested in scientific ideas and local archaeological sites in the viceregal era. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora was also one of the first Creoles to view archaeological remains as material evidence for history. He argued for a common origin of Americans and Europeans based on similarities in the material culture of America and Egypt, including the construction of pyramids, dress, sacrifices, and the organization of the calendar. He believed that Mexican pyramids, like the Egyptian pyramids, were hollow and tried to excavate them.6 Don Carlos’s astronomical writings exemplified the dawn of the Enlightenment in New Spain, although he also adhered to medieval ideas such as the existence of miraculously powerful objects, as his biographers recognize.7 The rediscovery of indigenous antiquity in the eighteenth century was deeply entwined with the development of neoclassicism, encyclopedism, and local pride. The Bourbon administration actively stimulated and supported the Creoles’ awareness of regional history. Inspired by the discovery of Pompeii and Herculaneum, the Bourbon kings Charles III (1759–1788) and Charles IV (1788–1808) sponsored the first expeditions for the reconnaissance of Mexican archaeological sites and initiated efforts to protect and preserve local antiquities. During his term of office (1771–1779), viceroy Don Antonio María de Bucarelli y Ursúa ordered that all the documents relating to Mexican antiquities be housed at the university. Viceroy Don Juan Vicente de Güemes Padilla Horcasitas y Aguayo, second count of Revillagigedo (1789–1794), decided to keep some of the archaeological monuments found on the site of the cathedral in 1777 at the same institution. The work of Don José Antonio de Alzate y Ramírez Cantillana (1737– 1799) illustrates the intellectual inclinations of learned Creoles. Educated at the Jesuit College of San Ildefonso, Alzate was competent in multiple fields, including science and history. Because of his knowledge of cartography, archbishop Francisco Antonio de Lorenzana entrusted him with the responsibility of drawing maps of Mexico and participating in the distribution of ecclesiastical territories during his term of office (1766–1772). Alzate is credited with the invention of coconut-oil soap, a project proposal to drain the Lake Texcoco (1767), a proposal to refine saltpeter, the construction of a microscope, the invention of a mechanical vehicle to collect waste, and an early exploration of the ruins of Xochicalco.8 His descriptions of these ruins were essential to Guillermo Dupaix and Alexander von Humboldt’s later publications on the same site.9 Under Viceroy Bucarelli, Alzate edited the periodicals Asuntos Varios sobre Ciencias y Artes and Observaciones sobre la Física, Historia Natural y Artes Útiles in 1787. He served as correspondent to prestigious international

145   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts institutions, such as the Academy of Science in Paris, the Jardín Botánico de Madrid, and the Sociedad Bascongada.10 His passion for the Mexican past was evident in his publication on the ruins of Xochicalco, where he wrote a spirited defense of the ancient Mexicans’ practice of human sacrifice and in the process critiqued European regimes. He posited: Mexicans are barbarians because they made human sacrifices. And what do all nations do? Do they not shoot a man just because he has deserted? Do they not behead a whole neighborhood or the garrison of a plaza? Do not some European sovereigns sacrifice their vassals for such a light motive as receiving a certain sum of money? Et cetera. If all of this is done by virtue of legislation and it is not a barbarity, why should it be so in respect to the Mexicans when their laws so commanded?11

Such reasoning failed to impress the Bourbon administration. Perhaps as a result, Alzate lost support from the viceroy, and many of his inventions remained in obscurity. Like Sigüenza y Góngora, Alzate was influential in the future construction of a Mexican identity rooted in local history and nurtured with increasing doses of scientism. After independence, a succession of Mexican governments sponsored publications about the indigenous past and oversaw the foundation of a national museum of antiquities and natural history, which functioned as the official organ for collection, preservation, and public display of the past.12 In 1822 the national government of Agustín de Iturbide established a conservatory of antiquities and a cabinet of natural history. At the initiative of the minister of foreign relations, Lucas Alamán, both establishments were consolidated in a single institution in 1831, designated as the Museo Nacional (National Museum). Emperor Maximilian of Habsburg ordered that the museum be transported to the Palacio de la Moneda (now the National Palace) in 1865. After Maximilian’s deposition and execution, the national government reestablished the museum as a tripartite institution with sections in natural history, archaeology, and history and a library.13 In the Porfiriato the government’s investment in the promotion of indigenous antiquity reached unprecedented proportions. Don Porfirio generously supported institutions devoted to the study and preservation of antiquities, such as the Museo Nacional, the Biblioteca Nacional, and the Archivo General de la Nación. During his regime, the office of inspector y conservador de monumentos arqueológicos (inspector and conservator of archaeological monuments) was created (1885) and the Museo Nacional undertook its first archaeological research projects: Oaxaca (1877) and Cempoala (1890).14 In addition to funding archaeological and conservation projects, the Porfirian regime encouraged the construction of a national style of painting, sculpture, and architecture based on themes and images from pre-Columbian antiquity.15

146   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture As Ignacio Bernal and others have established, for many nineteenthcentury scholars archaeological remains had the value of documents to support written history.16 These histories often validated political positions. It is not accidental that several of the best-known Mexican writers on local antiquity were also active politicians. These writers/politicians included Carlos María Bustamante (1774–1848), Lucas Alamán (1792–1853), José Fernando Ramírez (1804–1875), Manuel Orozco y Berra (1816–1881), Vicente Riva Palacio (1832–1896), and Alfredo Chavero (1841–1906). Despite ideological and methodological differences, one consistent preoccupation in the thought of all these men was to demonstrate Mexico’s equality if not superiority to Europe. Frequently they explained the cultural achievements of the ancient Mexicans in scientific terms to demonstrate Mexico’s competence in the scientific world. The pre-Hispanic past became the core of a scientific reconstruction of history on which the future image of the nation rested. The work of Antonio de León y Gama was fundamental to this orientation, which I refer to as “scientific nationalism.” Specializing in astronomy, León y Gama built an international reputation as a scientist. He was credited with the first exact calculation of the longitude of Mexico and also with predicting the eclipse of November 6, 1771. He taught mechanics, pyrotechnics, and aerometry at the School of Mines. In his influential essay Descripción histórica y cronológica de las dos piedras (1790), written upon the accidental discovery of the Coatlicue and the Aztec Calendar Stone on the site of the cathedral, he described the Aztec Calendar Stone as a precise scientific instrument. In León y Gama’s opinion, the monument not only marked the equinoxes and solstices but also functioned as a solar clock that indicated noon, 9:00 a.m., and 3:00 p.m., times that in his view were important to the Aztecs’ religious rites and ceremonies.17 León y Gama explained that he had been moved to write the description of the stones “to demonstrate to the literary world part of the great knowledge that the Indians of this America possessed in the arts and in the sciences at the time of their paganism, so that it is known how falsely the enemies of our Spaniards accuse them of being irrational or simplistic, attempting to discredit the glorious feats that they [the Spanish] accomplished in the conquest of these kingdoms.”18 In a manner reminiscent of Sigüenza y Góngora’s elliptical eulogies, León y Gama felt compelled to glorify the Spanish conquest in order to exalt the value of local civilizations. León y Gama’s theories continued to gain support among prominent Creoles after independence. In 1832 the historian and statesman Carlos María Bustamante, in collaboration with his fellow historian and politician Lucas Alamán, republished León y Gama’s Descripción.19 As a seal of its objectiv-

147   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts ity this publication included León y Gama’s lengthy response to scientifically minded critiques by Alzate concerning the geological constitution of the monuments and the methods that León y Gama had used for his interpretations. Bustamante was an active writer, politician, and cultural promoter. He authored the book Cuadro histórico de la revolución a la independencia, in which he indicted Spanish colonization and eulogized the unique character of Mexico.20 He served in important official posts including minister of the Supreme Court of Justice, minister of foreign relations, and secretary of government and also held influential positions in the arena of culture, including conservator and director of the National Museum, president of the Imperial Academy of Sciences and Literature, president of the National Board of Public Education, president of the Board of Directors of the Academy of Fine Arts, and director of several newspapers and periodicals.21 Along with Alzate and León y Gama, Bustamante was a fierce promoter of the Aztec past. He referred to the unexcavated site of Tlatelolco as a “new Herculaneum” and praised the work of Spanish architects in New Spain with the understanding that the beautiful form of Mexico City was “due to the plan of the Indians.” 22 Like many intellectuals of his time, he embraced neoclassicism and rejected the Baroque as a reminder of Mexico’s colonization. In the minds of many educated Mexicans, neoclassicism was compatible with pre-Hispanic art because the latter rivaled the art of European antiquity. Alfredo Chavero (1841–1906), a lawyer, politician, and playwright, was the first to challenge León y Gama’s assertion that the Calendar Stone functioned as a solar clock, proposing instead that it was used as a platform for human sacrifice, positioned horizontally instead of vertically. He owed this interpretation to Fray Diego de Durán’s description of sacrificial stones in his Book of the Gods and Rites and the Ancient Calendar, a document that had been unavailable to León y Gama.23 Chavero proposed a different function for the stone but left intact León y Gama’s assertion that it represented an outstanding scientific achievement.24 Chavero was a nationalist and a promoter of pre-Hispanic antiquity nationally and internationally. He had been a member of congress since 1869 and became a senator in 1886. His nationalism is evident in his book Historia antigua y de la conquista, in which he stressed the documentary value of archaeological remains and took the opportunity to remark on the superiority of Mexican history to Old World history. In his opinion, “the veracity of a history depends on the sources from which it is drawn. In this respect, our ancient history is more deserving of faith than the histories of most of the primitive peoples of the ancient world. For them, legend is the only guide to their earliest times, perhaps because their fables multiplied in an exaggerated manner due to the richness of their imagination, or perhaps because in the search

148   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture for their remote origins they substituted fictions for reality. Certainly, we have more precise data about our ancient peoples, and it is not an exaggeration to say that our history is superior to the history of Greece.” 25 This statement directly contested the supremacy of Greek antiquity. Judging by Chavero’s analysis of the Calendar Stone, the precision of the data depended on scholars’ judicious reading of material remains: historical manuscripts and archaeological objects. Like León y Gama in the previous century, the scientist Antonio Peñafiel (1831–1922) decried the poor reputation of Mexico in the scientific world. In an introduction to his edition of the Jesuit Padre Antonio del Rincón’s Nahuatl grammar Arte mexicana, originally published in 1595, Peñafiel wrote: “The lovers of the good name of Mexico will see in this beautiful book some of our glorious past, a little light between the obscurity of time and the ingratitude of nations.” 26 His words indicate despair at the obscurity of his homeland and faith in the power of the past to illuminate the present. Peñafiel was director of the National Office of Statistics, director general of the Census Department of Mexico, and a member of numerous scientific institutions in Mexico and the United States.27 In his zeal to advance both the study of Mexican history and his homeland’s scientific reputation, Peñafiel published numerous books on Mexican antiquity and archaeology and a selection of important historical documents, including texts from the early colonial period and the first topographic and technical study of Xochicalco, a site that he had visited and studied with the archaeologist Eduard Seler in 1887.28 In line with the nationalist tendencies of many intellectuals of his time, the author of the topographic study, the engineer Lt. Juan B. Togno, argued for the superiority of Mexican to European building science. He believed that the ruins of Xochicalco were contemporaneous with European buildings such as “the Castle of Roche Pont, constructions indeed more elegant, more luxurious but [if I may say] with impartiality, inferior in defensive strength.” According to Togno, the Mexican buildings’ greater resistance was due to what he identified as an embryonic “polygonal system of planning” nonexistent in Europe at that time.29 Despite his enthusiasm, Togno abstained from explaining the particularities of this planning system. In addition to being a central concern of politicians, scientists, and historians, pre-Hispanic antiquity was the subject of popular novels and dramatic works in nineteenth-century Mexico. Such novels included Netzula by José María Lafragua (1839); La cruz y la espada (1864) and Los mártires del Anáhuac (1870), both by Eligio Ancona; and two texts by Ireneo Paz, Amor y suplicio (1873) and Doña Marina (1883).30 Historians sometimes authored fictional historical dramas. For instance, among his many theatrical works, Alfredo Chavero wrote several plays with historical themes, such as Quetzalcoatl (1877)

149   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts and La reina Xochitl (1878). As in political and historical texts, the desire to validate local antiquity saturated these works. Descriptions of archaeological ruins often were used to evoke the glories of the ancient past and to denounce the injustices of history. In his novel La cruz y la espada, for example, Yucatecan historian, statesman, and fiction writer Eligio Ancona affirmed that ruins were a proof that the ancient civilizations were skillful and intelligent and deplored that in his own day they only had “a derogatory name” that most people pronounced “with indifference.”31 Common to all—historians, scientists, and writers—was the notion that material remains from the past were incontestable historical documents. In the view of Mexican intellectuals, the spirit of the Mexican nation seemed to be embodied in its ancient monuments. Chapter 3 shows that Mexico’s official representations of its own history were colored by the fascination of foreigners (especially the French) with the pre-Hispanic past. Similarly, outsiders influenced the increasing valorization of Mexican archaeological sites. The historian and politician José Fernando Ramírez remarked on the role of Europeans in raising other nations’ awareness of the Mexican past. “The attention of the cultivated world was never caught by our antiquities until Humboldt studied them and Kingsborough published them,” he lamented.32 In the opinion of Díaz’s minister of education, Justo Sierra, archaeology was the only thing that gave Mexico a personality in the scientific world. “After all,” Sierra sadly admitted, “we do not figure in the world but as a country of ruins.”33 Sierra’s statement was informed by the numerous foreigners who had visited Mexico to study archaeological remains and antiquities since the eighteenth century, including Lorenzo Boturini, Guillermo Dupaix, Désiré Charnay, Baron Alexander von Humboldt, and John Lloyd Stephens and Frederick Catherwood, whose efforts stimulated the appreciation of the past locally and internationally. In light of the preceding discussion, we may posit two primary roles of archaeological monuments in nineteenthcentury Mexico: to support official history and to provide the country with a material basis culturally to compete with European nations. These functions were essential to both nationalism and cosmopolitanism. Nationalism rested on the construction of a common history and cosmopolitanism on the nation’s cultural and scientific parity with the traditional colonial centers.

Industrialization, Archaeology, and Violence Porfirio Díaz’s administration undertook the project of industrializing Mexico. To accomplish this objective it was necessary first to strengthen the country’s communication networks, to procure foreign investment, and to achieve social and political stability. Díaz surrounded himself with a group of advisors known

150   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture as the “científicos” because they based their political theories and practices on the positivistic philosophies of Auguste Comte and Herbert Spencer. Particularly for Spencer, industrialization was synonymous with progress. During the Porfiriato the extension of the railroads increased from four hundred miles in 1877 to three thousand in 1883, reaching twelve thousand miles in 1910. This network facilitated the movement of raw materials destined for export and the transport of supplies from the provinces to Mexico City. The Díaz administration also invested in developing urban transportation networks. In 1905 trams powered with the electricity of two hydroelectric plants provided Mexico City’s public with rapid transport.34 Numerous foreign businesses, including shipping, mining, and construction companies, welcomed the prospect of investing in Mexico.35 In order to facilitate industrial and urban development, the government confiscated thousands of acres of communal lands from indigenous communities and granted them to powerful landowners, developers, and industrial companies. From 1876 to 1910 more than 96 percent of the communal villages lost their lands.36 Mexico’s stability was achieved through powerful mechanisms of repression, which included the federal army and a brutal rural police force popularly known as los rurales. By creating an atmosphere of terror, these two organs successfully inhibited opposition to Díaz’s regime. Mexican elites perceived the indigenes as a national problem because traditional native customs were understood as conflicting with modernization.37 The Porfirian government’s attempts to deal with the “Indian problem” ranged from outright annihilation to proposals for integration of the indigenous population into the nation through education and intermarriage. However “well intentioned,” these proposals shared the cultural extermination of the natives as a common goal. The pacification campaigns against northern indigenous groups exemplify the first method. Eager to develop the State of Sonora, the Díaz administration identified mining, railroads, and land speculation as profitable areas for investment. The principal clients in these projections were U.S. mining, construction, and irrigation companies.38 Indigenous peoples of the region, particularly the Yaquis and the Apaches, were identified as major obstacles to the progress. Although native peoples from multiple parts of Mexico received similar treatment, I draw from the rich documentation on the Yaquis here to illustrate the Porfirian administration’s attitude toward rural indigenes.39 This choice is partly based on the important role that this group played in the popular imagination. Since the viceregal period the Yaquis and other northern groups had loomed large in Central Mexican consciousness as personifications of savagery. Missionaries and travelers routinely reported on their ferocity and cruelty. These accounts informed depictions of all non-Christianized natives, including the “Indios bárbaros, Indios

151   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts mecos, Indios gentiles or Apaches” in casta paintings.40 This long-standing reputation fortified with frequent news columns reporting on the barbarity of the northern natives contributed to justify the Díaz government measures against all indigenous groups antagonistic to its designs. The Apaches were efficiently annulled in the 1880s by a combined effort of the United States and the Mexican military, which—paired with Sonora’s government’s offer of a reward of $300 per Apache scalp—promptly reduced the group to insignificance. The Yaquis, totaling about thirty thousand, posed a more difficult challenge. The group had lived under Jesuit authority during the colonial period. After independence they resolutely defended their autonomy, however, and no government had yet succeeded in controlling them.41 The Díaz army began its offensive against the Yaquis in 1879; although a peace treaty was signed in 1897, fighting continued into the twentieth century. One method that the administration consistently used to get rid of these indigenes was to deport them to the henequen haciendas of Yucatán. This not only proved beneficial for the developers in Sonora but also increased the labor pool of henequen hacendados (landowners), such as Díaz’s secretary of development, colonization, and commerce, Olegario Molina.42 In the government’s zeal to deport the Yaquis, many families were dispersed and children orphaned or abandoned.43 The campaigns also had violent repercussions for neighboring indigenous communities: misidentification of rebellious Yaquis often resulted in the apprehension and execution of members of other indigenous groups. The operations against the Yaquis were declared closed in 1901, but the deportations of the group continued. In 1908 all Yaquis were deported from Sonora, although local landowners frequently sought them as laborers.44 A description of a military assault against the Yaquis that took place in 1885– 1886 by the governor of Sonora, Ramón Corral, indicates the violence of the Díaz regime against these peoples. Having been unable to cultivate because of the campaign [against them], with no more cattle to consume, and unable to procure food anywhere, the Indians died of hunger. Without clothes to cover themselves, without shelter, always forced to flee, and in the midst of a severe winter, they suffered horribly because of the cold . . . The situation in which they arrived before the troops was moving in the extreme. Pale, drawn, hungry, and naked, they looked like specters who had just left the tomb. The soldiers and their superiors saw them with pity and fed them, but they [the Yaquis] were so accustomed to eating badly that many of those unfortunates who avidly devoured anything they were offered died immediately after having eaten.45

Twenty years earlier the intellectual Francisco Pimentel had argued for the elimination of the natives in a less direct way. He thought that “Indians . . . should not be regarded as being separate but as being part of the nation

152   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture and in consequence their interests linked to those of the country to which they belong. The desire to remedy the Indians has as its purpose to avoid the evils that their situation causes Mexico . . . One must ensure that the Indians forget their customs and even their language if possible. Only in this manner will they forget their worries and form a homogeneous race with the whites.46 Although Pimentel refrained from calling for genocide, his suggestions for assimilation accomplished a similar end. In forgetting their language and their culture the natives were annihilated as a cultural presence. The representations of Mexican indigenes in art carried out a similar violence. As Stacie Widdifield and others have demonstrated, in late nineteenthcentury Mexican art indigenous peoples frequently looked like Europeans or mestizos.47 These portrayals include Manuel Vilar’s sculptures of Motecuhzoma (1850), Tlahuicole (1852), and La Malinche (1852); Miguel Noreña’s statue of Cuauhtemoc for the Monument to Cuauhtemoc by Noreña and Francisco Jiménez (1877, Fig. 3.10); Jesús Contreras’s reliefs of Aztec rulers for the Pavilion of Mexico for the 1889 Universal Exhibition (Fig. 3.5); and the much-discussed paintings Columbus before the Catholic Sovereigns (1850) by Juan Cordero and The Discovery of Pulque (1887–1889) by José Obregón, among many other works. The painting by Cordero was the first in Mexico to show Columbus with indigenous peoples. Relegated to the lower left corner of the canvas, the natives kneel before the Spanish rulers as Columbus, facing the throne, presents them to the sovereigns by gesturing toward them. Although the natives are significantly darker than the Spaniards, they have distinctly Europeanized features. In fact, according to both artist Jean Charlot and art historian Alisa García Barragán, Cordero used his own face as the model for one of the indigenous men.48 Mexican art historian Ida Rodríguez Prampolini argued that in the 1870s Mexican critics and the public began to demand more realistic art. In her opinion, images of indigenous peoples in painting obeyed this imperative. Yet even though these later works depicted physiognomy more accurately, the natives represented in them appear as culturally assimilated or as willfully participating in that process.49 In Félix Parra’s painting Fray Bartolomé de las Casas (1875, Fig. 4.2), for instance, Fray Bartolomé stands at the doorway of a preHispanic building that shows signs of destruction, such as a broken column on the right of the canvas. Wearing a white tunic and a dark brown cape, the priest looks impassively into the distance, his arms crossed on his chest, clutching a crucifix with his right hand. On the floor to his left lies a dead indigenous male identifiable by his dark brown skin and black hair. An abandoned ceramic jar lies on its side below the stone altar of an indigenous deity to the right of Las Casas. An indigenous woman kneels on the building’s steps below Fray

Figure 4.2. Félix Parra, Fray Bartolomé de las Casas, 1875, Museo Nacional de Arte,

Mexico City. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

154   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Bartolomé and embraces the cleric at his knees, covering her face with her arms. Like sixteenth-century antecedents, this painting depicts the triumph of Christianity over indigenous religion.50 The woman literally embraces the new faith, personified in las Casas. Such images suggest that, regardless of pictorial style, representations of indigenous subjects emphasized their subjection and occluded the complexity of native cultures as well as the roles of living indigenous peoples as active agents in Mexican society. Some may argue that these representations were innocent consequences of nineteenth-century “ways of seeing”; but as multiple works in feminist, colonial, and postcolonial currents of art history and visual studies demonstrate, seeing is a political act.51 As such it contains the possibility of agency. At stake here is not only the likelihood that nineteenth-century artists might have been able to paint different images but also the perpetuation of those nineteenthcentury “ways of seeing” in contemporary readings of the works. The persistent aesthetization of images of rape in traditional art-historical discourses until the late twentieth century is illustrative here. In her book Images of Rape (1999), Diane Wolfthal persuasively showed that it was possible to see images of rape painted in preceding centuries differently: mainly, to recognize the violence in them.52 In a different context, philosopher Paul Virilio advocated the necessity of developing an ethics of perception as a form of resistance against regimes of vision that demand optical conformism. He identified vision as a site for contestation: in his estimation, humans are neither free to see as they wish nor obliged to see all that is presented before their eyes.53 This implies that the viewer can exercise some measure of responsibility in seeing, a point to which I will return. During the Porfiriato the Mexican government expropriated numerous communal indigenous lands not only to accommodate industries but also to create some of the archaeological zones that today function as tourist attractions. Like art, the new science of archaeology was implicated in doing the natives violence. The development of the site of Teotihuacan into an archaeological zone (Fig. 4.1) illustrates the conflicting attitudes of the Porfirian regime. Government officials repeatedly stressed the role of the state as guardian of the nation’s archaeological treasures as well as the necessity to protect and preserve antiquities for the benefit of science, humanity, and the nation.54 Yet, while unearthing the past, the same administration deprived living indigenes of their livelihood and sustenance. Teotihuacan was central to the history of Mexican antiquity. The city flourished between 100 and 750 ad and had from 100,000 to 200,000 inhabitants at its height. It was a place of reverence for the Aztecs, who knew it only through its monumental remains and gave the city its name. In Nahuatl, Teotihuacan

155   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts means “Where the Gods Are Made” or “Place of the Gods”; according to Aztec legends, the gods had convened there during the last creation of the world.55 In addition to its imposing presence in the landscape, with two of Mesoamerica’s greatest pyramids visually echoing the neighboring mountains, the site also was a sacred place of origin. The continuous importance of Teotihuacan after the conquest was evident in numerous representations of the site in indigenous and Spanish chronicles during the colonial era and in the documentation of travelers, including Lorenzo Boturini, William Bullock, Moritz Rugendas, Frederick Waldeck, and Désiré Charnay.56 In the late nineteenth century Teotihuacan acquired greater renown as a site that rivaled the ruins of the Ancient world. In 1907 headlines referred to the Pyramid of the Sun as “the largest monument in the world,” and reporters described the city as “possibly the oldest city in the world.”57 In 1675 the Mexican savant Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora conducted the first recorded excavation of the Pyramid of the Moon.58 Boturini (1746), Charnay (1885), Antonio García Cubas (1863), and Leopoldo Batres (1884 and 1886) subsequently excavated various parts of the city. The scientific investigation of Teotihuacan began with the Comisión Científica de Pachuca, a branch of the French Scientific Commission to Mexico (Commission Scientifique au Mexique) instituted under the brief rule of Maximilian of Hapsburg (1864– 1867). As members of this subcommission directed by Ramón Almaraz, García Cubas produced the first detailed plan of the site, including a longitudinal section; and the engineer Francisco Jiménez detailed the city’s geographical coordinates. These features were indicative of systematic research methods that set this investigation apart from the more informal approach of previous excavations.59 Almost forty years later the Porfirian government prepared an impressive display of archaeological sites, especially Teotihuacan, in anticipation of the forthcoming celebration of the centenary of the independence of Mexico from Spain in September 1910. To complement the event, several scientific congresses, including the Second Session of the Seventeenth International Congress of Americanists, would be held in Mexico in the same month.60 The Díaz administration also commissioned Batres to explore and “consolidate” the sites of Xochicalco and Mitla to exhibit them on the same occasion.61 Work on all these sites proceeded in a great hurry: Batres only had five years to prepare for the event.62 In February 1905 the Secretaría de Instrucción Pública y Bellas Artes (Department of Public Education and Fine Arts) authorized Leopoldo Batres, inspector general y conservador de monumentos arqueólogicos de la república (inspector general and conservator of archaeological monuments of the repub-

156   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture lic), to conduct an exploration of the ancient city. On his first visit to the site after receiving official clearance, Batres reported, From the summit of the two pyramids to the last hillock, there were thick stone walls that limited the borders of the proprietors, as those monuments were declared community property according to the law of 1860 and distributed among the inhabitants of these places. More than 250 proprietors presented property titles. How to penetrate there without proper expropriation [of the lands]! I informed the Secretaría de Instrucción Pública about this stumbling block, and the latter, observing previous legal formalities, expropriated the lands necessary for the formation of the archaeological zone, paying them at the price of gold [a precio de oro] so that the interested parties would not suffer damages. Once all the difficulties were overcome, I proceeded to remove the thick arcades so that the monuments that were going to be discovered and consolidated would be unobstructed.63

The excavations proceeded at a rapid pace. Two photos of the Pyramid of the Sun taken before the excavations show the monument still covered in vegetation and free from the encumbrances described in the previous paragraph (Fig. 4.3, 4.4). By 1906 the Batres team had partially uncovered the monument (Fig. 4.5). An army of workers, possibly local farmers no longer able to cultivate their lands, was vital to this accomplishment (Fig. 4.6). In the same year the inspector presented a progress report of the excavations, including a reconstruction of the pyramid (Fig. 4.7), to the Congress of Americanists held in Quebec. In addition to conducting archaeological explorations at Teotihuacan, Batres inaugurated a steam railway to transport debris and erected a number of buildings including a house for the director (Fig. 4.5), offices, and a museum. The museum consisted of a room measuring 45 meters in length and 25 meters in width. In accordance with the taste of the times (for example, Adamo Boari’s design for the National Theater) it integrated neoclassical architecture with industrial materials (iron and glass) to take advantage of natural light for illumination. The building’s façade was designed in Doric style, with the front façade and the cornice made from white stone. The corners, doors, and windows were constructed with brick. The museum initially had eight thousand antiquities on exhibition.64 A local police force was hired to protect both the site and the antiquities (Figs. 4.8, 4.9). Documentary evidence demonstrates that Batres’s efforts to evacuate the local inhabitants from the site began before 1905. Already in 1901 he proposed to the Secretaría de Fomento (Secretariat of Public Works) that a communiqué be sent to the owners of the terrains neighboring the pyramids. The communiqué stated: “I have the honor of communicating to you that a zone of 120 meters around each monument must be reserved, with the understanding that the owners of the neighboring properties, in respect to right of way, will be sub-

Figure 4.3. Teotihuacan: Pyramid of the Sun before excavation, northwest view.

From Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacan: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres, inspector general y conservador de los monumentos arqueológicos de la República Mexicana al xv Congreso Internacional de Americanistas que deberá reunirse en Québec el mes de septiembre de 1906 , relativa a las exploraciones que por orden del gobierno mexicano y a sus expensas está llevando a cabo la inspección de monumentos arqueológicos en las pirámides de Teotihuacán. Photo: Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 4.4. Teotihuacan: Pyramid of the Sun before excavation, southeast view. From Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacan: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres. Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 4.5. Teotihuacan: Pyramid of the Sun, south side after excavation, offices

and house of the director. From Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacan: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres. Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 4.6. Teotihuacan: Pyramid of the Sun, workers excavating southeast side. From Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacan: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres. Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library. conaculta –inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

159   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts

Figure 4.7. Leopoldo Batres, reconstruction of the Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacan. From Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacan: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres. Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

ject to whatever the laws dictate.”65 The Secretario de Fomento signed the order and sent it to the proprietors in the same year. Following the official expropriation of the lands in 1906, the owners of the properties demanded restitution. A claim by a Teotihuacan farmer, Sebero Reyes, illustrates Batres’s response to the proprietors’ plight. On May 9, 1906, Reyes wrote to the Ministro de Instrucción Pública y Bellas Artes to request either payment for his terrain or to be given another lot to cultivate: “Four months ago I was honored to place in your respectable hands a letter; that one and this one have the same goal, [to request] that you have the kindness to grant me license to cultivate my lands or to tell us if we are going to be paid, because that [the land] is what we live from.”66 The ministry forwarded Reyes’s letter to Batres. On June 8, 1906, Batres responded to the ministry: I have the honor of informing you, in respect to the petition of Mr. Severo Reyes to be compensated for a piece of land that he guarantees as his property . . . This office believes that after Mr. Severo Reyes accredits his property and presents his titles, the ones that are located on the parcel to which Mr. Severo Reyes refers will not be admissible as valid as they have belonged to the nation since the

Figure 4.8. Teotihuacan police. From Leopoldo Batres, Exploraciones y consolidación

de los monumentos arqueológicos de Teotihuacán, Plate 27. Photo: Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 4.9. Teotihuacan: mounted police. From Leopoldo Batres, Exploraciones y

consolidación de los monumentos arqueológicos de Teotihuacán, Plate 28. Photo: Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

161   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts epoch of the Spanish, whose rights were transferred to the Republic after independence, and it would set a fatal precedent to recognize as private property the monuments that belong to the nation. Because of the abnormal state in which our homeland was for a long period of years, no one took care of the monuments. The local authorities divided them as shared common lands, awarding them at bottom prices [en viles precios] without any rights to do so, as the nation was the owner.67

This response suggests that Batres was prepared to discard the claim before examining Reyes’s documents of ownership. On June 16 the Secretaría de Estado del Despacho de Instrucción Pública y Bellas Artes wrote to Reyes asking him to present his titles to the Secretaría without mention of Batres’s letter. The resolution of Reyes’s claim is unknown.68 Nonetheless, archival documents demonstrate that as late as 1923 many of the owners of the lands expropriated in 1906 for the consolidation of the archaeological zone of Teotihuacan had not been compensated. The government required that the proprietors maintain good standing in the payment of taxes in order to be eligible for remuneration. If the owners were unable to pay, the government purchased their lands. As the case of sixty-five-year-old farmer Senobio Núnez illustrates the government’s restitution for the land could be indefinitely delayed even if the owner paid his taxes. On June 22, 1922, the municipal treasurer of San Martín de las Pirámides certified that since 1920 Senobio Núñez had not paid any “contributions.” On August 16 of the same year a letter from the Secretaría de Agricultura y Fomento (Department of Agriculture and Public Works) copied to the jefe of the Departamento de Población Contemporánea de la Dirección de Antropología (director of the Department of Contemporary Population of the Office of Anthropology) stated that Núñez’s land measured 5,265 square meters and calculated the value of the parcel at 103.30 pesos, paid at $0.02 cents a square meter. The document explained that “the value of the land was calculated in consideration of the rocky and sandy constitution of the terrain and because it was dedicated to the cultivation of maize, giving a maximum production of 90 [units of maize] per 1 [unit of land]. It was also taken into consideration that most of its cultivation is reduced to prickly pears [nopales] and magueys and, besides, this was the price per square meter in the year 1906, the date on which it [the land] was occupied by the zone.”69 The document lacks specification of the method by which the government calculated the production of the land. Another document dated 1923 (with no indication of month or day), presumably submitted by Núñez, calculated the price of the terrain at three hundred pesos and certified that Don Senobio had submitted his tax receipts, thus demonstrating his good standing. In September 1923 the director of the Secre-

162   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture taría de Agricultura y Fomento informed Núñez that payment for his terrain had to be delayed because of budgetary limitations: “On the past August 30, the Secretaría de Agricultura y Fomento determined that it would not be possible to pay 3,846.55 in favor of the proprietors of the lands that were annexed to Teotihuacan because certificate no. 8873 of the current budget of expenditures has expired . . . Thus it will be necessary to wait for an extension from the Honorable Cámara de Diputados [Congress].” 70 A claim by eighty-five-year-old day laborer Félix Ortega met a similar fate. In contrast to Núñez, Ortega had not paid taxes. The government purchased his land for 88.20 pesos, but payment was also delayed pending the extension of the expenditure budget mentioned above.71 The price the government offered for the lands was low, as is evident from Batres’s own admission that the state government sold the lands to the proprietors at “vile” (viles) prices; yet he bought them for the same sums at which the federal government had evaluated them twenty years earlier. An additional series of documents suggests that the government’s estimates for the land, and especially Batres’s estimates, indeed were contemptible. In 1917 the Secretario de Instrucción Pública y Bellas Artes, Don Francisco Vázquez Gómez, initiated legal proceedings against Batres in response to an investigation that alleged that the inspector had abused the powers of his position. According to the investigation’s report, Batres not only had allowed numerous antiques to leave the country but also had used national properties for his own benefit. The construction of a hotel in the archaeological zone of Teotihuacan using laborers and materials belonging to the nation was listed among his offenses.72 Antonia Clos, a former archivist at the Inspección de Monumentos and a close friend of Batres who lived with him in his home, was the registered owner of the terrain on which the hotel stood. According to the report, she bought the land from an employee of Batres, who sold it against his will and under threats from the inspector. She paid 150 pesos for the lot, a price that the report described as “so ridiculously low as to be laughable.” The Secretaría de Agricultura y Fomento concluded that because the hotel belonged to Clos and not to Batres the only way to confiscate it was to demonstrate that it was built in the archaeological zone and “expropriate it for reasons of public utility.” 73 The legal proceedings against Batres were suddenly interrupted for unspecified reasons. An important if not primary objective in the explorations and the “consolidation” of the archaeological zone of Teotihuacan was to impress the public, foreign dignitaries, and scientists with the monument’s reconstructed site and the scientific report of the project during the celebrations of the Centenary of Independence. This was a superb opportunity to show off Mexico’s achieve-

163   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts ments to the nations of the world. The Mexican government took great care to distribute invitations to select officials, corporations, and important individuals locally and abroad. Batres presented the Teotihuacan project on September 10, 1910, “with great solemnity and in the presence of the ambassadors of all the nations friendly to Mexico in representation of their respective governments, the diplomatic body, the ministers of State, and a very numerous public.” 74 The next day he led the distinguished guests on a tour of the site in which he explained—in French—the significance of the monuments. Like Mexican pavilions at the world’s fairs, the formation of archaeological sites was linked to Mexico’s ambitions for international cultural and scientific recognition. In fact, like the design of the Pavilion of Mexico for the Universal Exposition of 1889 in Paris, the selection of the sites for presentation during the centenary may have been influenced by the opinion of foreign critics. In his opening speech to the Second Session of the Seventeenth Congress of Americanists, Justo Sierra mentioned that during his visit to Paris in the last exposition (the Universal Exposition of 1900), “the Duque of Loubat, to whom explorations in the Americas owe so much, insistently suggested to me the idea of descubrir, those were his words, of discovering Teotihuacan.” 75 This suggests that, through Sierra, Loubat may have been instrumental in stimulating the government’s interest in the reconstruction of the site. “The Duque of Loubat” was a title that Pope Leo XVIII bestowed in 1888 on the wealthy American Joseph Florimond, a native New Yorker. The duke was honorary president of the Society of Americanists in Paris and at the turn of the century financed luxurious versions of several major ancient Mexican codices previously published by Lord Kingsborough.76 The nationality of this influential patron corresponded to Mexico’s changing economic alliances as Americans and no longer the French played the dominant roles.77 To summarize, Mexico’s self-representation in the nineteenth century had roots in both modernity and local antiquity. While modern science and technology were intrinsic to industrialized modernity, the ancient past provided Mexico with an illustrious cultural heritage, which in the opinion of its intellectuals placed the nation’s history on equal footing with the great civilizations of the Old World. As a new discipline with scientific pretensions, archaeology was the perfect site in which to validate both Mexico’s cultural legacy and its emerging scientific modernity. These representations of the nation, however, had an invisible side: the negation of living indigenous peoples. As the previous discussion of the government’s treatment of northern native groups such as the Yaquis indicate, the disappearance of contemporary indigenes entailed ruthless violence. While there is plentiful documentation on the land and power disputes that brought the Porfirio Díaz regime to collapse, the scholarly

164   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture literature and the archives say little about the possible affective consequences of this violence. How did these abuses register in people’s memories, if they were acknowledged at all? On paper we have only faint traces of these phenomena, vague hints about the manifestations of yet another invisible dimension of the social. The following section is concerned with interpreting some of these traces.

Ghosts In capitalist Mexican society indigenous peoples are heterogeneous entities. I borrow the term “heterogeneous” from French theorist Georges Bataille to describe inassimilable aspects of society. According to Bataille, “the homogeneous part of society is made up of those men who own the means of production or the money destined for their upkeep or purchase.” For Bataille, production (measured exclusively by money) is the basis of homogeneity. In contrast to artisanal societies in which the workers could afford to own the means of production, the owners of the means of production in industrial societies arrogate the products to themselves and constitute the pillars of social homogeneity. Workers are included in production but remain excluded from profit. Outside the factory they become strangers, people “of another nature, of a non-reduced, nonsubjugated nature,” along with the impoverished classes and other inassimilable entities. The categories of homogeneity and heterogeneity are perilously permeable, for homogeneous elements have the potential of becoming heterogeneous and vice versa.78 Bataille posits that heterogeneity is associated with various degrees of violence, excess, and madness. Not only are these characteristics attributed to heterogeneity, but they also elicit violent and excessive responses from homogenizing institutions such as armies because heterogeneous entities threaten homogeneity. Continuously menacing homogeneity, heterogeneous entities are excluded from the homogeneous realm of consciousness. This process is comparable to the occlusion of aspects described in psychoanalysis as unconscious. The exile of these entities from conscious awareness, however, does not preclude them from having effects. They continue to generate affective responses, acting as centers of attraction or repulsion and occasionally shifting roles so that “any object of repulsion can become an object of attraction and vice versa.” Further, Bataille claims that the reactions generated by heterogeneous elements are analogous to those generated by sacred objects in that they are assumed to be charged with an unknown and dangerous force.79 In Bataille’s assessment, the sciences and modern technologies are eminently compatible with homogeneity. Science supports homogeneity by attempting

165   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts to establish the uniformity of phenomena. Technologies serve as intermediaries between production and science, and both technology and science exclude incommensurable experiences proper to religion or the sacred.80 Although industrialization was nascent in nineteenth-century Mexico, in my assessment indigenous peoples can be included to occupy the place of the industrial worker in Bataille’s theorizations. Mexican production, whether of primary or industrial products, employed native peoples as laborers, allowing them little opportunity to share in the profits. As the state’s treatment of the Apaches and the Yaquis exemplified, indigenes were valued primarily as work hands, disposable and even undesirable outside of their roles in production. These attitudes were not uniquely bound to industrialization but had antecedents in the institution of encomiendas and the rapacious behavior of encomenderos in the colonial period. The placement of pre-Hispanic antiquities and ruins at the very heart of nation building during the Porfiriato mediated between the elites’ poles of repulsion and attraction toward indigenous peoples. Antiquities and archaeological sites served the role of “intermediaries,” elements that according to Bataille provide affective linkages capable of converting the inassimilable into the sublime. Through these intermediaries “disgusting slaughter was radically transformed into its opposite, glory—namely, into a pure and intense attraction.”81 Antiquities and native peoples were associated with violence already in the late colonial period. Aggression was either attributed to them or perpetrated against them. The imaginary link between antiquities and violence sometimes was reflected in public receptions of archaeological objects. In 1799, when the Coatlicue and the Calendar Stone were unearthed in the center of Mexico City, the authorities reburied Coatlicue after finding that the local natives had left her offerings. The Calendar Stone was placed on public view on one side of the cathedral. Antonio de León y Gama relates that because the Calendar Stone “was exposed to the public without custody it could not be avoided that rustic and puerile people damaged and mistreated several of its figures with stones and other instruments . . . so that before it was mistreated further or was given another destiny as it was already thought, I had an exact copy of it made before my eyes.” In the same text he mentions several other monuments that were destroyed by either the public or the authorities for fear that they might “remind the Indians of their ancient government and religion.”82 The destruction of these monuments cannot be attributed to fear of idolatry alone. The veneration of the statue of Coatlicue by the local population suggested a direct relation between the indigenes and the antiquities. The authorities could not tolerate this connection because it could give the natives memory and reaf-

166   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture firmation of their heritage. As previously discussed, Mexican intellectuals and leaders were intensely aware of history as a powerful tool of social cohesion. Pre-Hispanic antiquity was there to be used, not given back to the indigenes. In a country where more than half of the population was indigenous, an appropriation of this history for the task of nation building could only occur if there was a simultaneous movement of destruction against the natives (annihilation, integration, acculturation). Yet underneath both of these movements lurked an overwhelming fear of retribution. As in Bataille’s theorizations of heterogeneous entities, elite and popular culture alike often attributed mysterious powers to indigenous peoples. In present-day Mexico popular superstitions regarding antiquities connect the ancient objects and images to native sorcery. Similar beliefs have existed in Mexico since the colonial period. In his Treatise on the Heathen Superstitions (1629), Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón discussed the ability of the natives to transform themselves into animals and to cause human deaths through sorcery.83 In 1691 Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora (previously an admirer of the preColumbian past) witnessed a violent popular revolt ensuing from the high prices and scarcity of corn, the main staple of indigenous communities. According to Sigüenza’s account, a group of women began the protest. They gradually attracted a crowd of thousands, which ultimately sacked and burned parts of the viceroy’s palace. The archives of the secretary, the offices of accounting, and the audiencia were destroyed.84 After the rebellion was over, there was plenty of corn. This indicated that officials had hidden the grain to sell it at higher prices.85 In a report of the insurrection that he sent to the Spanish court Sigüenza y Góngora mentioned “mulattos, blacks, chinos, mestizos, lobos, base Spaniards as well as gachupines and Creoles” among the rebellious crowd, yet he blamed the indigenes for the revolt. “The ones who more urgently pressed protests were the Indians . . . They were the ones that had the greatest complaints and shamelessness since they never had a better year than the present one,” he argued.86 In his report Sigüenza related an incident preceding the mutiny to explain the possible causes of the insurrection. In his position as inspector general of aqueducts, he had supervised the opening of a new irrigation channel in Mexico City on the place where the Mexicas repelled the Spanish in the battle of La Noche Triste. The workers found a burial offering dedicated to the Mexica patron god Huitzilopochtli, including: many small pitchers and small pots that smelled of pulque and a greater number of dolls and clay figurines representing Spaniards. They [the figurines] were pierced with knives and spears also made from red clay and had signs of blood on their throats as if they had been beheaded . . . It is real proof of how much the Indians abhor us and it shows what they eagerly wish for to the Spanish.87

167   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts This document suggests the connection of indigenous practices with sorcery. The link between ancient archaeological sites and sorcery was made explicit in an essay written in 1922 by Francisco Monteverde in which he described the site of Teotihuacan as an abode of sorcerers and reported that initiations in witchcraft “mysteries” took place in the cave beneath the Pyramid of the Sun.88 Historically, the popular fear of “Indian sorcery” has been connected to the experience of colonialism. In his study of shamanism in Amazonia the anthropologist Michael Taussig proposed that in the view of colonists living natives draw magical powers from “the ancient people, the pagans of pre-conquest times.” After a study by Robert Hertz titled “A Contribution to the Study of the Collective Representation of Death” written in 1901, Taussig explains that society cannot contain the deaths of people torn from life in a violent way. The image of the dead person can never be completely erased. The deaths thus acquire a sacred character and the dead become ghosts that haunt or empower the living. Taussig posits the question: “Is it possible that, as with the image of an individual struck down by violence, . . . so the ghost or the evil winds of a whole society, struck down by the Spanish conquest, could exist as unquiet, spiteful souls roaming the earth forever?”89 At the end of the nineteenth century Porfirio Díaz’s friend the poet Juan de Dios Peza seemed to entertain similar thoughts. In a poem titled “The Shadow of Cuauhtemoc” Hernán Cortés laments: A memory never lost overwhelms me; I do not miss or regret Moctezuma’s blood But is there anyone who Alone with his conscience Does not remember the damage done To innocence, an infamy unpunished and wicked If only God gives or takes away existence at will! Everywhere I look for light Darkness frightens me as from it rises the image of Guatemuz [Cuauhtemoc] No! the cross does not protect such unbound cruelty; I was not a judge but a murderer and that bloody cadaver [Cuauhtemoc] weighs in my thoughts and makes my life a misery.

168   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Oh shadow that causes terror! Forgive my impious action Under this tree where Your murderer once cried . . . That rumor of the wind on the dry Branches frightens me It seems that you protest So many horrendous slips And I do not know If you curse me or if you Absolve me or if you call me.90

In Peza’s poem as in Taussig’s discussion of the possible effects of the dead upon the living, Cuauhtemoc continues to exist in Cortés’s memory, disquieting him. Governor Ramón Corral, whom we encountered earlier sympathetically detailing the horrors of the military campaigns against the Yaquis, became vice president of the republic under the Díaz presidency and presumably received three pesos for every Yaqui deported to Yucatán.91 Perhaps to appease the powerful Sonoran hacendados whom the Yaqui deportations deprived of muchneeded labor, he wrote biographies both of Gen. Ignacio Pesqueira, the zealous Sonoran organizer of the campaigns, and of Cajeme, the Yaqui leader who mounted the most sustained resistance against the Mexican military. During Corral’s term as governor, the army apprehended and killed Cajeme. In his biography of the Yaqui leader, Corral extolled Cajeme’s valor and compared him to “heroes of the epoch Xicotencatl.” 92 Because of his position as both a native Sonoran and a federal government official, Corral had to walk a fine line, simultaneously supporting the powerful landowners of his state and the extermination and deportation policies initiated by the federal government. His invocation of the pre-Hispanic past to describe Cajeme undoubtedly served a diplomatic end. Nonetheless, it suggested affective and perhaps nonconscious associations between the contemporary decimation of the natives and the Spanish conquest. In few documents are nineteenth-century natives, the pre-Hispanic past, violence, and the uncanny linked more eloquently than in a publication by Fortunato Hernández, a medical doctor who wrote a thesis on somnambulism and subsequently obtained funds from the Porfirian administration to study the native peoples of Sonora. In his travels through this region in 1901 Hernández stumbled upon the tomb of Tetabiate, Cajeme’s successor as Yaqui leader, massacred by the military five months earlier. The sight of the tomb provoked connections in the mind of Hernández among the Yaqui leader, ancient civilizations, and nature:

169   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts On the heap of enormous stones that formed the mausoleum of the Indian warrior, a deserving representative of the indomitable valor of his ancestors the Toltecs, I saw a dying ray of sunlight which came to caress the almost unknown sepulcher of the hero in the midst of the savage majesty of the mountain and the mysterious sadness of winter. As the sun sank behind gigantic wild fig trees, these stood out, proud and imposing, to the west of his almost unknown tomb, as silent witnesses of that tragic death and that fruitless valor.93

Immediately afterward Hernández associates the death of Tetabiate with the existence of an elite class whose passive brutality is equally fatal to the common soldier. Meanwhile . . . our heroic soldiers gathered around bonfires, forgetting the fatigues of their journey and scorning the danger of the night . . . Horrible inconsequence of destiny! While the spoiled sons of Fortune taste sparkling champagne in aristocratic halls, or sleep in their soft beds in their palaces, caressed by the kisses of their wives and cooed by the lullabies of the nursemaids who take care of their children, here in the dreadful loneliness of the abrupt and sinister mountain, a group of valiant and unfortunate Mexicans, lacking clothes and food, exhausted by fatigue, and longing for the loved ones whom they left abandoned in their humble homes, sleep over the craggy banks of an abyss, perhaps thinking, with tears in their eyes and sadness in their souls, that at that time their children, whom they will never seat on their knees again, cry for the absence of their fathers, lacking bread, warmth, and love.94

In other words, Mexico’s upper classes owed their privilege to the sacrifices of the Mexican poor, be these poor the Yaquis or the Mexican army. As is the case today, in nineteenth-century Mexico underprivileged classes including indigenous peoples accounted for most of the low-ranking soldiers in the army. The adjectives—dreadful, abrupt, and sinister—that Hernández uses to qualify the mountain show that the landscape, as a witness of slaughter, has ceased to be a neutral entity. One side of a coin suggests the other. If to Hernández the tomb of a Yaqui leader evoked images of an ancient people, it stands to reason that the opposite should have been true: images of ancient civilizations should have invoked images of contemporary natives, even if these images were banished to visual realms of the unconscious.95 This connection was active in Batres’s imagination: in his first publication on Teotihuacuan the inspector included visual comparisons between living indigenes and ancient sculptures found on the site (Figure 4.10). In Hernández’s narrative contemporary natives traverse both rural landscape and city like zombies (walking dead) or ghosts:

171   ■  Of Ruins and Ghosts Without doubt, worthy of meticulous study and interesting for a thousand reasons are the unfortunate American races who today wander in the forests in a world that was theirs; and wandering pariahs, without beliefs, without gods, without homes, they flee looking in the remote woods for an unknown shelter for their misery and a secure refuge for their liberty. Only from time to time, one can see one of the Indians belonging to those races traversing our great cities indifferent and silent, with the indolence of one who hopes for nothing, and wearing in his black and melancholic eyes all the pride of his past as demigod, all the tedium of his present without joy and all the sadness of his future as a slave.96

According to Hernández, these peoples were the victims of violence. In his description they resemble Hertz’s and Taussig’s “unquiet, spiteful souls roaming the earth forever.” Mexican ruins, the Mexican landscape, and the industrial city were all inhabited by generations of dispossessed natives, while numerous monuments and glorified ruins masked the horrific violence perpetrated against them. Then (and now) the nationalist veneration of Mexican and other Native American antiquities must be acknowledged to complement the process of eradication of indigenous peoples. In nationalist narratives, archaeological monuments function as representations of history and as such are always incomplete. No collection of antiquities, however vast, can stand for the totality of the past. As Jacques Lacan and Jacques Derrida among others have made explicit, what is left out of representation often returns in unexpected ways.97 Derrida posits that there is no idealization of the one who is departed that does not leave some inassimilable residue behind. The whole world is the cinder of what was once living.98 In his view, “the cinder is what remains without remaining from the holocaust, from the all-burning, from the incineration the incense.” 99 “Idealizations” of the departed in the context of this discussion encompass images of indigenous peoples, monuments, and reconstructions of archaeological sites.

facing page Figure 4.10. Leopoldo Batres, Mexican anthropology. “Type of one of the races that

dwell today in Teotihuacan compared to the type of idols found in the same place.” From Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacan: O la ciudad sagrada de los tolteca, Plate ix (1889). Photo: Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

172   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture In visual disciplines, such as the history of art, archaeology, and visual studies, the analysis of images, buildings, and monuments is based on scholars’ command of visual codes, histories, methods, and theories recognized by the field. Hence the disciplinary experience of reading these artifacts consists of applying established norms of vision and interpretation that demand varying degrees of optical acquiescence. Seeing is colored by cultural and professional training and habit. By contrast, Derrida describes ethics as an experience of radical alterity or an experience of the impossible, which requires a removal of familiar grounds and of certainty.100 For him, justice entails a sense of responsibility before the dead and the unborn; consequently it necessitates dealing with ghosts. These specters include the “victims of war, political or other kinds of violence, nationalist, racist, colonialist, sexist or other kinds of exterminations, victims of the oppressions of capitalist imperialism or any of the forms of totalitarianism.”101 Engagement with these subjects is rare in art-historical and other scholarly discussions of ancient monuments. By associating archaeology, industrial modernity, and violence I have suggested that perception is inflected by a complex of values, affects, and behaviors that impact on the production and reception of images. Like the nation, vision operates in a cosmopolitan force field. As scholars we have the choice of seeing only what we have learned to see or extending our gaze beyond the views that we have inherited. In order to imagine an ethics of visuality as Virilio proposed, we might begin by translating to the visual realm Derrida’s statement concerning language: “the sentence is adorned with all of its dead.”102 Although we have focused on the nineteenth century, we need only to follow the news on Mexican archaeology and on the ongoing indigenous resistance movements in various parts of the Americas including Chiapas and Guerrero to realize that the violence against living indigenous peoples persists along with our increasing knowledge of American antiquity. The Mexican state today is as committed to globalization as it was to nineteenth-century nationalism and internationalism. While in the nineteenth century it appeared willing to sacrifice citizens for the construction of a national history and for the international prestige and scientific aura of archaeology, the recent establishment of a Wal-Mart at Teotihuacan suggests that now it may also be prepared to compromise its reputation as guardian of the nation’s treasures for its share in global capitalism. As in the construction of archaeological sites in the nineteenth century, the role of the nation in a global sphere, the value of the past, and the costs and gains, human and intellectual, are at the heart of the controversy.103 It remains to be seen which outcomes will enter the literature of art history and visual culture.

Traces of the Past

5 A F

Reevaluating Eclecticism in Nineteenth-Century Mexican Architecture

Nineteenth-century Mexican architecture is widely recognized as eclectic. Especially from about 1880 to the first decade of the twentieth century, Mexican cities exhibited buildings of multiple stylistic tendencies, including neoclassical, Baroque, neo-Gothic, and art nouveau, indicative of a cosmopolitan consciousness. Sometimes an architect would employ various styles in a single edifice. As in the study of colonial Mexican architecture, scholars have attempted to classify the architecture of the period with little success: the buildings consistently elude traditional stylistic classifications.1 The Teatro Juárez in Guanajuato (1873–1903), designed by José Noriega and Antonio Rivas Mercado, exemplifies an extreme of the eclecticism of the period by uniting a neoclassical exterior and lobby with a theater room richly clad in neo-mudéjar details (Fig. 5.1). In my experience teaching and lecturing, this building has never failed to elicit laughter from my students and colleagues. In the view of one architectural historian of my acquaintance, the building demonstrates “a propensity for excess” and lacks “decorum” as well as an understanding of the rules of “proper” architecture. In short, it is naive and gross. The Teatro Juárez certainly has an abundance of decoration, but this ornamental richness is not unusual: in the same period elaborately decorated buildings are everywhere. What to the Western-educated viewer seems discordant in the building is the juxtaposition of motifs of classical and Islamic origins, two traditions that are perceived as incompatible in Western architecture.2 Questioning disciplinary boundaries should be intrinsic to the study of colonial and postcolonial architecture, in which traditional forms of categorization intersect and overlap, challenging ideas postulated by architecture as its “natural epistemological grounds.”3 In a recent essay the architect and critic Gülsum Baydar Nalbantoğlu commented on the inability of the discipline of architecture to engage in self-examination: architecture, like all disciplines, continuously defers any interrogation of its externality. It draws boundaries, erects walls, controls openings and guards its founda-

173

174   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture tions . . . architecture’s disciplinary inclusions and exclusions and their modes of legitimization are historically and contextually inscribed . . . The violence involved in the construction of the very boundaries of the discipline is rarely acknowledged.4

Studies of eclecticism illustrate the resistance of architecture and architectural history to trespass disciplinary borders. The term “eclectic,” meaning heterogeneous, is opposed to notions of purity and consistency. Thus the concept of eclecticism intersects with ideas of difference, miscegenation, contamination, and pathology that were used to support both colonialism and nationalism. The violence involved in both projects is by now amply recognized in multiple fields of inquiry.5 Yet despite these rich associations, analyses of eclecticism in architecture seldom venture beyond the formal examination of buildings, leaving the foundations of the discipline unexamined. The notion of eclecticism has been central to architecture theory and criticism since the nineteenth century. Until recently two main approaches to the study of eclecticism in architecture have been taken: a consideration of eclecticism as a formal problem in isolation from other aspects of culture and the study of eclectic architecture as a localized and aberrant phenomenon. The second approach predominates in the study of eclecticism in postcolonial regions. The criticism of nineteenth-century Mexican architecture is my point of departure in an exploration that revisits aspects of historiography and twentieth-century architecture theory, ultimately to argue that eclecticism is ubiquitous and cannot be contained temporally or spatially. The perception of eclecticism as anomalous is related to the centrality of notions of purity and consistency to the concept of style as well as to discourses of colonialism and nationalism, which often permeate architecture criticism but are seldom acknowledged. Even though eclecticism in architecture seems distant from the notion of hybridity, originally applied to natural species, in practice the two concepts have functioned similarly to indicate the fusion of heterogeneous elements.6 Extending the discussion of the body and architecture initiated in Chapter 2, this correspondence suggests previously unidentified parallels between the concept of style and essentialist notions of race associated with nineteenthcentury colonialisms. Similarly, the view of architectural style as the material expression of stable ethnic and national identities is common to nationalistic movements consolidated during the same period. The focus of this discussion on theory stems from the assumption that understandings of style that reinforce colonialist and nationalist ideologies need to be replaced by models that better suit our present knowledge of social and cultural dynamics. Until other analytic methods are devised, aesthetic judgments of architecture will inevitably rely on the very normative values that this chapter brings into question.

175   ■  Traces of the Past

Figure 5.1. José Noriega and Antonio Rivas Mercado, Teatro Juárez, Guanajuato

(1873–1903) (interior). conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Photo: C.B. Waite ©121955 conaculta.inah. sinafo.fm.mexico.

The eclecticism of Mexican architecture has been regarded as a problem since the second half of the nineteenth century, when influential architects including Manuel Gargollo y Parra, Luis Salazar, and Nicolás Mariscal argued for the development of an architecture simultaneously national and modern.7 Eclecticism was understood as an indication of Mexico’s immaturity and dependence on outdated foreign models. These ideas were rooted both in the perception of the architecture of the colonial period as derivative of European models and in the Díaz administration’s assignment of important commissions to Europeans or to Mexican architects educated in Europe. The view of eclecticism as a “problem” continued during the twentieth century. After the revolution of 1910, Mexican intellectuals perceived the grandiose buildings commissioned during the Porfiriato (such as the Legislative Palace and the National

176   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Theater discussed in Chapter 4) as inherited architectural forms, meaningless in the modern revolutionary society.8 Antagonism to the architecture of previous periods, especially the Porfiriato, intensified in the succeeding decades as revolutionary ideals and modern architecture gradually became established in Mexico.9 During the second half of the twentieth century most critics, myself included, interpreted the eclectic character of nineteenth- and twentieth-century Mexican art and architecture as the result of a search for national identity.10 These interpretations frequently rested on imaginings of both the nation and identity as authentic, homogeneous, and continuous even if in reality these notions refer to processes and materialities in constant transformation.11 Writing in the 1960s, Justino Fernández opined not only that the multiplicity of styles during the Porfiriato indicated admiration for things foreign but that Mexico was involved in the search for “its own authentic expression.”12 This preoccupation is well documented, as many prominent Mexicans believed that Mexico lacked a homogeneous and consistent culture. According to the diplomat Sebastián B. de Mier, in contrast to European countries such as Italy, Spain, and Belgium, Mexico had no style of architecture that was “purely national” because its history was divided into three distinct periods: “primitive,” “Spanish,” and “independent,” none of which was appropriate to the expression of modernity.13 Similarly, after the revolution the anthropologist Manuel Gamio observed that the multiplicity of cultures within Mexico impeded the development of a national art.14 In the opinion of these writers the need for national identity resulted from a cultural void created by the historical transition from colonialism to independence. The development of national art and by implication the nation necessitated cultural homogeneity.15 These interpretations were partially correct. It is incontestable that Mexican leaders, artists, and intellectuals energetically searched for forms representative of the new nation; what is missing in the literature is an examination of both this “identity crisis” and eclecticism in a broader historical and geographical context. This is not to deny the validity of the historical specificities of Mexican eclecticism but is an attempt to generate a more extensive comprehension of the phenomenon. The perception of nineteenth-century Mexican architecture as “improper” and derivative persists today. Michael Johns, the author of a history of Mexico City during the Porfiriato, explains: Mexican architecture . . . was an expression of a city run by people who were looking to create their own culture while entirely dependent on the industry and ideas of Europe and America. They copied the places they envied, but these copies betrayed insecurity, anxiety and inexperience . . . Artistic discretion had yet to emerge in

177   ■  Traces of the Past Mexico, where facades were meant to show taste rather than be tasteful, where for the first time in three generations the development of style was free from political instability and economic penury, and where the establishment of aesthetic conventions was hindered by the barrage of imported goods, ideas, and fashions. “It takes an endless amount of history to make even a little tradition,” Henry James chided the young Americans, “and an endless amount of tradition to make even a little taste, and an endless amount of taste, by the same token, to make even a little tranquility.” Mexicans knew little of their adopted European tradition, had acquired even less of its taste, and enjoyed none of its tranquility.16

Michael Johns’s discussion of eclecticism in nineteenth-century Mexico is illuminating because it situates the critique of eclecticism within discursive practices in which the words “copies,” “discretion,” “style,” “taste, “European,” and “Mexican” bear specific cultural values. These discourses can be particularized by locating their theoretical development in modern Western Europe. Johns’s judgments represent a conflation of values drawn from nineteenthcentury concepts of style, modern architectural theory, nationalism, and colonial discourse.

Style No discussion of eclecticism can take place independent of the concept of style. Like architecture and like the nation, style is an unstable construct that relies on inclusion, exclusion, and the policing of boundaries to ensure some degree of homogeneity. In the traditional history of art, style is understood, in the words of Meyer Shapiro, as “the constant form and sometimes the constant elements, qualities and expression—in the arts of an individual or group.”17 This implies that styles must have internal cohesiveness manifested in a series of recognizable traits. Conventional art and architecture history treat each work of art in a manner analogous to the way a taxonomist treats a biological specimen. The job of the historian is to trace the object’s lineage in an evolutionary trajectory by comparing it to an established classification. But unlike biological entities that mutate and hybridize, styles usually have been treated as pure and constant. In the 1960s and 1970s four eminent figures in the history of art—George Kubler, Meyer Shapiro, James Ackerman, and E. H. Gombrich—contributed to a revision of the concept of style. All of these theorists recognized difficulties with the widely accepted supposition of stability and cohesiveness in style. Ackerman proposed that styles have flexible characteristics “in the sense that they change according to a definable pattern.” He argued that it was important

178   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture to maintain the notion of style because it provided a structure for the history of art.18 Gombrich similarly expressed concern that if style were found to be an unreliable method for identifying and classifying works of art “the fame of the connoisseur would probably suffer.”19 Kubler, most radically, defined style as “acts undergoing change”; although this definition practically collapsed the concept of style altogether, he specified that his aim was not to abandon but to restrict the concept to “non-durational, synchronous situations composed of related events.” 20 Although the papers by Kubler, Shapiro, Ackerman, and Gombrich became “classics” in the field, they had little effect on art-historical orthodoxy. Many university curricula and the most widespread form of arthistorical knowledge, the survey book, still treat styles “as though they were persons in a generational novel,” to quote Kubler.21 Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717–1768) played a formative role in establishing both the discipline of art history and the concept of style. During his lifetime Germany was in the process of constructing a national identity dependent to a great degree on the identification of Germans with the ancient Greeks. The concept of style that emerged during this period was value-laden: the Greek classical style was considered to be not just a set of formal conventions but a “culminating conception,” a pinnacle of aesthetic achievement unsurpassed by any other style.22 Winckelmann’s book Reflections on Painting and Sculpture of the Ancient Greeks opens with the sentence: “Good Taste, which is now spreading ever more widely throughout the world, first began to emerge on the soil of ancient Greece.” 23 Here and in his influential work History of the Art of Antiquity of 1764 he proposed that the only way for Germany to become great was to imitate the ancients. Other intellectuals such as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832), Friedrich Schiller (1759–1805), and later Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770–1831) accepted the exemplarity of Greek art, but they thought that Europe, and Germany in particular, could create an art that might surpass the ancients.24 In the second half of the eighteenth century Johann Gottfried Herder (1744–1803) advanced the idea that literature and culture were intimately connected with an individual people or race, a notion that was readily incorporated in successive nationalistic movements in Germany and elsewhere. The concept of style as an expression of a collective spirit was explicated in Hegel’s Philosophy of History (1837). According to Hegel, a nation’s art, philosophy, religion, law, science, and technology reflected the stage of evolution of the Spirit and manifested the essence of the age. These theories were filtered through the lenses of European supremacy and German nationalism: Hegel’s

179   ■  Traces of the Past “reflexive history” took place primarily in Europe and Germany in particular. Africa was “the land of childhood,” as it manifested only the “Unhistorical, Undeveloped Spirit”; India and China were both complex civilizations, but their backwardness and inflexibility rendered them “still outside the World’s History.” 25 Hegel’s historical vision was the culmination of various ideas on the interdependence of climate, landscape, and regional character already evident in the writings of Hippocrates and debated in French intellectual culture since the sixteenth century.26 Most eighteenth-century European thinkers including Voltaire, David Hume, and Charles White believed in the existence of distinct races that manifested behavioral and intellectual characteristics specific to each, a doctrine that became known as racial determinism. Under the mantle of science, especially in diverse interpretations of Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, these ideas acquired renewed significance in the nineteenth century as ideological supports for colonialism.27 In the history of art, the belief that each race or group produced a specific art gave primacy to theories of origin and inner development rather than cultural interaction. This meant that art was seen as evolving independently from other aspects of culture. These ideas, already present in the writings of Winckelmann, were the foundation of biological and evolutionary metaphors for theories of style. Artistic styles were thought to follow the process of the life of a human organism: childhood, adulthood, and decay. Like prevalent theories of racial determinism that assumed the evolution of humankind to be uneven, so was the evolution of style. The art of classical Greece and the Renaissance represented the greatest developments. The art of “primitive peoples and savages” stagnated in the childhood stage.28 Influential art historians including Alois Riegl, Emmanuel Löwy, Heinrich Wölfflin, Ernst Gombrich, and Sir Kenneth Clark adopted at least some aspects of this model.29 Similar views survived during the twentieth century in various introductory art history texts.30 Like traditional scientific representations of the human races, the arts of different parts of the world were presented as distinct and isolated, seldom in light of interaction. Hence most scholars (at least in the United States and Europe) usually excluded from their work artistic styles that illustrated exchanges among cultures, phenomena that postcolonial theorists later identified as “hybrid.”31 Isolationism was especially pronounced in classical studies, where beliefs in the independent development of Greek culture and in the uniqueness of the Greek achievement overshadowed examination of cultural exchanges and borrowings. During the last twenty years of the twentieth century scholars from various fields questioned these views, yet the representation of artistic styles as consistent phenomena persisted.32

180   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Architectural Theory From the fifteenth to the mid-eighteenth century architectural theory in Europe was based on the precepts of the Roman architect Vitruvius expounded in his Ten Books of Architecture. After Vitruvius’s manuscripts were rediscovered in the early fifteenth century, the rules were debated and refined by Italian, French, and English theorists in subsequent centuries. During the first half of the eighteenth century the discovery of ancient archaeological ruins including Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Paestum generated interest in archaeology and informed the development of neoclassicism. The roots of the concept of eclecticism in architecture were established then, as the new archaeological discoveries demonstrated that the art and architecture of Greece and Rome differed from each other and that both could be imitated and reinterpreted. Greek art came to be privileged over any other tradition following Winckelmann’s publications, in which he vigorously argued for the superiority of Greek over Roman art.33 Also in the eighteenth century, engineering became established as a profession. The Corps des Ingénieurs was founded in the French army in 1675 and the École des Ponts et Chaussés, a school specializing in construction, opened in Paris in 1747. This new discipline influenced the theorization of architecture. Until the eighteenth century architecture was conceptualized as an art of imitation. According to a widely disseminated and accepted narrative, it had evolved from natural models: the human body and the primitive dwelling. Some theorists ultimately claimed that architecture drew upon “the very laws which govern nature itself.”34 The proportions of the classical orders in particular were believed to be a reflection of divine universal order.35 These ideas began to be challenged in the late eighteenth century. By the beginning of the nineteenth century two understandings of architecture existed concurrently but in opposition: architecture as metalanguage and architecture as building. The former viewed architecture as the continuous recitation of past cultural accomplishments, while the latter denied building any metaphorical or figurative associations: architecture was described as simply planning, construction, and production.36 These theories were linked to different notions of style. In architecture as imitation, style was simply understood as “taste.” Taste was determined by the rules of classical architecture, which were variously defined and illustrated in multiple treatises. In the nineteenth century the language of architecture expanded to include architecture from multiple periods and geographical regions. In this expansive phase, style came to refer to the characteristics and ornamentation that distinguished one building from another and, by exten-

181   ■  Traces of the Past sion, the architecture of any age, period, or region.37 In architecture as building, style was viewed as a secondary result of construction and production. Regardless of what notion of style they espoused, many theorists believed art and architecture to be the expression of national character. This current of thought is best represented in the writings of Eugène-Emmanuel Viollet le Duc, A. W. Pugin, and John Ruskin. Like Hegel, some of these thinkers argued for European superiority, a quality that they believed was reflected in European art and architecture. According to Ruskin, in Christian Europe alone “pure and precious art exists as there is none in America, none in Asia, none in Africa.”38 As a superb illustration of circular reasoning, the presumed superiority of European art was summoned to demonstrate the superiority of Europeans; in that manner aesthetic theories reinforced the ideological apparatus of colonialism. The project of colonization entailed the development of a discourse in which the colonists and their culture were set as models to be emulated by colonial subjects. But while imitation was encouraged, equality was denied. Colonial mimicry construes the colonial subject as a “partial” presence that is at once resemblance and threat.39 This partial recognition and objectification/abstraction of the other transforms the colonizer into a ventriloquist speaking for the other.40 In cultural criticism these dynamics were evident in the assessment of the cultural products of the colonies as inferior, derivative, less sophisticated and innovative than those from the colonial centers, an argument that in art and architecture often invoked notions of stylistic purity subsequently incorporated to discourses of nationalism. From 1800 to 1925 European countries expanded their colonial dominions from 55 percent to 85 percent of the world’s surface.41 Ironically, this enormous imperial expansion stimulated the diversification and proliferation of architectural languages in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Europe. The nineteenth century was the golden age of architectural revivals, including Romanesque, Gothic, and multiple vernacular tendencies, continental and imported, that made major European cities look like tridimensional style catalogs. In the past, investigations of colonial architecture focused on the export of European architecture to the colonies. More recent studies demonstrate that the culture, art, and architecture of the colonies as well as European imaginings of these phenomena contributed to the development of eclecticism in the imperial centers.42 John Nash’s orientalizing Royal Pavilion at Brighton (1815–1823, Fig. 5.2) and the Indian billiard room at Bagshot Park in Surrey (ca. 1885–1890 with additions ca. 1908 and 1910) designed for the duke and duchess of Connaught attest to the influence of the Orient in nineteenth-century British architecture even if these buildings remained a minority.43 In 1825 French critic Théodore

182   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Joufroy described his day as an explosion of “conciliatory nature, widespread, springing out of its own self, visiting the beliefs of all countries and all ages . . . admitting for observation all systems, and gleaning from everything, without fixing any part since truth is everywhere in bits and nowhere in its entirely, in no country, no period, no man.”44 The expansion of architectural language to include various periods and regions exemplifies the interest of Joufroy’s contemporaries in the observation of other “systems.” Such enthusiasm notwithstanding, unrestrained cultural relativism was uncommon. Faith in European superiority and in the beneficial impact of colonialism prevailed.45 Despite the explosion of eclectic activity in nineteenth-century architecture, neoclassicism maintained a privileged status, being the preferred tradition for governmental architecture throughout the world. The rules of classical architecture continue to be held as markers of “taste” until the present day. Although the significance of neoclassicism varies contextually, in the nineteenth century it cannot be divorced from the values and goals of “the civi-

Figure 5.2. John Nash, Sussex, Brighton Royal Pavilion, 1815–1823. Photograph reproduced with the kind permission of the Royal Pavilion & Museums (Brighton & Hove).

183   ■  Traces of the Past lizing mission” in both imperial centers and abroad.46 The association of neoclassicism with the foundational civilizations of Western European antiquity, Greece, and Rome as well as with the Italian Renaissance tacitly justified the assignation of the presumably universal values of the “civilized” (read “European”) world to neoclassical architecture, whether the patrons were Europeans or colonials. There is a tendency in architecture theory to contrast the classical tradition (neoclassicism included) with eclecticism, the first being understood as coherent and universal and the second as hybrid and spatially or temporally bound.47 While the former exemplifies rational values, the latter (associated with revivals) is cast as reactionary, decorative, and emotional.48 These characterizations are reminiscent of racial stereotyping and of the pictorial depictions of race discussed in Chapter 2. The two tendencies are ultimately complementary, as they define each other through “difference.” Without the concept of eclecticism and its related values, it would be difficult to claim superior status for neoclassical or modern architecture. In the nineteenth and twentieth century the establishment of modern architecture involved the elaboration of narratives that demonstrated that modern buildings, like classical architecture, were founded on natural principles. The understanding of architecture as building was influential in the development of the concept of functionalism, central to architectural modernism. Viollet le Duc, William Morris, Le Corbusier, Walter Gropius, Mies van der Rohe, and Frank Lloyd Wright among many others maintained (at one point or another) that their architecture was generated by functional requirements and truth to materials. As modernism became established, eclecticism came to be judged as a failure. The influential architecture historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner argued that architecture should be designed according to “universal principles” that expressed “the spirit of the age,” a sort of systemic consciousness independent from the will of the individual. The role of the designer was to do justice to that spirit. He also advanced the idea that art was an expression of national character. The roots of Pevsner’s arguments in Hegel hardly need to be elaborated, as he himself acknowledged this debt.49 Pevsner condemned those architects who sought models in past styles because in his view historicism choked “original action” and replaced it by “action which is inspired by period precedent.”50 Sigfried Gideon, another prominent architecture historian, opposed the notion of style and in so doing exalted modern architecture as the supreme expression of human needs and creativity: “There is a word we should refrain from using to describe contemporary architecture—‘style.’ The moment we fence architecture within a notion of ‘style’ we open the door to a formalistic approach. The contemporary move-

184   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture ment is not a ‘style’ in the nineteenth-century meaning of form categorization. It is an approach to the life that slumbers unconsciously within all of us.”51 In sum, because modern architecture naturally emerged from social conditions and responded to the necessities of modern life, it best manifested the spirit of the age. The architecture historian David Watkins noted that Pevsner’s attacks on historicism applied exclusively to the architecture of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In his words: “He allows Palladio to be inspired by the antique without condemning him as ‘historicist’; he allows Scamozi and also Adams to imitate Palladio, but it is doubtful whether he would grant the same permission to an architect of the nineteenth century and certain that he has not granted it to one of the twentieth century.”52 In other words, Pevsner left the standards of architecture history untouched, as his purpose was to claim for modern architecture a status comparable to the Renaissance within the existing canon. Although architecture theorists initially viewed modernism’s attitudes to history as opposed to neoclassicism, the two tendencies were similar in their claims for universality, aesthetic consistency, and messianic outreach. Each was the international movement of its time. Neoclassicism claimed to embody universal and timeless aesthetic principles; modernism assumed the existence of a unitary “age” hallmarked by the characteristics of European modernity, primarily industrialization. This “universal condition” was thus necessarily expressed through the use of specialized materials, building techniques, and formal characteristics (such as open plan, pilotis, strip windows, glass surfaces, flat roofs, and lack of applied decoration) that Henri Russell Hitchcock and Phillip Johnson canonized in their book The International Style: Architecture since 1922, first published in 1932. Because the architecture of most developing countries continued to rely on traditional materials, valued ornament, and cultivated eclecticism, the requirements of this “single,” “new,” and “unified” architectural style contributed to create a time lag between modernity and the colonized world, which by virtue of “underdevelopment” occupied a belated historical position.53 In modern architecture criticism as in Hegel’s historical schema, these countries remained outside “the world’s history.” Consequently, for most of the twentieth century scholars and architects largely disregarded the history of modern architecture outside of Europe and the United States. Eclecticism was rescued in architectural criticism by a renewed interest in “meaning” encouraged by the boredom of repetitive modern architecture and much-publicized structural and design failures in several notable modern buildings and projects.54 Robert Venturi’s influential book Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture (1966) combated the dictatorship of modernism by advocating the values that modern architecture repressed:

185   ■  Traces of the Past I like elements which are hybrid rather than “pure,” compromising rather than “clean,” distorted rather than straightforward, ambiguous rather than articulated, perverse as well as impersonal, boring as well as “interesting,” conventional rather than “designed,” accommodating rather than excluding, redundant rather than simple, vestigial as well as innovating, inconsistent and equivocal rather than direct and clear. I am for messy vitality over obvious unity.55

Hybridity and messiness imply instability and unpredictability, qualities antithetical to the universality of taste that both neoclassicism and modernism promoted. Taking inspiration from historic architecture and popular culture, Venturi sought to democratize architecture by challenging the division of high and low culture, a goal made even more explicit in his book Learning from Las Vegas, which was written in collaboration with Denise Scott Brown and Steven Izenour. As postmodernism developed, a reassessment of eclecticism in the architecture of the United States took place. Walter C. Kidney argued in 1974 that, with the advent of modernism, eclecticism had become a “bad habit” in architecture theory, but in practice it was still the preferred style of a “silent majority.” He observed with some delight that despite the overintellectualization of architecture in modernist theory, “many by no means brainless people have remained perfectly happy with eclectic architecture in their homes, churches, and places of business over the last four decades.”56 The triumph of eclecticism to him meant that the theory of architecture was divorced from the actual practice of the discipline. Currents of postmodernism favored the inclusion of regional motifs in architecture, albeit in indirect and abstract fashion. After Alexander Tzonis and Liane Lefaivre, architecture critic Kenneth Frampton named this strategy “critical regionalism” and hailed it as a sign of resistance against the hegemonic power of capitalism.57 Drawing on the theories of Paul Ricoeur on the disjunctions of universal and national cultures and Frankfurt School Marxism, Frampton posited that in architecture a culture could simultaneously accept modernization and reject homogenization by expressing the essence of its local character indirectly through factors such as light and specific structural modalities or by engaging with the unique topography of a site.58 In his view, critical regionalism differed from revivalism because it did not advocate a nostalgic return to the past and from populism because it lacked didacticism. Rather than attempting to impart information exclusively through visual means, critical regionalism relied on “tactility,” the ability of the body to read the environment: for instance, a visitor’s experience of the designed trajectory of a site or the quality of light allowed by specific kinds of fenestration.59 For Frampton such regional references integrated with the universal language of modern

186   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture architecture implicitly denounced the superficiality of the myths of progress, efficiency, instrumentality, and objectivism associated with modernism. Critical regionalism was eclectic because it drew both from universal civilization and from “world culture.” The latter term, unexplained in Frampton’s essay, suggested a reservoir of culturally distinct forms in opposition to the homogeneity of style associated with modernism. Critical regionalism has been vigorously critiqued for its essentialism. The assumption that specific formal elements can capture the “essence” or the “spirit” of a place necessarily excludes other regional expressions and thus constructs its own hegemony. The belief that regionalist architecture, however abstracted, resists capitalist appropriation has been proven misguided by the proliferation of regionalistic buildings in commercial and touristic settings. In this context, the kind of architecture favored by critical regionalism illustrates what the critic Tony Fry once called “the hyperconformity of difference.”60 Its Marxist associations notwithstanding, critical regionalism was highly selective: it recognized the work of only a handful of architects. In practice, architects from all over the world had included regional elements in modern architecture—directly or indirectly—for decades preceding the coining of the term. The architecture of the Mexican architect Luis Barragán is a case in point. With exception of his brief involvement in the design of the gardens of University City (1950–1956), Barragán executed no state commissions. Most of his works were small-scale, low-tech residences, often designed for specific individuals. These tranquil, meditative buildings present an alternative to crass commercialization and harsh urban realities associated with the popularization of modernism. In the Jardines del Pedregal (1945–1950) Barragán designed an exclusive residential area on a landscape of volcanic rock interspersed with small green valleys. The complex is reminiscent of pre-Hispanic ceremonial centers in its respect for the natural landscape, the use of solid stone walls, and the interconnection of plazas, causeways, and buildings. The arrangement of rocks, native plants, and water fountains is suggestive of pre-Hispanic, Mediterranean, Islamic, and Japanese gardens, while the orthogonality of the buildings is characteristic of modern architecture. It is difficult, however, to attribute any one aspect of this architecture to a single tradition. Barragán’s synthetic eclecticism is both regional and “universal” or, more precisely, “modern.” His sources include Ferdinand Bac, Mies van der Rohe, Le Corbusier, the Bauhaus, De Stijl, Frederik Kiessler, Richard Neutra, ancient Mexican, Mexican vernacular, and colonial architecture, Mediterranean traditions, Japanese and Islamic gardens, and the work of his friend and contemporary painter Chucho Reyes.61 Although Barragán won the prestigious Pritzker Architecture Prize in 1980 and his work fits the design methods associated with critical regionalism,

187   ■  Traces of the Past Frampton does not mention him.62 Regardless of limitations, both Venturi’s and Frampton’s theoretical interventions expanded the possibilities of architecture criticism by validating the eclectic drive within modernism and in this way contributed to the valorization of architecture from postcolonial regions. In a study of the architecture of Alvar Aalto, Demitri Porphyrios provides one of the most insightful discussions of eclecticism. Basing his analysis on the work of Michel Foucault, Porphyrios differentiates between two kinds of ordering sensibilities in architecture: homotopia and heterotopia.63 Homotopia is a necessity for homogeneity, where unity is established by neglecting or rejecting differences. He identifies this as the ordering sensibility of modernism. Heterotopia, by contrast, is “that peculiar sense of order in which fragments of a number of possible coherences glitter separately without a unifying common law . . . that order, which western rationalism mistrusted and derogatorily labeled disorder.” In the architectural composition of volumes, heterotopia is manifested as “an indiscreet juxtaposition of conflicting iconographic codes.”64 In Porphyrios’s view, the heterotopic sensibility developed in the late eighteenth century and “was systematically cultivated during the nineteenth century under the label of eclecticism.” He links the development of eclecticism to National Romanticism, a movement aimed at stimulating national consciousness in various countries, which often involved the revival of traditional peasant styles. This included the folk cultures of Germany, Britain, Finland, and Sweden.65 Porphyrios reminds us of the obvious but often forgotten fact that eclecticism manifests itself in all countries in the process of establishing nation-states. Thus the “lack” of a stable national identity need not apply exclusively to postcolonial regions. Despite his illuminating analysis, Porphyrios elevates Aalto’s architecture over all other heterotopic manifestations, thereby obscuring the similarities among various kinds of eclecticisms. He explains that “the purpose of Aalto’s historicism is neither to assert a legitimate authority, nor to provide erudition; his historicism is neither Renaissance reverie, nor nineteenthcentury literacy.” While previous eclecticisms rely on “stylistic quotations,” fragments that mingle coherently with a new whole yet remain detachable from it, Aalto’s architectural language is associative. His favored compositional strategy is “stylistic metaphor,” an associative gesture that effaces the presence of a borrowed element and forms a new language, which “owes its status not to borrowed badges but to alluded kinship.” Thus, where revivalism uses quotations, Aalto employs the equivocation of allusion. Aalto’s architecture also differs from postmodern eclecticism: while Aalto sought to recapture values of “community, traditions and culture,” recent eclectic architecture owes its

188   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture popularity to its “ability to recapture culture cheaply.” That is, it is popular because of its ability to employ inexpensive industrial construction materials and techniques and sprinkle them with “a cultural aura.” 66 Contrary to Porphyrios, we could convincingly argue that various twentiethcentury Mexican architects have employed “stylistic metaphors,” created new languages, and attempted to reestablish tradition and community. In the Museo de Antropología by Pedro Ramírez Vázquez et al. (1963, Figs. 5.3, 5.4) an ornamental band with protruding abstract elements on the wall around the courtyard was based on the “Chac noses” found in Maya Puuc architecture. But far from functioning as mere quotations, these elements simultaneously allude to latticework ubiquitous in Arabic and Spanish cultures. The architect’s inclusion of a pool and a fountain acknowledges the importance of water for pre-Hispanic and Spanish civilizations. Other architects, including Ricardo Legorreta, Abraham Zabludowsky, Teodoro González de León, Francisco Serrano, and Augusto Quijano Axle, created buildings reminiscent of preHispanic, Spanish, and Mexican colonial architecture without directly referencing any one building or tradition. While all of these architects built monumental (and expensive) government and corporate buildings, Barragán’s work emphasized tradition and community. By devaluing the eclecticisms of previous eras as repetitive exercises and attributing the gift of creativity to select modern architects, both Frampton and Porphyrios are guilty of a myopia that ultimately serves the purpose of canonizing standards of their own era. In this sense, they do not differ significantly from Pevsner. It is relevant here to question the differences between the incorporation of regional elements in modern architecture and the incorporation of local elements in neoclassical architecture. In nineteenth-century Mexican architecture archaeological faithfulness was not at issue.67 As discussed in Chapter 3, even in pre-Hispanic revival buildings the motifs employed were not exact copies of ancient Mexican architecture but translations and allusions that were

facing page Figure 5.3. Pedro Ramírez Vázquez, Museo Nacional de Antropología, 1963, central courtyard. Archivo Ramírez Vázquez. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Figure 5.4. Pedro Ramírez Vázquez, Museo Nacional de Antropología: lattice, central courtyard. Archivo Ramírez Vázquez. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

190   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture integrated into dominant architectural languages, mainly the classical tradition filtered through the École des Beaux-Arts.68 The architects who were then trying to create a style that was both modern and Mexican were doing exactly what Frampton prescribed for critical regionalism: resisting homogenization by integrating in the architectural languages of their time motifs that in their view encapsulated the essence of place. They employed direct references to autochthonous architecture, not because they sought to recover the past but because imitation of historical styles (the classical tradition) was then the customary method of architectural design. It is necessary now to consider the question of borrowing. In critical regionalism, the incorporation of regional allusions to modern architecture is justified in moral and political terms as the representation of local “essence,” “tradition,” and “resistance.” Direct borrowing from previous or foreign traditions, however, is deemed “simple minded” and “reactionary.” 69 In the philosophy of regionalism, structural and spatial aspects of foreign building traditions are often at odds with the regional climate and natural resources and fail to meet local needs (examples are plentiful in colonial and modern architecture). Yet this does not justify why architectural ornaments from various sources should not be borrowed. Frampton’s and Porphyrios’s insistence that the references to place be indirect or metaphorical suggests a puritanical attitude to ornament characteristic of modernism, a stance antithetical to many of the world’s architecture traditions that critical regionalism and contemporary heterotopia claim to uphold. After thirty years of postmodernism, negative views of eclecticism in previous eras persist in architecture theory. Architect Mark Gelernter explains nineteenth-century eclecticism as the result of “a crisis in confidence” brought about by the challenges that the French Revolution posed to the “certainty of enlightenment.” In his view, the loss of classicism’s objective foundations and the establishment of “painful relativism” in architecture left architects wondering in what style to build.70 Critical regionalism notwithstanding, eclecticism has been predominantly regarded as the antithesis of good architecture in architecture theory of the twentieth century. Even in theories that claim to privilege hybridity, eclecticism is denigrated in favor of highly selective criteria. Furthermore, it is treated as a historical aberration rather than the rule. To the contrary, all architecture is ultimately eclectic. We only have to look at Renaissance architecture within Europe. Spain, England, Germany, Scandinavia, the countries of Eastern Europe, and various parts of Italy (for example, Venice) to see that they produced architectural languages that like much of Mexican architecture defy classification. The art historian Alice T. Friedman has deplored the resistance

191   ■  Traces of the Past of art and architecture historians to eclecticism, noting that English art during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I was the result of a consciously chosen and sophisticated cultural language. But because this art incorporated medieval and Renaissance conventions “many art historians . . . have considered Tudor painting and architecture an embarrassment and an artistic gaffe; they would prefer to ignore its existence altogether and date the advent of the English renaissance to the appearance of classicizing designs by Inigo Jones in 1608.” 71 In other words, scholars obscure eclectic approaches to design in favor of ideals of stylistic purity and consistency. Italian Renaissance architecture was based on the Roman tradition, yet it was eclectic in its deviations from that tradition. Michelangelo Buonarroti usually gave new form and meanings to classical motifs, as did Francesco Borromini, Guarino Guarini, and Bernardo Vittone, who sometimes drew motifs and working methods from medieval traditions.72 As Kidney explained in reference to eclectic architecture in the United States, eclecticism is “not about copying the past but about adapting forms of proven and mature beauty from the formal and vernacular architectures of the past to modern needs . . . The eclectic always feels free to introduce variations of his own and thus create something marginally original.” 73 Eclectic architecture can also be found in African, Islamic, Russian, Mesoamerican, and Near Eastern traditions. In contrast to traditional evolutionary theories of inner development, style is not autonomous; it arises from human culture as a lived process. Numerous theorists from a variety of disciplines have recognized that cultures are heterogeneous and forever in flux. These theorists include Mikhail Bahktin and Yuri Lotman in semiotics, Eric Wolf in anthropology, and Stuart Hall and Homi Bhabha in cultural studies, to mention just a few. The art of any culture is ultimately the product of complex intra- and intercultural processes and interactions. Consequently eclecticism is the rule rather than the exception.

Conclusion If the examination of architecture in any period demonstrates that eclecticism is prevalent, we must accept that the critical reception of eclecticism in architecture during the last two centuries has been informed by other than solely “objective” observations. Ideas of cultural purity and cultural supremacy inherent in colonialist and nationalist discourses have been major forces in the reception of eclecticism. While some may contend that the colonial past and nationalism are no longer relevant to contemporary scholarship, numerous theorists, including Thomas Kuhn, Michel Foucault, Paul Feyerabend, Pierre Bourdieu, and Katherine Hayles, concur in observing that new constellations

192   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture of ideas seldom replace old ones completely. Rather, some ideas from previous constellations remain, serving in a transitory role. Katherine Hayles deploys the concept of the “skeuomorph” to explain the persistence of old ideas in new contexts. In the archaeological seriation of artifacts a skeuomorph is understood as a design feature that is no longer functional but refers back to a feature that was functional at an earlier time. Hayles applies this concept to intellectual history, in which skeuomorphs primarily perform a psychological function: “Like a Janus figure, the skeuomorph looks to past and future simultaneously reinforcing and undermining both. It calls into play a psychodynamic that finds the new more acceptable when it recalls the old that is in the process of displacing and finds the traditional more acceptable when it is presented in a context that reminds us we can escape from it into the new.” 74 This suggests that old ideas continue to work subconsciously even if their frames of reference no longer serve a useful purpose. Colonial discourse still influences the critical assessment of cultural production in colonial and postcolonial regions. The comments by Michael Johns cited at the beginning of this chapter preclude the possibility that Mexican architecture of the nineteenth century may possess merits of its own: it is presumed to be the product of naive mimicry. Johns’s claim that Mexicans “knew little of their adopted European tradition” is bewildering for a historian, as Mexicans became familiarized with European architecture in the sixteenth century. Johns’s supporting quotation from Henry James exemplifies the application of colonial discourse to the architecture of the United States. For most of the nineteenth century European critics were scornful of American architecture on the basis of its eclecticism. Writing on the architecture of the World’s Columbian Exposition, French critic Jacques Hermant commented that Americans had created buildings that “make the European artist, trained for many years to respect pure form, grit his teeth.” He concluded that the exposition was “a debauchery of architecture.” European visitors to the event concurred in the opinion: while Americans had achieved structural innovations, in matters of art they were still “a colony.” 75 This aesthetic judgment betrays the critic’s fundamental belief in European superiority manifested in stylistic purity. Johns’s support of his assessment of Mexican architecture with these statements demonstrates the persistence of these values. Colonial discourse informs the aesthetic reception of the Teatro Juárez. To a Western-educated viewer, the juxtaposition of neo-mudéjar and neoclassical architecture epitomizes the traditional opposition of the West and the Orient. While the West stands for modernity and rationality, the Orient is associated with the backward, the irrational, and the exotic.76 However, both artistic traditions were part of Mexico’s colonial heritage. While neoclassi-

193   ■  Traces of the Past cism was diffused during the last decade of the eighteenth century in Mexico through the Academia de San Carlos de la Nueva España, mudéjar architecture reached the New World through Spanish colonization in the sixteenth century. Nineteenth-century versions of Islamic architecture also became popularized through exhibitions of the architecture of European colonies at the world’s fairs.77 In traditional histories of art and architecture, Spain is rendered peripheral to the European tradition because of its perceived hybridity.78 The whole of Islamic art is often derided as derivative, whereas modernism is seen as selfgenerated and consistent.79 These perceptions result from a contrived “pure” linear historical trajectory for Western art and architecture. In fact, as I have argued, all styles are eclectic. The strategy of labeling certain styles as hybrid and therefore second rate is as clear as it is inconsistent. The notion that an artistic style was representative of a people, nation, or group was diffused in late eighteenth-century Europe and continued to be current in architecture theory during the nineteenth century. In the twentieth century this idea was adapted: in the international movement, style was considered to be representative of the “spirit of the age.” The perception that specific styles captured the “essence” of a place was still current in aspects of postmodernism. In the philosophy of critical regionalism, anything extraneous to the sanctioned design processes was considered anomalous. Ackerman was correct in asserting that style provides a structure for art history, but it is time to explore the spaces between the categories. Those juxtapositions result in what Homi Bhabha calls a third space, which in his view “can affect forms of political change that go beyond antagonistic binarisms between rulers and the ruled.”80 It is time to move beyond colonialist values and accept the eclecticism inherent in human culture. Like all the architecture of the world, the architecture of nineteenth-century Mexico incorporates diverse building styles. This quality should be less an indication of its inferiority than of its parity with other world architecture traditions.

Visualizing the Future

6 A F

Estridentismo, Technology, and Art

In the twentieth century Mexico extended its reach toward modernity. Technologies such as telephones, electric lighting, automobiles, cinema, and radio; industrial materials such as glass, steel, and cement; modern building styles, air travel, and television were disseminated to a wider proportion of society than in the preceding century.1 These technologies enabled flows actual and imaginary between Mexico and the outside and extensively shaped Mexico’s cosmopolitanism. As in the culture of the Porfiriato, the country’s modernity was inflected by omnipresent remnants of its ancient and colonial history and by the realities of underdevelopment. Hence representations of Mexico anchored in the cultural legacies of its past coexisted with visions of the nation as already modern. The convergence of these imaginings engendered regional and nationalistic cosmopolitanisms, comparable with the vernacular cosmopolitanisms of previous centuries. The art-historical record consistently has stressed the nativistic roots of modern Mexican art and excluded or downplayed those aspects of modernity that link Mexico to the developed world, primarily the reception, representation, and use of modern technologies. This omission contributed to reify the notion that technological modernity was exclusive to the developed world and effectively to transform technology into an instrument of marginalization invested with superior cultural values if only by association.2 Because primitivism, surrealism, and revolution are frequently invoked to characterize Latin American art, only a handful of scholars of Mexican art have recognized technology as a subject worthy of attention.3 Histories of nineteenth- and twentiethcentury architecture usually acknowledge the introduction to Mexico of modern building materials such as cement and steel.4 In the last decade of the twentieth century art historians such as Irene Herner de Larrea, Terry Smith, Jennifer Jolly, and myself, among others, investigated selected Mexican artists’ engagements with technology.5 More recently, comparative literature scholar Rubén Gallo, inspired by the now-classic works of the German media theorist 194

195   ■  Visualizing the Future Friedrich Kittler, Discourse Networks, 1800–1900 (1990) and Gramophone, Film, Typewriter (1999), explored the effects of cameras, typewriters, radio, cement, and stadiums on the cultural production of early twentieth-century Mexican vanguards and the centrality of these technologies to Mexican utopian thought. Gallo’s study was to my knowledge the first to identify technological media as integral to Mexican modernity.6 To assess the relationship of art, technology, and society, few approaches are more destructive than the customary academic compartmentalization of technology, art, and literature. In actuality all these practices occur simultaneously and often merge. Cultural products can be linked by migratory ideas and affects. This chapter makes these unstable relations evident through an exploration of visions of modernity through technology in estridentista literature and in selected murals, with some attention to images of biomechanical creatures, composites of machines and organisms, which remain futuristic today. These figures eloquently illustrate artists’ and writers’ understandings of the profound effects of technology on society and nature as well as the anxieties and aspirations associated with these phenomena. My discussion aims neither to document direct connections among specific artists nor to assemble a comprehensive catalog of these images but to foreground the technological imaginary as constitutive of Mexican writers’ and artists’ understandings of modernity. This assumes modernity not only as a determinate set of material conditions but also as an evolving complex virtual and actual, not unlike Arjun Appadurai’s theorization of the contemporary global cultural economy.7 My discussion also presupposes technology to be an indispensable aspect of modernity and as such to constitute a global domain subject to reimagination and reconstitution from multiple geographic and cultural perspectives. Consequently my readings of literary and visual representations of technology all stress the artists’ attention to technology’s potentials. My emphasis on imaginary dimensions of modernity, which is not limited to utopian constructs, differs from Gallo’s work and from other studies of Mexican modernism. Modern technologies began arriving in Mexico during the late nineteenth century. In the second decade of the twentieth century Mexican writers and artists already perceived the potential for change that then-new technologies such as the railroad, streetcars, the telephone, radio, and movies posed to society and to individuals.8 Even if the country was significantly less industrialized and modern than England and the United States, these visualizations virtually integrated Mexico into a greater cosmopolitan sphere. Estridentista literature creates potent sensual images of the modern city and technologized nature. It presents a world in which technology is omnipresent,

196   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture invading not only cities but also bodies and feelings; a world in which communication has become instantaneous and global and in which cinematic images have penetrated human consciousness to such an extent as to become indistinguishable from lived reality. The frequency of similar images in the work of multiple visual artists and writers in Mexico and abroad demonstrates the Mexicans’ active involvement with international culture. The Italian futurists, preceding the estridentistas, and later in the twentieth century European theorists such as Guy Debord, Jean Baudrillard, and Paul Virilio as well as American scholars including Donna Haraway and Katherine Hayles explored similar issues.9 At present the development of virtual environments such as Second Life, mixed-reality technologies, and ubiquitous and ever-more-realistic video games continue to give these topics currency.10 The relevance of these concerns today suggests that the estridentistas were less socially negligent than visionary. Some scholars have dismissed estridentismo and other Latin American vanguard movements’ fascination with technology as derivative of the concerns of European vanguards and as a symptom of elitist social indifference, given the predominantly rural conditions in most of Latin America.11 A comparison of estridentismo with futurism reveals the former to be locally engaged and to deviate from the latter in relation to nationalism, history, technological utopianism, and representations of gender relations, among other issues. Additionally, I maintain that the work of the estridentistas manifested a cosmopolitan awareness of irreversible social changes, which would become evident a century later. As the scholar Douglas Kahn has argued in another context, technological discourses have more to do with the imagination than with actual distribution and access.12 In this light the actual dissemination of the technologies at a large social scale is secondary. The imagination as discussed in various philosophical theories involves the acts of transforming absence into presence and presence into absence: in other words, transforming what is into what is not or into something other than it is.13 Thus the imagination is essential to recapture the past, cope with the present, invent the future, inform subjectivity, and remake identity. The estridentistas’ inventiveness, however, challenged the official culture of the revolutionary era.

Mexican Culture after 1910 After the outbreak of the Mexican revolution, followed by Porfirio Díaz’s deposition from the presidency in 1910, violent confrontations and political instability ravaged Mexico. The wars of the revolution, as the whole period is popularly known, continued until 1920, the year Álvaro Obregón became president. Dur-

197   ■  Visualizing the Future ing Obregón’s term a massive reconstruction of the economy, education, and culture began. In 1921 José Vasconcelos was appointed secretary of education. Scholars have long credited him with instituting a program of public artistic commissions that initiated the Mexican muralist movement. The art historian David Craven convincingly argued that the revolutionary thinker and driving force behind the muralist movement was Obregón, not Vasconcelos. According to Craven, Obregón demonstrated his commitment to progressive education and public works during his tenure as municipal president in Huatabampo in 1911. Vasconcelos’s intellectual interests, by contrast, were rooted in the nineteenth century. In his youth Vasconcelos had been a member of the Ateneo de la Juventud, an intellectual group critical of the positivism characteristic of Díaz’s regime. The members of the Ateneo met for philosophical discussions, published the periodical Savia Moderna, and promoted humanist values based on Greek philosophy.14 Regardless of how the responsibility for leadership in the development of Mexican muralism is apportioned, after the revolution of 1910 the determination to forge a new society endured for at least two more decades among political leaders and intellectuals. Influential thinkers of the period, including Manuel Gamio, Andrés Molina Enríquez, and Vasconcelos, believed that the development of a new Mexican nation and consequently of a national character or identity depended, at least in part, on the creation of a homogeneous culture. They actively promoted mestizaje, the mixture of Native Mexicans and Europeans, as the basis of a new society, a new nation, and ultimately a superior race.15 In matters of art, official culture remained rooted in the Porfiriato, although among artists there was widespread dissatisfaction with academic culture. A student strike at the academy in 1911 to protest the arcane teaching methods of the academicians indicated the decline of this institution’s prestige. The debate as to how to represent Mexican national identity acquired urgency after the revolution. Proposals for solutions wavered between nativism involving a renaissance of both ancient Mexican and popular arts and a reconstituted Hispanism based on the art and architecture of the colonial period.16 The teachings of Adolfo Best Maugard, an affluent Mexican painter who developed a method of drawing based on past and present indigenous traditions, were influential in stimulating the public’s valorization of the popular arts. As was the case for other Latin American cosmopolitan artists, Best Maugard developed his interest in the local through his international associations. In his youth he drew numerous illustrations of archaeological objects from the Valley of Mexico at the behest of the renowned American anthropologist Franz Boas.17 This experience stimulated his passion for ancient Mexican art.

198   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture The artist’s visit to Paris in 1913 celebrated in a portrait by Diego Rivera also acquainted him with the work of contemporary artists such as Pablo Picasso who were engaged with aspects of primitivism. During José Vasconcelos’s term as minister of education (1921–1924), the integration of indigenous arts and crafts into modern culture became part of Mexican primary and secondary school curricula. Best Maugard’s book Método de dibujo: Tradición, resurgimiento y evolución del arte mexicano (Manual of Drawing: Tradition, Renaissance, and Evolution of Mexican Art, 1923) became a textbook for art education. Through Vasconcelos the Mexican government sponsored a program of public murals in which Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco, and David Alfaro Siqueiros later became the main protagonists. These muralists all used their own versions of historical and modern international visual idioms to portray Mexican history and culture and to comment on what they understood as universal political issues. The emphasis on the local varied with each artist. Rivera advocated a renaissance of indigenous artistic traditions, while Orozco distanced himself from primitivism and populism. Siqueiros was most interested in experimenting with new materials and techniques to create modern and original visual expressions.18 The centrality of didactic art, evidenced by the vast mural cycles commissioned to Rivera, suggests that Vasconcelos’s vision of a Mexican renaissance was not all that distant from the academic culture of the Porfiriato.19 Like the eclectic painting and architecture commissioned during Don Porfirio’s regime, for Vasconcelos, an art that integrated the pictorial sophistication of Italian Renaissance painting with local indigenous art, ancient and modern, and a revival of Spanish colonial architectural traditions would suffice to represent modern mestizo Mexico. Estridentismo developed in reaction to these ideals for national culture.20

Estridentismo One evening in 1921 Manuel Maples Arce, a young poet and law student, pasted a manifesto printed on a broadsheet among theater and bullfight announcement posters on the walls of Mexico City buildings (Fig. 6.1). In his manifesto Maples Arce urged Mexican intellectuals to create an art responsive to the modern transformation of the world. The sheet, entitled “Actual no. 1” and subtitled “Vanguard sheet comprimido estridentista de Manuel Maples Arce,” consisted of a preface, fourteen points, a photograph of the author, and a “vanguard directory” including the names of prominent Latin American and European artists and intellectuals. The text of the manifesto drew heavily from Italian futurism and from Spanish Ultraísmo. From futurism it borrowed its admira-

199   ■  Visualizing the Future tion for the machine and its antagonism to tradition and from Ultraísmo its eclecticism, as it proposed to synthesize a variety of sources.21 In the preface the author declares his opposition to patriotism, the church, and the law. He quotes Marinetti’s dictum “A moving automobile is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace” (III) and urges artists to exalt “the actualist beauty of the machine.” 22 After the futurists, Maples Arce also professed his love for the literature of advertisements (III) and “the aristocracy of gasoline” and argued for the hygienic extermination of “the germs of putrefied literature” (V). These pointed provocations were intended to goad intellectuals into action to create forms of expressions appropriate to the new century. In 1922 a group of artists and intellectuals joined Maples Arce to form estridentismo as a literary and artistic movement. These individuals included the

Figure 6.1. Manuel Maples Arce, “Actual No. 1,” Museo Nacional de Arte. Donación de Blanca Vermeersch de Maples Arce. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

200   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture writers Germán List Arzúbide, Arqueles Vela, Salvador Gallardo, Luis Quintanilla (alias Kyn Taniya), Luis Marín Moya, Febronio Ortega, Miguel Aguilón Guzmán, Gastón Dinner, and Francisco Orozco Muñoz, the musicians Manuel Ponce and Silvestre Revueltas, and a group of visual artists including Diego Rivera, Leopoldo Méndez, Germán Cueto, Ramón Alva de la Canal, Jean Charlot, Fermín Revueltas, and Fernando Leal.23 The group met regularly in the Café Europa, which became the subject of Arqueles Vela’s novel El café de nadie (Nobody’s Café) after the artists’ renaming of the same establishment. In addition to “Actual no. 1,” the estridentistas published three more manifestos, several novels, books of poetry, and two magazines: Irradiador (Irradiator) in 1923 and Horizonte (Horizon) in 1926.24 The group also held an estridentista art exhibition at the Café de Nadie in April of 1924. The works exhibited included paintings, photographs, woodcuts, and masks. In the same year Manuel Maples Arce’s book Vrbe was first published. In 1929 it was translated into English and published in New York at the behest of John Dos Passos. It was the first work from a Latin American vanguard to be translated into English. Estridentismo might not have survived without the support of contemporary media personalities in the national press and the radio.25 Carlos Noriega Hope, editor of Mexico City’s newspaper El Universal Ilustrado, published many estridentista works, including a report by Maples Arce on the estridentista movement in 1922 and Arqueles Vela’s first estridentista novel, La Señorita Etcétera, which appeared in various episodes in December 1923. On May 8, 1923, El Universal Ilustrado inaugurated a radio station in Mexico City and for this occasion invited Maples Arce to read his poem “THS—Telegrafía sin hilos” (THS— Wireless Telegraphy). This was the first radio phonic poetry reading in Mexico. The poem was published in 1927 in Maples Arce’s book Poemas interdictos. The radio station of El Universal Ilustrado continued to operate until 1928.26 In 1925 the core group of the estridentistas moved to Jalapa under the sponsorship of the governor of the state, Gen. Heriberto Jara.27 General Jara funded the publication of the magazine Horizonte in 1926. Diego Rivera and Ramón Alva de la Canal illustrated the first issue of Horizonte. From Jalapa, the group also published El Café de Nadie (1926) by Arqueles Vela and two books by List Arzúbide, El viajero en el vértice (1926) and El movimiento estridentista (1928). Poemas interdictos by Maples Arce, published in 1927, includes his poem “Song from an Airplane,” a reflection on the unification of human and machine that predates Vicente Huidobro’s famous epic Altazor (1931).28 In September 1927 the collapse of Jara’s government precipitated the dissolution of estridentismo. In the following six decades the estridentista movement was nearly erased from history. Literary critics and intellectuals dismissed it either for its political radicalism or for its lack of seriousness as a political move-

201   ■  Visualizing the Future ment.29 The movement’s heterogeneity rendered it contradictory and ultimately incomprehensible to an educated public with expectations of ideological and aesthetic consistency. Since the late 1980s scholars have become progressively interested in estridentismo. The transformation of Mexico City into one of the largest cities in the world; the ubiquity of television, the microchip, and the personal computer; the technologization of the home, the workplace, and the public sphere; the increasing involvement of Mexican artists with electronic and digital media; and scholarship and visual works that address the contradictions characteristic of Latin American modernity have made it difficult to ignore the prescience of the estridentistas’ contributions.30 In her extensive and nuanced dissertation the art historian Lynda Klich characterizes estridentismo as a movement strategically positioned to gain acceptance in international avant-garde circles and to revitalize local culture. In her opinion, the estridentistas viewed themselves as full participants in the diffusion of modernity, a condition that they regarded not only as foreign but also as authentically Mexican. For these artists, the language of modernity was a means to reinvigorate, not to replace, national tradition and identity.31 Because of her attention to both the nationalistic and the international affiliations of the estridentistas, Klich’s analysis could be essential to the understanding of estridentismo as cosmopolitan, a word that she uses with no qualifications to describe the movement. This chapter and my previous work on estridentismo coincide with Klich’s portrayal of estridentismo as simultaneously local and international. As will become clear below, my emphasis on the visionary aspects of estridentismo significantly departs from her interpretations.

Estridentista Images Estridentista literary works capture images and sounds of urban streets, shops, advertisements, radiators, airplanes, cinema, jazz, radio, telegraphs, automobiles, locomotives, factories, and labor strikes. Some critics have judged the artists as socially irresponsible because of the stark contrast of these images with Mexican realities.32 In the opinion of the scholar Luis Mario Schneider, estridentista works attempted to portray the rhythm of the ontological, sensorial city as well as aspects of the daily existence of its inhabitants.33 According to the literary critic Luis Leal, the estridentistas imaged urban experiences of the future.34 In either case, these authors imply that the estridentistas’ concerns were distant from the actual, lived conditions of Mexico City in the early twentieth century. Similarly, in his study of Mexican modernity, Gallo stresses the divergence of the utopian images that Mexican artists and intellectuals constructed from the technological realities of Mexico in the 1920s and ’30s.

202   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Lynda Klich argues that estridentista images were rooted not in imaginations of the future of Mexico but in the country’s present reality: the process of national reconstruction undertaken after the revolution. In her opinion, estridentista images “tended not towards a utopic modernity, but, rather, concentrated on elements that Maples Arce later noted would ‘widen [modernity’s] radius toward the country,’ things that he characterized as modernity’s ‘efficient agents: the [sic] railroad, electricity, the automobile, the airplane and editorial diffusion.’ The visual images of modernity during estridentismo’s years, therefore, focused not on a realized idealized urban space but instead on one in a process of construction.” From this perspective the estridentistas depicted the social and technological changes that they were actually witnessing, “a modern Mexico in the making.”35 Given the social stratification that reigned in the Porfiriato and the destruction caused by a decade of civil war after the revolution, Klich’s emphasis on a Mexican modernization in process and not a modernization completed is persuasive. According to historian Stephen H. Haber, the civil wars left the industrial infrastructure of the Porfiriato almost intact, with the exception of communication networks such as roads, bridges, railways, and telegraph and telephone services.36 Although Obregón initiated the reconstruction of the railroads and President Plutarco Elías Calles undertook the reconstruction of roads, telephone networks, and the electric grid, progress was slow: the objectives of these projects were not fulfilled until the end of the 1930s.37 Mexico’s industrialization continued, albeit at an uneven rate.38 Even during periods of economic solvency, access to cars, telephones, radios, and electric power was limited to a small segment of the population. While Klich’s observation that the estridentistas saw and participated in an intensive project of infrastructural reconstruction is correct, their work exceeded the focus on the utilitarian aspects of modern technologies that she identifies as central. My argument is that, even if modern technologies were nascent, the estridentistas captured important aspects of their affective and relational potential. This was a more demanding task than pure description. The estridentistas’ visions were rich in communication and transportation media of global extension. Yet in these portrayals the same technologies that facilitated travel and communication exacerbated people’s sense of separation. In many estridentista writings, communication networks such as trains, telephones, and the telegraph contracted geography, homogenized differences among the world’s nations, and simultaneously intensified the individual’s isolation. These tensions are salient in the first manifesto estridentista by Maples Arce:

203   ■  Visualizing the Future [N]ews are expent [sic] by telegraph over skyscrapers, those marvelous skyscrapers so decried around the world. There are dromedarian clouds, and amongst their muscular weavings the electric lift is emotionally moved [se conmueve]. Fortyeighth floor. One, two, three, etc. We have arrived. And over the tracks of the openair gym, the locomotives choke with the kilometers. Steamships smoke toward absences. Everything gets nearer and more distant in the touching [conmovido] moment. The medium is transformed, and its influence modifies everything. Cultural and genetic similarities, profiles, and racial characteristics become blurred . . . while under the sun of the present meridians, the psychological unity of the century blooms (X).39

Maples Arce here moves from isolating images of technologized nature to a utopian vision in which technology facilitates global unification, physical and psychological. While technology separates, it also has affective and political potential.40 These seemingly contradictory attitudes were all part and parcel of contemporary discourses of wireless radio, the most frequently represented technology in estridentista literature and also in estridentista prints.41 This is not accidental, as the development of estridentismo coincided with the introduction of radio to Mexico. The first state-owned radio station began operating in 1921 on the occasion of the celebrations of the Centenary of Mexican Independence from Spain. A national association of radio was instituted in 1922 to serve multiple enthusiasts who transmitted from their homes. One year later this organization merged with the Center for Engineers and the Central Club of Mexican Radio and became the National Mexican Association of Radio. The references to radio in estridentista visual images are sometimes indirect, as in a xylograph by Ramon Alva de la Canal (n.d.) featuring a futuristic building design for the estridentista radio station. Roberto Montenegro’s cover design for Kyn Taniya’s book and poem Radio (1924) consists of black waves of various sizes arranged in an irregular quadrangular panel (Fig. 6.2). The letters R A D I O, diminishing in size from bottom to top, are arranged to form an irregular arc on the left. Stars, the moon, Saturn, and a mouth with open lips also are visible on the left half of the composition. After Italian futurist models, the page pretends to be a collage without having anything pasted on it. Rather than emphasizing typographical dynamism as in the futurist models, Montenegro’s image literally depicts elements of Kyn Taniya’s poem, written one week after the death of the poet’s father. This fragment describes the writer, alone among disembodied voices and sounds: Midnight Frolic Silence

204   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Listen to the conversation of words in the atmosphere There is an unbearable confusion of earthly voices and strange, distant Voices hairs stand on end from the friction of the hertzian waves Gusts of electric wind whistle in the ears Tonight To the black rhythm of the jazz-bands from New York the moon will dance a fox-trot IF THE MOON AND JUPITER AND VENUS AND MARS AND SATURN WITH ITS GOLDEN RINGS! The planetary system will be a badly combined “ballet” corps Revolving at the rhythm of a musical light. NIGHT OF CELEBRATION I will have to wear a dress coat But who will be my partner in this astral “midnight-frolic”?42

In the poem radio is portrayed as simultaneously unifying and distancing. While the technology enables the user remotely to experience distant places and peoples, these disembodied interactions ultimately intensify his aloneness. In estridentista literature, images of radio are the most futuristic when compared to the quotidian representations of telegraphs, telephone, and railroads. But these “futuristic” images often lack the utopian associations that Italian and Russian futurists attributed to radio. There is no estridentista equivalent to Velimir Khlebnikov’s Radio of the Future (1921) or F. T. Marinetti’s and Pino Masnata’s La Radia (1933), although other contemporaries, including the poet Salvador Novo, expressed such utopian attitudes.43 In Radio of the Future, for example, Khlebnikov predicted that in the future radio would provide nutrition, health, and physical strength to the masses and would also contribute to the spiritual improvement of humankind.44 In estridentista imaginings, radio functioned primarily as an index of modernity. In Arqueles Vela’s novel El café de nadie (1926), Mabelina, the protagonist, recounts a meeting with Androsio, one of the clients of the café: “With the attitude of a dressmaker or window-dresser who adopts the most fashionable posture, he untied and tied again the ribbon that fastened my shoes, successively praising the color of my stockings and ascertaining their quality. Caressing my legs, he asked me if I wore garters of the latest fashion with a radio case or with

205   ■  Visualizing the Future

Figure 6.2. Roberto Mon-

tenegro’s cover design for Kyn Taniya’s book Radio, 1924. © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/somaap, Mexico City.

someone’s photograph.”45 Here radio is construed as a cosmopolitan fashion item along with other articles of personal attire. Arqueles Vela’s novel La Señorita Etcétera more poignantly illustrates the effects of urban life and technology on the individual and his social relations. In the plot, technology mediates human emotions and also has invaded and reconfigured human bodies.46 The narrator observes: “the nearly mechanical life of modern cities was gradually transforming me . . . I was like a reflector operating in reverse, luminously projecting the sights around me to the unknown concavities of my sensibility .  .  . I was becoming mechanical.” He becomes aware that his partner also had changed: I observed her thoroughly and I was stupefied to find that she was also mechanized . . . It was really her, but she was a woman-automaton. Her harmonic steps, chronometric fox-trot figures moving away from me without the sensation of distance; her laughter spilled as if in her interior unrolled a ductile silver chord; her glances were projected with an incandescent fixity.

206   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Her movements were straight lines, her words were resurrected by a delicate phonographic needle .  .  . her breasts, trembling with amperes .  .  . Her voice had the telephonic noise of feminism.47

The narrator goes on to describe his interactions with this transformed companion: “We listened to each other from a distance. Our receptors silently interpreted by hertzian contact what could not be expressed by the fluttering of lips. I felt as if I were grasping her hands, adhered to her nerves, with the stubborn force of contrary poles.” As technology infiltrates their flesh and thought, the protagonists assume mechanical qualities and paradoxically become closer and more distant from each other. Marinetti anticipated these preoccupations as he predicted that new technologies, “the telegraph, the telephone, and the gramophone, the train, the bicycle, the motorbike, the car, the ocean liner, the dirigible, the airplane, the cinema, the great daily newspaper,” would exercise a “decisive influence” on the human psyche.48 The mechanization of humans in Arqueles Vela’s work is reminiscent of earlier European novels with similar themes, such as L’Ève future by Auguste Villiers de l’Isle-Adam (1886). In the early twentieth century similar composite images also appeared in the work of visual artists in various countries, including Francis Picabia (b. France), Marcel Duchamp (b. France), Man Ray (b. United States), George Grosz (b. Germany), Raoul Hausmann (b. Austria), Alberto Giacometti (b. Switzerland), Fernand Léger (b. France), and Alexandra Exter (b. Russia), among others.49 The prevalence of these themes among the cosmopolitan intelligentsia suggests that far from being a social aberration estridentismo emerged in relation to contemporary and internationally shared concerns.

Estridentismo/Futurism The development of estridentismo coincided with the Mexican government’s initiative to revitalize the arts. As the program that Vasconcelos promoted was one of modernist nationalism, the estridentistas reached for provocative aspects of the European vanguards of the previous decade to foment a regeneration of culture in another direction. Because some critics and scholars have characterized estridentismo as an unimaginative imitation of Italian futurism, it is necessary to compare the two movements in more detail. While it is undeniable that estridentismo borrowed from Italian futurism, it diverged from that movement in significant ways. These included the artists’ attitudes toward the past, patriotism, technology, violence, and to a lesser extent women. The futurists rejected tradition, glorified patriotism and war, and abhorred women. In contrast to the futurist aversion to the past, the estridentistas humorously

207   ■  Visualizing the Future appropriated it. For example, List Arzúbide’s book El movimiento estridentista is dedicated to the Mexica Aztec patron god Huitzilopochtli, “manager of the estridentista movement.” Huitzilopochtli occupies a heightened place in Mexican history because he is the deity that guided the nomadic Mexica Aztecs to their place of settlement. The god also instructed the Mexicas to found the city of Tenochtitlan that would later become center of the Aztec Empire. By appointing Huitzilopochtli as “manager,” List Arzúbide placed him in the role of guide and negotiator on behalf of the estridentista movement. Through this move the estridentistas occupied the place of the Mexicas as Huitzilopochtli’s chosen people. Marinetti and his circle extolled patriotism, war, and destruction as avenues to cultural change. Maples Arce consistently opposed nationalism and patriotism. In his view, nationalistic cultural production had “the odor of barbershops and residues of deep fried foods” (XIV); he recommended that artists cosmopolize themselves (X). In contrast to the futurists, the estridentistas manifested a lighthearted attitude toward technology, war, and violence. Often the estridentistas indirectly mocked sophisticated technology by replacing it with simpler machines or common objects and by making it play absurd roles. In his poem Esquina of 1923, for example, Germán List Arzúbide announces: “the trip to Mars, finally will be made by bus.” Another stanza begins with the lines “Now clocks divine fortunes / while dry leaves use ventilators.” The bus, a commonly used mode of transportation, stands for potentially more complex technology, while the image of dry leaves using ventilators counters the presumed utilitarian logic of technological development. The use of fantastic imagery is hardly unique to the estridentistas; the point here is that the conflation of technology with the absurd confounds the widespread perception of them as uncritical recipients and admirers of modern technologies. In other texts, rather than using technologically complex weapons, the estridentistas arm themselves with stones to attack the bored and with a hat to destroy the sun. In his book El movimiento estridentista, List Arzúbide states, “We are already estridentistas and we will stone the houses full of old furniture filled with silence, where the dust eats the advances of light . . . And bristled with small rays, we will go around giving blows to those sick with indolence.”50 The second estridentista manifesto proclaims: “The only truth is the estridentista truth. To defend estridentismo is to defend our intellectual shame. Those who are not with us will be eaten by vultures . . . We will extinguish the sun with the blow of a hat [sombrerazo]. Happy New Year.”51 These passages are distant from the horrific massacres and putrefying bodies extolled by Marinetti in Mafarka, the Futurist as well as the tanks and deadly gas masks ever-present in his Electric War.52 In the second estridentista manifesto, the words “Happy New

208   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Year” indirectly refer to nemontemi, the last five days of the Aztec solar year, a time in which the Aztecs feared the destruction of the sun by the dark forces of the underworld. This irreverent attitude toward the Aztec past ridicules the elevated status of local antiquity in contemporary Mexican intellectual circles, while the humorous depictions of technology seem to poke fun at the futurists’ faith in technological supremacy. Whereas the futurists categorically repudiated women, the estridentistas manifested conflicted attitudes toward the opposite sex and always retained them as objects of desire. In El movimiento estridentista, List Arzúbide calls the estridentista years a “moment syncopated with women spilled on estridentista records left hanging among the thicket of verses.” He describes the writer and physician Salvador Gallardo’s medical practice as a “clinic of concentric sins expanding to all the suburbs” and declares that Maples Arce’s poetry “is congealed with Maples Arce’s loves.”53 In this account women are ever present in the lives and works of the group. Of all the estridentistas, Kyn Taniya was the one who expressed the most violent and contradictory attitude toward women. His work includes love poems as well as images of outright hatred for women. In his famous poem “Airplane,” for example, he declares his intention of taking with him “[t]he most voluptuous” of his women to explore the sky, but only after extracting their brains so that they become “tender and obedient bitches.”54 Despite the existence of such strong misogynistic images in some estridentista literature, the affective valorization of women all but disappears. The humorous depictions of technology, aggressivity, and the Aztec past obliquely satirize the futurists’ excesses and the official visions of a modern Mexican culture. These attitudes indicate that the estridentistas were active agents rather than thoughtless followers. Regardless of apparent similarities, estridentismo and Italian futurism represented different visions of modernity rooted in local conditions and constraints.

Art and Literature In the 1920s not all Mexicans had telephones, went to the movies, or used radio; yet these technologies introduced permanent changes worldwide in the structure of cities, social relations, and the construction of subjectivities, regardless of their initial availability. In Mexico then and now, modern technologies coexist with older cultural forms.55 Like their European and American counterparts, Mexican writers and artists were conscious of the tremendous potential of technology to mobilize cultural and individual change. This awareness left its mark in the visual arts even in the work of artists with no direct relation to the estridentistas. Unlike the widespread perception of Mexicans (and Latin Americans

209   ■  Visualizing the Future in general) as distant from or indifferent to technology, it plays a leading role in diverse representations dating from the first half of the twentieth century. The salience of technology in modern Mexican art often confounds scholars. In her doctoral dissertation, the art historian Tatiana Flores documents interactions among writers and visual artists in the estridentista movement, attributing the development of social consciousness in estridentismo to the influence of painters. She argues that initially the estridentistas adopted urban universalist technophilic models unsustainable in Mexico. After 1922 the affiliation to the movement of socially committed painters such as Diego Rivera, Fermín Revueltas, and Fernando Leal made the estridentistas aware of the material limitations of their social context. Because most of these painters were members of the Syndicate of Revolutionary Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers they identified themselves and their occupation with the proletariat.56 In Flores’s opinion, the estridentista movement was beset by contradictions, of which the most salient was the use of premodern art forms such as engravings, masks, and textiles by a group that initially promoted the urban technological utopianism of European vanguards. She interprets these discordances as symptomatic of an ethical dilemma resulting from the impossibility of actualizing such technological visions in a primarily rural country such as Mexico and proposes that estridentismo ultimately crumbled under the weight of inescapable social realities. While Flores offers a valuable account of the arts of the movement, she reaffirms traditional attitudes pervasive in critical writing about modern art outside of Europe and the United States. Such criticism construes artists’ interest in science and technology as a sign of social indifference and the adoption of popular art forms as socially responsible.57 This essentializes the production of art in traditionally marginalized regions as functioning outside of or in opposition to technology.58 Flores also finds problematic the estridentistas’ failure to adhere to the visions of any one European vanguard. Given the centrality of eclecticism in the artistic and intellectual history of Mexico, no movement can be expected to exhibit formal or ideological uniformity. Finally, it is relevant here to recognize the cosmopolitan aura of primitivistic art forms. The interest of the estridentistas and other Latin American artists in premodern artistic traditions resonated with the fascination of multiple European vanguards (Italian futurism included) with primitivism.59 Consequently the estridentistas’ use of primitivizing artistic forms must be read as cosmopolitan and not exclusively as a nativistic or reactionary gesture. As Flores herself concedes, the signatures published in “Actual no. 1” demonstrated that Mexican artists were reasonably well informed about contemporary artistic developments even if they lacked detailed knowledge of each movement and artist.60

210   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Contrary to the stereotypical technologically disaffected Third World artist, various Mexican painters shared the estridentistas’ fascination with technology. To illustrate this point, I cite works here associated with the three most famous muralists precisely because they are widely known for their socially oriented work. The murals, however, often exceed factual representations of technology to address its potentials.61 Visions of a technologized revolutionary society are frequent in the work of Diego Rivera, an early member of estridentismo. In The Liberated Earth with Natural Forces Controlled by Man at the chapel of the Universidad Autónoma de Chapingo (1926–1927), Mexicans cultivate the land with the aid of electricity. In the RCA Building Mural at Rockefeller Center (destroyed 1934) and its later version at the Palacio de Bellas Artes (1934) as well as in the Portrait of Detroit or Detroit Industry murals at the Detroit Institute of Arts (1932–1933), Rivera represents beneficial and destructive uses of technology. While various scholars have discussed these images in light of the artist’s Marxist ideology, especially his belief that human choices determined the future of history, the presence of enigmatic fusions of human and machine in the work of Rivera and other Mexican artists has been largely overshadowed in the literature.62 It bears stressing that these images are futuristic projections even today. Many are also quite large. The scarcity of scholarly analysis of this kind of work raises questions about the tacitly sanctioned protagonists of modernity and the perpetuation of epistemic violence in contemporary scholarship. What makes subjects in developing regions unrecognizable as technologically engaged visionaries? In Rivera’s mural Man Controller of the Universe (1934, Fig. 6.3) at the Palacio de Bellas Artes, for example, a gigantic human hand emerges from a metal cylinder, making it seem as if it were socketed into a metallic arm. The disembodied hand holding a luminous sphere inscribed with the symbols of the atom and the cell floats in front of the central figure of “Man.”63 In my research I found little writing on the partially machine composition of this member. This omission is significant, for the hand exceeds the central figure of “Man” in size.64 Because in some currents of criticism interest in technology and social consciousness are construed as opposites, it is possible that Rivera’s reputation as a political artist until recently hindered critics from fully engaging with his sustained pictorial reflections on technology. In the opinion of art historian Irene Herner de Larrea, one of the few scholars to document Rivera’s fascination with the machine and especially with American technology, Rivera’s oeuvre demonstrates continuous experimentation to achieve a unification of primitivism with “invention and artifice.”65 Drawing on an impressive compilation of essays and interviews published in American and Mexican newspapers during the 1930s, she shows that Rivera

211   ■  Visualizing the Future

Figure 6.3. Diego Rivera, Man Controller of the Universe, 1934, Palacio de Bellas Artes,

Mexico City (detail). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Schalkwijk/Art Resource, New York. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

viewed American technology as “the real artistic expression of the genius of this part of the world.”66 In his assessment, the Washington Bridge, a good automobile, and any efficient machine were manifestations of creative power.67 Consequently he compared a good machine to art. He declared: “a work that is not made exactly within the same laws as a machine is a bad work of art. Beauty and mechanics are synonymous.” 68 Unlike Orozco and Siqueiros, Rivera seemed less impressed by social inequalities in the United States than by the potential of American technology to assist humanity. In fact, he regarded the United States as “the ideal place for the Marxist experiment of a great industrial paradise.”69 In consistency with these views, in the RCA mural Rivera portrayed science and technology as Man’s “resources of mastery.” 70 In a written description of the mural, which Rivera gave to the art commission of Rockefeller Center, he explained: “My painting will show human understanding in possession of the forces of nature, which are expressed by a bolt which cuts off the head of Jupiter

212   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture and is transformed into useful electricity which helps to cure man’s illnesses, unites men through radio and television and gives them electricity and motive power.” 71 For Rivera, science and technology were the keys to understanding and controlling nature and central to the reimagination and reorganization of the social order. The effects that technological development would have on human bodies and minds in Rivera’s vision are still unclear, but several murals anticipate the eventual union of humans with machines. Herner reads the central figure of “Man” in the Rockefeller Center mural as a robotic predecessor of Superman because of the figure’s display of mechanical qualities such as inexpressiveness and superhuman strength.72 This figure determines the future in the mural; thus it would seem that for Rivera as for the estridentistas the mechanization of humanity was a necessary component of industrialization. In a sexualized reading of the Detroit Industry murals, the Australian scholar Terry Smith argues that in these works machines and humans are fused by metaphorical inference: “here, on an epic scale and through the power of the rhythms, technology has become body . . . the most modern system of machine production in the world has been presented within an imagery that is as ancient as mankind, and which is arranged in two seminal acts, conception and giving birth.” In this interpretation, Rivera constructs functional and metaphorical equivalences between worker and machine and implies a human-machine unity “beyond class struggle.” 73 Such a union implies nothing less than a reconfiguration of nature and society through technology. Biomechanical creatures also appear in the work of José Clemente Orozco and David Alfaro Siqueiros, artists less directly related to estridentismo. At the Instituto Cultural Cabañas (formerly the Hospicio Cabañas) in Guadalajara, Orozco painted poignant images of human/animal/machine composites in a fifty-two-panel mural cycle (1938–1939) that ostensibly portrays the history of Mexico. Large nuts and bolts articulate the extremities of an armored Hernán Cortés (Fig. 6.4). Galloping horses (Fig. 6.5), whose bodies host metallic gears and chains, appear simultaneously skeletal and robotic, anticipating some of the bio-robotic creations of Survival Research Laboratories in the 1980s and early ’90s. Max Kozloff insightfully discussed these murals as images that simultaneously evoke the past and elicit visions of the future. In his opinion, “Orozco’s retrospective overview of the history of his country was, from the first, intended to be combined with a most up-to-date insight into contemporary menace . . . Among other things, this unsettled the temporal index of a fresco cycle that depicted crosses and swords but also barbed wire and dynamos.” 74 Hence the murals functioned as dialectical images in the Benjaminian sense

Figure 6.4. José Clemente Orozco, The Spanish Conquest of Mexico, 1938–1939, Hospicio Cabañas, Guadalajara (detail: “Portrait of Cortez”). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/ somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Bob Schalkwijk, Mexico City. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

Figure 6.5. José Clemente Orozco, The Spanish Conquest of Mexico, 1938–1939, Hospicio Cabañas, Guadalajara (detail). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Bob Schalkwijk, Mexico City. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

214   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture or as pictorial versions of Daniel Milo’s experimental history. For Walter Benjamin, dialectical images did not aim to represent the past “as it really was” but captured fleeting memories in moments of crisis. Such images invoked the past, the present, and the future.75 Milo argued for the creation of an experimental history that did “violence to the object.” In his view, to experiment was by definition to decontextualize and refuse the object its “normal” context. This meant removing or adding elements or observing the object on a scale different from that against which it was usually measured. This would allow the experimenter and his audience another perspective on the object and help them critically to appraise the previous ways of representing it.76 In his murals at the Instituto Cultural Cabañas Orozco rendered fantastic creatures by intermingling images of modern technologies with organic bodies. Refusing both technology and bodies their customary historical contexts and wholeness, the resulting mechanized monstrous bodies epitomized the transhistorical power of technology to control and conquer. Like Arqueles Vela, Orozco reflected on modernity through couplings of machine and organism. According to the art historian Mary K. Coffey, Orozco’s depictions of prostitutes and vamps best illustrate his vision of the dangerous potential of technology. Coffey argues that these images, exemplified in the mural Catharsis (1934, Fig. 6.6) at the Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City, were inspired by the robot Maria in Fritz Lang’s film Metropolis (1927). According to Coffey, the artificiality of Orozco’s women suggests automata and, by extension, the threat of the triumph of technology over nature.77 It could be argued that El Universal Ilustrado’s weekly installments of Arqueles Vela’s La Señorita Etcétera (previously discussed) also could have contributed to these visions. As in Orozco’s murals, women in estridentista literature were libidinal and artificial. In La Señorita Etcétera, the author explains: “Women are nothing but sensual, ideological, spiritual, sentimental apparatuses. One can fill them with any force and with any tension, like storage batteries. Touching those bell-like things that are their breasts one can awaken in them a series of personalities that arrive with the disconcertedness of hotel servants, without knowing if the number lit in the calls panel is theirs.” 78 In a similar spirit, Arqueles Vela organized a sale of women models widely advertised in the capital city. According to the advertisement, the designers, inspired by the latest fashion news from “New York, Paris, London, Berlin, Rio de Janeiro, Constantinople, Petrograd, New Archangel, Peking, Cairo, Industan, Monrovia, etc. . . . want to create spiritual models for women . . . unbeatable prices affordable to the most impoverished mentalities.” 79 The women models offered for sale included a common woman, reduced from $25 to $12.50; a beautiful woman for the mornings, reduced from $150 to

215   ■  Visualizing the Future $75; a complicated woman for the afternoon, reduced from $200 to $99.99; and a woman for the theater, reduced from $9,000 to $4,000. The most expensive woman was the estridentista woman, reduced from $10,000 to $5,000. List Arzúbide maintained that the models were all dolls owned by Arqueles Vela. Like Orozco’s depiction of women, these models suggest the intromission of artificial material and affective elements in contemporary life. Scholars coincide in portraying Orozco as an “uncritical partisan of antitechnologism” whose work recurrently illustrates modernization’s destructiveness.80 By contrast, Siqueiros’s fascination with technology is well documented, principally his experimentation with industrial materials and techniques as well as modern media such as still images and film projection.81 Siqueiros’s commitment to the exploration of modern technologies for art already was evident in his manifesto of 1921, “Three Appeals for a Modern Direction: To the New Generation of American Painters and Sculptors,” published in the only issue of Vida Americana in Barcelona:

Figure 6.6. José Clemente Orozco, Catharsis, 1934, Palace of Fine Arts, Mexico City (detail). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Simon Penny. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

216   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Let live our marvelous dynamic age! Let us love the modern machine which provokes unexpected plastic emotions, the contemporary aspects of our daily lives, the life of our cities under construction, the sober practical engineering of our modern buildings . . . Let us dress our human invulnerability in modern clothing: new subjects, new aspects.

This passage demonstrates that like the futurists and the estridentistas, Siqueiros was concerned with the impact of modernization on both the human environment and subjectivity. In his murals, however, human-animal-machine composites are rare.82 The most impressive examples of biomechanical creatures in Siqueiros’s oeuvre appear in the mural Portrait of the Bourgeoisie commissioned by the Mexican Union of Electricians (Sindicato Mexicano de Electricistas, 1939–1940; Figs. 6.7, 6.8) and executed by the International Team of Plastic Artists under his direction.83 The art historian Jennifer Jolly recently reevaluated this mural with attention to the changes made under the direction of Josep Renau, a Spanish member of the team, who undertook the commission after Siqueiros abandoned the project on account of his involvement with the assassination attempt on Leon Trotsky (1940) and his subsequent exile (1941–1943).84 At the request of the patrons Renau directed the completion of the mural, altered its original design, and changed its original title, Portrait of Fascism. Under Renau’s direction, the meaning of the mural ostensibly changed from a critique of fascism to a critique of capitalism; yet with one exception, the images that concern us were present in both versions of the mural and made evident the interrelationship of power, capital, and technology.85 The mural as it is seen today (Figs. 6.7, 6.8) covers three walls and the ceiling to form an open box accessible from the second and third floor of the building. On the background of the left wall, a crowd flows through a tunnel-like opening and advances toward the front (Fig. 6.7). Distinct social groups in formation (soldiers, peasants, workers) become discernible as they approach. As they reach the corner, some of the marchers disperse and run toward a building designed in the style of a classical temple, which has been set on fire. In the left foreground of the mural, the figure of the “demagogue” (identified as such in an explanatory wall panel) conflates a parrot head, human hands, and a mechanical body. A steel rod that constitutes the creature’s lower extremity is attached to a metal box on wheels and connected to other machines in a power plant at an underground level that traverses the entire composition. The creature is gesticulating vigorously in the process of addressing the crowd. A lit torch in his left hand suggests that his actions are related to the burning of the temple. In the background of the central wall, troops march toward the right (Fig. 6.7). In the center of the mural, a giant metallic eagle hovers over an enormous anthropomorphic machine at the center of the composition (Fig. 6.8). The

217   ■  Visualizing the Future

Figure 6.7. David Alfaro Siqueiros, Portrait of the Bourgeoisie, 1939–1940, Union of

Electricians, Mexico City (detail: “Echoes and Associations of Demagogy”). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Guillermo Zamora. Acervo inba–Sala de Arte Público Siqueiros, aaa-6085. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

eagle’s beak holds a rope from which the corpse of a black man hangs by the neck. The machine evokes the form of a human skeleton, with arms, spinal column, stomach cavity, and pelvic bones. Spitting blood and coins at the level of the chest, the structure of the machine visually blends with the body of an octopus at the underground level. The animal’s tentacles extend to reach workers on the far right. Two human heads with closed eyes are visible between the octopus’s tentacles within the machine. On the floor at the same level as the demagogue, two groups of three men each stand on either side of the machine. All wear gas masks and are identifiable as representatives of specific countries

218   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 6.8. David Alfaro Siqueiros, Portrait of the Bourgeoisie, 1939–1940, Union of

Electricians, Mexico City (detail, “War and Revolution”). © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ars), New York/somaap, Mexico City. Photo: Guillermo Zamora. Acervo inba–Sala de Arte Público Siqueiros, aaa–6089. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura, 2011.

by elements of their attire.86 Reading from left to right, the group on the left is composed of Great Britain, France, and the United States, and the group on the right of Japan, Italy, and Germany. Chaos and destruction reign on the right wall and in the ceiling as buildings, technological equipment, and vehicles burn and people fall amid flames and clouds of smoke. A large figure of a man frowning menacingly and holding a rifle emerges from the turmoil. The man points the rifle toward the group of men in the middle of the mural but does not fire.

219   ■  Visualizing the Future Along with the revolutionary, the demagogue, the eagle, and the anthropomorphic machine appear in photographs taken before Renau’s intervention.87 As in estridentista literature, in the original mural technology has migrated to inhabit bodies and species have become ambiguous. The demagogue is a perfect union of machine, animal and human, as Donna Haraway would describe her cyborg almost fifty years later.88 The anthropomorphic machine and the robotic double-headed eagle illustrate the possibility that the evolution of nature with technology results in the strengthening of capitalism and empire. The image of the octopus, added by Renau, further naturalizes the already anthropomorphic machine and accentuates the dangers of the union of nature and technology. The machinery on the underground level suggests that technology nurtures the political, economic, and social processes represented in the mural. Like Rivera, Siqueiros presents the possibility of the integration of nature and technology. But unlike Rivera’s utopian visions, here technology plays a destructive role in its association with capital and empire. To the power of machines Siqueiros contraposes the power of the multitude and of the individual, personified in the revolutionary. Yet the outcome of the struggle and consequently the future of nature and the social order remain unresolved. Leonard Folgarait interprets the political irresolution of the mural as a pernicious duplicity indicative of a progressively institutionalized society pretending to live by revolutionary ideals and “seeming to open up to possibilities.”89 I suggest that refusing closure may be the only way to keep possibilities open. In her explanation of her cyborg myth, Haraway admitted that the myth was not without risks because of the cyborg’s (partial) ancestry in militarism and patriarchal capitalism. In her assessment, from one perspective a cyborg future could result in permanent warfare and “a final imposition of a grid of control on the planet”; but from another perspective it might result in a world in which people would accept partial identities, contradictions, and “their joint kinship with animals and machines.” Haraway stressed the importance of being able to take in both perspectives at once: in her opinion, single vision produced “worse illusions than double visions of many-headed monsters.” 90 Portrait of the Bourgeoisie suggests this double perspective at least in regard to the potentials of technology.91 This may have been another visionary aspect of the work, for we will see in Chapter 8 that some contemporary theorists regard duplicity as a clever political strategy. To conclude, in early twenty-century Mexico literary and visual images of technology surpassed the work of the estridentistas. While it is difficult to establish direct and reliable connections between visual images of mechanized nature and estridentista literature, it is likely that artists contemporary with the

220   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture movement were cognizant of both the futurists’ and the estridentistas’ visions of modernity, for these were widely diffused. As the scholar Nelson Osorio has demonstrated, Latin American writers from Mexico to Chile had debated the merits of Italian futurism practically since its inception.92 Similarly, List Arzúbide’s book El movimiento estridentista was widely discussed in Latin American intellectual circles.93 Additionally, the dissemination of estridentista works via newspapers and radio within Mexico guaranteed at least some familiarity with the movement on the part of the educated public. World War I and the Mexican revolution also must have stimulated artists’ reflections on the future of humanity and of technology (some, such as Siqueiros and Charlot, participated in military struggles). Like other artists who included images of technology in their work, the estridentistas were aware of the positive and negative effects of technological development. In the context of early twentieth-century Mexico, to create visions of a technologized world meant not social indifference but perceptivity and openness to irrevocable change. Later in the century Mexico City developed into a megalopolis. The Mexican movie industry became one of the most influential in Latin America, perhaps only superseded by the contemporary diffusion of Mexican telenovelas (soap operas) all around the world. Although the country never became an independent industrial producer, it is strongly integrated in the global marketplace in large part through contemporary technologies that facilitate actual and virtual journeys. Air travel, Mexico City’s subway system, automobiles, satellite dishes, television, telephones, mobile phones, pagers, the Internet, and the maquiladoras where humans (especially young women) perform mechanical, repetitive tasks presently enact some of the estridentistas’ visions.94

Re-creating the Past

7 A F

Ignacio Marquina’s Reconstruction of the Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan

The temple precinct of Tenochtitlan occupies a canonical status in the history of Mexican art and culture. As depicted in the sixteenth-century Codex Mendoza (Fig. 7.1) and described by numerous chroniclers, the site of the precinct marks the center of the Aztec Empire and the foundation of the Mexica capital in 1325. According to Aztec histories, the Mexicas were the last of seven groups to migrate to the Valley of Mexico from a legendary place called Aztlán.1 They were guided in their migration by their patron god, Huitzilopochtli. In dreams the god informed the Mexica leaders that they would identify the right place to settle by the sight of an eagle perched on a nopal cactus. He commanded them to erect a temple in his honor on that location and divide the surrounding territory into four quarters, taking the temple as middle point.2 The Mexicas proceeded according to Huizilopochtli’s wishes. The site selected for the temple as well as for the city was therefore sacred and historically significant. In addition to commemorating the origins of the Aztec Empire, the site of the temple precinct in the vicinity of the Metropolitan Cathedral and the National Palace in the center of present-day Mexico City serves as a visual reminder of both the civilizing mission of the Catholic Church and the cultural patronage of the Mexican state. The sheer size of the main pyramid suggested by the fragmentary yet awe-inspiring archaeological remains cannot but remind the viewer of the city’s past glory. When the Spanish conqueror Hernán Cortés arrived in Tenochtitlan in 1519, the city was one of the largest in the world, with a population of about 200,000 inhabitants. In his second letter to the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, Cortés described it as a great metropolis equaling or surpassing European cities in richness and splendor. In his account the central market of Tenochtitlan was “so large as two times the city of Salamanca, all surrounded by portals, where there are daily around sixty thousand people buying and selling.”3 He also described many large houses with beautiful gardens and an opulent court life. Cortés’s portrayal of Tenochtitlan as the superlative trophy of his conquest immediately captured the imagination 221

222   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture of educated Europeans and whetted the appetites of poor plebeians who later migrated to the New World in search of better fortune. Sixteenth-century chronicles created an image of the temple precinct as a grandiose stage set for the Aztecs’ sacrificial rituals, which they described in excruciating detail and illustrated to extol the humanizing merits of the Spanish conquest. The Aztecs became world famous not for their cultural achievements but for their practice of human sacrifice. Neither the reputation of the Aztecs as bloodthirsty nor the public’s keen interest in their gruesome rituals diminished through the centuries.4 Hence to many the ruins as well as the objects in the Museo del Templo Major (Museum of the Great Temple) function as reminders of a heathen culture and its barbaric practices. The Metropolitan Cathedral and the other colonial buildings around the central plaza rise as testimonies of the Spanish victory and the Christianization of Mexico. From the late sixteenth until the late twentieth century the temple precinct was known primarily through textual and pictorial representations of the site. Like the rest of the city, the precinct was destroyed almost entirely in 1521, after seventy-five days of battle between the Spanish and the Mexicas. As was customary for victors, the Spaniards built their city in the same location as the Aztec capital to indicate the triumph of Christianity over paganism. Some of the building materials from the temple precinct were used to construct the colonial city of Mexico. Even Mexico’s first cathedral incorporated stones from the precinct. The pillars that supported the Iglesia Mayor (main church) in the late sixteenth century had previously been part of a serpent wall that bounded the central pyramid.5 The present remains of the temple precinct were discovered in a series of excavations sponsored by various Mexican governments from 1900 to the present. In the most publicized of these efforts, in 1978–1982, the archaeologist Eduardo Matos Moctezuma unearthed the central pyramid dedicated to Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc and several of its neighboring buildings. Subsequently the Museo del Templo Mayor was dedicated to preserving and exhibiting the findings of these excavations. The impressive monuments, the handsome museum building, and its exquisite displays proclaim the legitimacy of the state as custodian of indigenous antiquity. This chapter concerns not the temple precinct itself but its most famous representation: architect Ignacio Marquina’s reconstruction of the Templo Mayor

facing page Figure 7.1. Founding of Tenochtitlan, Codex Mendoza, 1541–1542. MS Arch Selden a.1, fol. 2r. The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford.

224   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture (1960), consisting of a plan and a wooden model of the site measuring 25 square meters (Figs. 7.2, 7.3). The plan and the form of the edifices in the reconstruction were based on Marquina’s extensive textual and archaeological research. The engineer Manuel Calderón Peza, a specialist in architectural models, executed the maquette according to Marquina’s plans and drawings under the supervision of the director of the Museo Etnográfico at the Museo Nacional de Antropología, the sculptor Carmen de Antúnez. Efrén Medina Miranda, Pedro Elías Ruso, and other museum employees made hundreds of tiny lead

Figure 7.2. Ignacio Marquina, reconstruction plan of the temple precinct of Tenoch-

titlan, 1960. From Ignacio Marquina, El Templo Mayor de México. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

225   ■  Re-creating the Past

Figure 7.3. Ignacio Marquina and Carmen de Antúnez, reconstruction model of the

temple precinct of Tenochtitlan, 1960: view from west showing west door, ball court, Temple of Quetzalcoatl, and the Main Pyramid. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Photo: ©305955 conaculta.inah. sinafo.fm.mexico.

figurines that illustrate the human activities at the temple. Marquina explained the reconstruction in his book El Templo Mayor de México (1960).6

Marquina’s Reconstruction as Document An architectural reconstruction re-creates a building as imagined at a specific point in its history. The actual architecture is susceptible to the passage of time and materially registers changes in its environment. The archaeology of buildings reveals rebuildings, expansions, and “building stages,” which far from being homogeneous seldom apply to the whole edifice. In fact, recent excavations of the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan have identified seven construction stages, in each of which the building was expanded on all four sides and five more modifications or additions to the western façade.7 This means that the form and dimensions of the precinct and even of a single building were con-

226   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture tinually evolving. Thus reconstructions must be understood simultaneously as acts of fixing and as products of the draftsman’s representational habits and imagination. Fixing is the attempt to seize and freeze the building visually at a specific moment in its existence. This necessitates both material and archival documentation as well as technologies of capture such as photography and measurement, which purportedly attest to the objectivity of the reconstruction. In modern scholarship habitual and imaginative dimensions of reconstructions are seldom discussed, for they undermine disciplinary claims to objectivity. In the opinion of Timothy Mitchell, objectivity is a “combination of detachment and close attentiveness,” which contributes to the isolation of the observer from an object world. In traditional archaeological and art-historical literature, reconstructions depict an external reality no longer extant. An objective observer presumably can judge the degree of accuracy of these representations by means of careful observation, comparison of the reconstruction with actual archaeological remains and with previous representations (documents), and application of scientific procedures such as calculation and measurement. When reconstructions fail to adhere to these methods they are deemed to be misrepresentations.8 According to Mitchell, the problem with identifying “misrepresentations” of objective reality is that the process leaves representation itself unquestioned. The observer accepts “the distinction between a realm of representation and the ‘external reality’ which such representations promise, rather than examining the novelty of continuously creating the effect of an ‘external reality’ itself as a mechanism of power.” 9 Although Mitchell’s remarks refer specifically to Karl Marx’s analysis of commodity fetishism and to representations of the colonies in nineteenth-century world’s fairs, they aptly describe similar problems in the evaluation of archaeological reconstructions. When Marquina completed his temple precinct project, the accuracy of his plan could not be confirmed archaeologically. This had little effect on the reconstruction’s reception. Marquina’s plan and model continued to be the preferred illustrations for the precinct even after recent excavations showed them to differ from the distribution and form of the buildings found on the actual site. I argue that Marquina’s reconstruction was successful because it monumentally represented the achievements of the Aztec past using a form of organization legible and valuable to a Western-educated observer. His reconstruction integrated the most impressive features of Mesoamerican architectures with aesthetic principles then and now recognized as tasteful and universal. As discussed in Chapters 2 and 3, in colonial and postcolonial Mexico judgments of taste were informed, directly or indirectly, by the aesthetic preferences of dominant elites. I suggest that the persistent appeal of Marquina’s

227   ■  Re-creating the Past reconstruction rested largely on its cosmopolitanism, the ability to integrate the local in the global, and its alignment with dominant political ideologies. The two oldest illustrations of the precinct date from the sixteenth century: one is attributed to Hernán Cortés (Figs. 7.7, 7.8) and the other to the Franciscan Fray Bernardino de Sahagún (Fig. 7.9). The twentieth century produced several reconstructions, including a “Plan of the Center of Mexico,” by the Mexican historian Dr. Ignacio Alcocer (1935, Fig. 7.4); a preliminary plan (Fig. 7.5) published in 1951 by Marquina; and the same architect’s plan and reconstruction of 1960 (Figs. 7.2, 7.3), published with the addition of an explanatory list in 1964.10 After the completion of the 1978–1982 excavations, the architect Alejandro Villalobos published a plan of the precinct (Fig. 7.6) that incorporated the new archaeological findings and corrected what he perceived as limitations in Marquina’s design: the orthogonal rationalization of space, the lack of attention to topography, and the architect’s commitment to re-creating the last phase of the precinct, which was the one the Spanish destroyed. Basing his reconstruction on the better-preserved Phases IV and IVb (1460–1480), Villalobos produced a plan that is more irregular than Marquina’s yet retains the matching complexes on the north and south of the Great Temple as well as four small identical adoratories introduced by Marquina on the west.11 A model of the site by Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City (INAH) made after the 1978 to 1982 excavations (Fig. 7.18) and elaborated in 1999 presented the result of all the excavations and to a large extent emulated the chromatic richness, the geometrical exactness, and the bilateral symmetry of Marquina’s plan.12 More recently the architect Antonio Serrato-Combe, a professor at the College of Architecture and Planning at the University of Utah, Salt Lake City, published a digital reconstruction of the precinct in his book The Aztec Templo Mayor: A Visualization (2001, Fig. 7.23) based on the preceding works. Unlike previous reconstructions, this one acknowledges its imaginative dimension, for “digital technology enables the possibility of creating theoretical reconstructions with a high degree of realism.” Despite the architect’s declared interest in illustrating the aesthetic qualities of Aztec architecture (including the relationships of buildings and open spaces) rather than in defining the precise location of specific edifices, the formal repetition and symmetrical arrangements of some of the buildings, such as the two L-shaped complexes north and south of the Templo Mayor and the four small temples to the west of the main Pyramid, indicate the persistence of Marquina’s vision.13 Of all the illustrations of the temple precinct, Marquina’s reconstruction of 1960 was the most widely disseminated and influential. Alcocer’s plan was only illustrated by its author, and Marquina’s plan of 1951 is rarely reproduced.14 Since its completion Marquina and Antúnez’s model was exhibited at the

Figure 7.4. Ignacio Alcocer, plan of the center of Mexico, 1935. dr © Instituto Panamericano de Geografía e Historia. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 7.5. Ignacio Marquina, reconstruction plan of the temple precinct of Tenoch-

titlan. From Ignacio Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, Plate 54. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia/Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1951. conaculta –inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

230   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 7.6. Alejandro Villalobos, reconstruction plan of the Sacred Precinct of Tenochtitlan. From “Arquitectura mexica,” thesis for the licenciatura in architecture, Facultad de Arquitectura, unam, Mexico, 1983, 263, Plate 10. © Courtesy of Dr. Alejandro Villalobos Pérez.

Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, the leading institution for the study and conservation of Mexican antiquity. Until the early 1980s most texts on Mesoamerican architecture included the plan and the model without criticism.15 Although the reconstruction was most often accompanied by other representations of the precinct, in some instances it was the only illustration given for the site.16 Acceptance of the reconstruction as a document was carried to an extreme by the urban planning scholar George Hardoy, who affirmed that it permitted the study of the urban and architectural characteristics of the temple precinct as it was when the Spanish arrived and proceeded to guide the reader through the plan as though he were describing an actual archaeological site.17 None of these sources mentioned the size of the model, adding to the impression that the illustrations represented the original architecture. Marquina’s reconstruction still maintained its authority at the turn of this century. As of March 6, 2005, the model was on permanent exhibition at the

231   ■  Re-creating the Past Museo Nacional de Antropología, with little explanation of its history. Most contemporary texts on the Aztecs and on Mesoamerican architecture include images of Marquina’s model. Until this decade few scholars illustrated the later reconstructions, although some now illustrate the 1999 INAH model.18 This reconstruction and Serrato-Combe’s visualization preserve the most striking aspects of Marquina’s design. I demonstrate here that Marquina’s reconstruction and two of the betterknown representations of the precinct that he used as sources all establish a visual dialogue between indigenous and imported architectural traditions. Each image conducts a kind of visual negotiation, which varies according to aesthetic, social, and political imperatives impinging on the designer. Marquina’s reconstruction not only obeyed the museum’s and the designer’s goal of portraying ancient Aztec architecture accurately; by selecting the most imposing examples of Mesoamerican architecture as models for his buildings, he also constructed a grandiose image of the Aztec past as part of a nationalistic project. Nationalistic sentiments permeate the apparently scientific objectivism of Marquina and Antúnez’s textual description. Marquina made clear that at least part of his motivation for the reconstruction stemmed from his indignation at the Spanish destruction of the city. “No city has suffered more complete and remorseless destruction than Tenochtitlan,” he declared.19 For Antúnez, the reconstruction’s goal was to educate Mexicans, foreigners, and especially the country’s children in aspects of Aztec life within the precinct in “an objective and colorful manner.” 20 Recollecting her own experience placing three thousand tiny human sculptures within the maquette, she wrote: “And leaving the Museum, I felt sad to abandon an empire of fantasy where with my spirit full of complicated emotions, I had taken part of a magnificent procession that prostrated in front of the Temple of Quetzalcoatl or full of pride to be Aztec had witnessed the gladiatorial sacrifice, which would immortalize the gigantic Tlahuicole.” 21 In this passage Antúnez reveals a strong identification with the Aztec past, a sentiment that a succession of Mexican governments had encouraged since independence. The reconstruction’s use as an educational tool would enable future generations of Mexicans to make similar associations. As the most influential representation of the site, the reconstruction then contributed not only to contemporary understandings of the past but also to nationalistic visions of the future. Throughout the twentieth century the Mexican state actively promoted nationalism, so the reconstruction became aligned with official ideology. Although Marquina’s model exalted local traditions, it also relied on what were then considered “universal” characteristics of good architecture. His reconstruction drew on both the most impressive achievements of Mesoameri-

232   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture can architecture and the École des Beaux-Arts tradition of design, which dominated architectural education from the late eighteenth century until the advent of modernism.22 I maintain that it was the reconstruction’s imbrication with cosmopolitan architectures and not only its purported accuracy which allowed it to remain the favored representation of this revered site. The reconstruction’s lasting influence attests to the unacknowledged persistence of aesthetic preferences associated with “universal” values as well as to habits of viewing and making independent of rational deliberation and judgment.

Ignacio Marquina Ignacio Marquina was born on May 4, 1888, in Mexico City. He received his architecture degree from the Academia Nacional de Bellas Artes at the Universidad Autónoma de Mexico in August of 1913. According to his daughter Susana, Marquina could not find sufficient architecture commissions to earn a living because there was little construction during the decade after the revolution.23 In 1919 he started to work in the Department of Archaeological Monuments (Dirección de Monumentos Arqueológicos) under the renowned archaeologist Dr. Manuel Gamio. Five years earlier Gamio had conducted archaeological excavations at the site of the temple precinct. It was through this association that Marquina’s fascination with the precinct began, although he had demonstrated interest in Mexican archaeology since his student years. In 1944 Marquina succeeded Alfonso Caso as director of the Instituto Nacional de Arqueología e Historia, a position that he held until 1956. Marquina’s bestknown work besides his book El Templo Mayor is Arquitectura prehispánica, an encyclopedic work first published in 1951 that is still an invaluable source for any student of Mesoamerican architecture.24 He died in 1981. The Academia Nacional de Bellas Artes, where Marquina received his architecture degree, resulted from the integration of the old Academia de San Carlos into the National University. Consequently the teaching methods employed at the academy during the second half of the nineteenth century in Mexico prevailed. Carlos Obregón Santacilia, who entered the school in 1916, reported that in that year his professors were the “last vestiges” of French-influenced and French-imported architects.25 Among them was the elderly Antonio Rivas Mercado, a graduate of the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris, and the influential French drawing professor Paul Dubois. These men taught architecture with great emphasis on copying French designs. Obregón Santacilia explained: When we arrived at the studio for the first time, the fifth year students had been assigned an “entrance to a cemetery” as a problem. This was a characteristic pro-

233   ■  Re-creating the Past gram of the epoch, which some made in Egyptian [style] with Sphinxes and all, others in colonial and Gothic [styles]. The drawings were still stretched with wafers and colored with thinned watercolors. Intime Club, a French architecture magazine that functioned as an architecture “fashion magazine,” and the medals of the École des Beaux-Arts of Paris were consulted. In these appeared projects of preposterous, unrealizable proportions but presented with great drawing ability. The themes for professional exams were a “chateau d’eau” or a castle. In the modeling class, the garlands of the Column of Independence were copied and construction materials were studied by contemplating small disintegrating pieces of walls and iron beams on dusty tables. Other subjects were studied in an encyclopedic manner . . . Those subjects and the theory of architecture, the textbooks for which were Gaudet and Cloquet, were imparted without any relation to the architectural moment that we were living in and that interested us so much. It was necessary for the country’s architects to immerse themselves in that moment. For this reason, it was necessary to search for ourselves.26

Obregón Santacilia’s recollections indicate the increasing discordance between the methods of academic teaching and the interests of the generation of architects formed after the revolution. Marquina’s professors included renowned academicians in the tradition of the École des Beaux-Arts, including Rivas Mercado, Adamo Boari, and Federico Mariscal.27 I propose that Marquina’s design for his reconstruction of the temple precinct was to a large extent the product of two interacting factors: his Beaux-Arts training as an architect and the quest for constructing a national identity, which was one of the main concerns of intellectuals, architects, and artists after the revolution of 1910.

The Temple Precinct in Early Mexica History Marquina learned about the temple precinct primarily from literary sources.28 The Spanish conquest (1519–1521) destroyed the fabric of Mexica society and especially the religious and political core of the empire. Nine months after the Aztecs defeated the Spanish in the battle known as La Noche Triste on June 30, 1520, the conqueror Hernán Cortés returned to Mexico City from Tlaxcala, accompanied by more than one thousand men. Chronicle accounts tell that as he went he demolished the buildings in his path. On August 13, 1521, the capital city of Tenochtitlan fell after a siege of eighty days. By the end of the sixteenthcentury few if any witnesses to the preconquest precinct survived. According to sixteenth-century chronicles, the temple underwent a series of expansions and rebuildings. The first temple dedicated to Huitzilopochtli was built of clay and rush and had a thatched roof: these modest materials were all that the humble Mexicas could afford. As time passed, the Mexicas managed to

234   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture cover this simple structure with stone through the gathering and selling of sea products. Although the rulers Huitzilihuitl and Chimalpopoca are sometimes mentioned as expanding the temple, historical accounts stress the contributions of Itzcoatl, Axayacatl, Moctezuma Ilhuicamina, Tizoc, and Ahuitzotl. The ruler Itzcoatl (1428–1440) built a more permanent structure made of stone and wood secured through his conquests, but no significant reforms were made until the reign of Moctezuma Ilhuicamina.29 Before his death Itzcoatl summoned his most important officials and demanded that his successor build a magnificent temple to Huitzilopochtli. Moctezuma ordered and directed the construction of the new temple, but the building was not completed until the reign of Ahuitzotl, the eighth Mexica ruler. Moctezuma’s successor, Axayacatl, continued the work of his predecessor.30 The next ruler, Tizoc, intended to finish the temple. But according to some accounts he began the most important expansion of the temple in the year 4 Reed (1483); according to others he died before work was begun. Ahuitzotl concluded the construction of the temple and decorated it with sculptures; as Durán notes, “the edifice was then finished, remaining not one thing to do.”31 This temple was inaugurated in the year 7 Reed, which corresponds to the year 1487 in the Gregorian calendar. It consisted of a great pyramidal structure crowned by twin temples, one dedicated to Huitzilopochtli and the other one to Tlaloc, an ancient Central Mexican water deity that the Aztecs associated with the prestige of the older Toltec culture. At the time of the conquest, the building stood in a sumptuous precinct among temples dedicated to other deities. As an integral aspect of imperial expansion, the Mexicas incorporated the gods of conquered territories into their pantheon. This entailed bringing the effigies of the conquered deities to Tenochtitlan and erecting temples in the precinct to house them. Cortés described the center of Tenochtitlan as a walled patio containing approximately forty “towers,” all “tall and very well worked.” These temples were made of stone and wood; the walled patio was so large that it could encompass a village of five hundred inhabitants.32 Although chroniclers agree on the grandiosity of the site, their descriptions differ in the number, the appearance, and the location of the buildings. Consequently an accurate reconstruction of the precinct is practically impossible. To reconstruct the precinct means to re-create the architecture from a combination of contradictory sources.

Marquina’s Plan and Its Pictorial Sources In Marquina’s plan (Fig. 7.2) the precinct appears as a square defined by a wall in the center of modern Mexico City. The quadrangle encloses thirty structures, symmetrically arranged, and is broken by three entrances, one each in

235   ■  Re-creating the Past the west, the north, and the south. Marquina identified all the buildings for the first time in a list included in the second edition of his volume Arquitectura prehispánica. Although he had discussed most of the buildings in his previous book, El Templo Mayor de México, he had given no explanations for Structures 4, 5, 6, 29, and 30. Marquina based his reconstruction on documentary and archaeological sources, which may be divided into three types: documents based on information furnished by natives, some of whom saw the buildings in use; accounts written by Spanish chroniclers; and historical documentation, including later finds and excavations. In addition he relied on pictorial documents, which are subdivisions of these categories.33 Marquina’s two main pictorial sources, a plan of Tenochtitlan attributed to Hernán Cortés and an illustration of a ceremonial precinct from Bernardino de Sahagún’s Primeros memoriales, were also reconstructions.34 Neither chronicler was primarily concerned with architecture, so building identifications in both texts are unclear and the representations ambiguous. Rather than attribute the lack of precision to the artists’ confusion, misunderstanding, or ineptness, we can see that each plan reveals the artist’s conciliation of different pictorial traditions. Cortés’s plan (Fig. 7.7, 7.8) was published for the first time in Pedro Savorgan’s Latin translation of Cortés’s second letter to the emperor, Charles V (Nuremberg, 1524). Previously the letter had been published in Seville (1522) and in Saragoza (1523) with no illustrations. In his third letter to Charles V, Cortés mentions “the figure of the city of Temixtitlan which I sent to your Majesty,” implying that a map of the city previously had been in his possession.35 Cortés’s plan was published to show the newly discovered land of Mexico to Europeans. He had sailed from Cuba to explore the coast of Yucatán and in defiance of explicit orders to return opted to destroy his ships to assure that his men would accompany him in his conquest of the new land. Because officially Cortés had deserted, in his report to the emperor he would have wanted something other than to show the New World in all its strangeness. He needed an image simultaneously familiar and alien to be able to impress the sovereign and convince him of the urgency and worthiness of his project of conquest. In correspondence with Thomas More’s Utopia, the Nuremberg plan shows Tenochtitlan as a beautiful and orderly island in the middle of a round lake (Fig. 7.7). Neatly arranged rows of buildings surround a great central square and continue to the water’s edge. Individual castles and buildings appear to float among the waves, but on closer inspection it is evident that they stand on small islands emerging from the water. Within the central square is a great pyramidal structure with frontal twin towers (Fig. 7.8). The pyramid is flanked

Figure 7.7. Nuremberg Map of Tenochtitlan and the Gulf Coast. From Hernán

Cortés, Praeclara Ferdinadi Cortesii de noua maris oceani Hyspania narratio . . . Nuremberg: Per Fridericum Peypus, anno D[omi]ni 1524 k[a]l[endis] Martii. Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library.

Figure 7.8. Nuremberg Map of Tenochtitlan: detail showing the Great Temple. From Hernán Cortés, Praeclara Ferdinadi Cortesii de noua maris oceani Hyspania narratio . . . Nuremberg: Per Fridericum Peypus, anno D[omi]ni 1524 k[a]l[endis] Martii. Courtesy of the Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library.

237   ■  Re-creating the Past by a skull rack on the left and a towered building on the right. A classically proportioned, headless sculpture assumes a striding position below the large pyramid. Another skull rack sits between two unidentified towers below. The illustration bears four inscriptions: “Templum ubi Sacrificant” (temple where sacrifices are made) refers to the main pyramid; “Idol Lapideu[m]” (stone idol) identifies the beheaded statue; and “Capita Sacrificatoru[m]” (sacrificial heads), twice repeated, indicates the two skull racks. The rest of the buildings are unidentified. Cortés’s schema provides a compressed image of the city rather than details of any specific part. Inaccuracies in the plan suggest that the draftsman drew the precinct from memory rather than from an actual view of the city. For instance, the great pyramid with twin temples (towers), which appears on the west side of the precinct, is located on the east in the actual site. The substitution of indigenous architecture for European castles and towers as well as the classically proportioned headless sculpture indicate that the draftsman was more concerned with making his product fit European tastes and expectations than with rendering the city accurately.36 Nonetheless, the plan correctly indicates the location of roads and bridges.37 Art historian Barbara Mundy has suggested that the Nuremberg plan is a copy of a Mexican original reinterpreted by one or more European artists. She posits that Cortés sent his letter and the plan to Spain while Charles V was visiting Germany. Copies of the original letter and plan were made in Seville and later sent to Germany. Engravings of the plan were then made from these copies. In Mundy’s opinion, the drawing shows the artist’s familiarity not only with the city of Tenochtitlan but also with preconquest values and pictorial conventions. For example, as in various postconquest codices, the city appears in the center of a single round lake, although this representation is geographically inaccurate. Such an image of the city was of historic and symbolic value to the Mexicas. By contrast, the enigmatic scrolls emanating from the body of the central sculpture appear to be European misrepresentations of a native convention used to indicate streams of blood. The image of the town of Culhuacan on the south as a protruding bell-shape is a Westernized interpretation of the city’s name glyph.38 If Mundy is correct, and I think she is, European artists and engravers adapted the image to suit European expectations. Thus the Nuremberg plan functions as a palimpsest of pre-Hispanic and European traditions of representation. Why the copiers in the Spanish court or the Nuremberg engravers would have wanted to alter the image remains unclear. It is possible that they copied the image by automatically obeying their own habits of representation or that the original document already presented a Europeanized image of

238   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Mexico. Be that as it may, the plan ultimately benefited Cortés by presenting Mexico as simultaneously familiar and foreign, civilized and barbarous. The colonial city was already under construction when Sahagún arrived in Mexico (1530–1532), and many of the native buildings had been completely dismantled.39 Like the rest of the Primeros memoriales, the plan of the temple precinct (Fig. 7.9) was produced in Tepepolco, where Sahagún recorded the testimonies of elderly survivors of the Spanish conquest. The anonymous artists of the Primeros memoriales were probably sons of Aztec nobility educated in the Indian College of Santa Cruz, Tlatelolco, where Sahagún taught between 1532 and 1558. As the artists would not have seen the precinct directly, Sahagún’s representation of the temple precinct was, like Cortés’s plan, an interpretation twice removed from its original source.40 On the left margin of his illustration, Sahagún provided a list of buildings preceded by the heading “in tlein ito-toca catca icececni tlacatecolocalco” (the names of the different houses of the devil or of witches). Originally the plan included no numbers or letters to link the names listed with the buildings pictured. In 1900 the German scholar Eduard Seler first correlated the drawing with the list by identifying each building in the drawing with a letter (Fig. 7.10).41 The list, as translated by Seler, reads: [a] teucalli—the Temple [b] cuauhxicalli—the cup of the eagle [c] calmecatl—the house of the priests [d] yxmomoztli—the altar in front [e] quauhcalli—the house of the eagle warriors [f] teuhtlachtli—the ballcourt for the gods [g] tzumpantli—skull platform [h] yopico teucalli—Temple of Yopico, Temple of Xipe [i] temalacatl—stone in the form of a wheel [no “j” in the original] [k] colhuacan teucalli—the Temple of Colhuacan [l] macuil cuetzpalli—the god Five Green Lizard [m] macuil calli—the god Five House [n] ytualli—dance patio of the temple [o] covatenamitl—serpent wall [p] teuquiyaoatl yc excan callacovoya—the doors for the gods located on three sides.42

Seler and other scholars after him identified most of the buildings in Sahagún’s plan on the basis of literary descriptions, formal similarities of the buildings with the architecture of other sites, and analyses of decoration.

Figure 7.9. Bernardino de Sahagún, Primeros memoriales, fol. 369r. Real Biblioteca de Madrid, Palacio Real. arminef/60 r 44724. © Patrimonio Nacional.

Figure 7.10. Eduard Seler, plan of Tenochtitlan after Fray Bernardino de Sahagún,

Primeros memoriales, fol. 269r. From Eduard Seler, Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur Amerikanischer Sprach- und Alterthumskunde, vol. 2, 1904, Abb. 1, 771. 5 vols.

241   ■  Re-creating the Past In Sahagún’s drawing, the main pyramid is recognizable by its great size, its central location, and the twin temples on its apex, as described by the chronicles. Seler identified one of the twin temples as the Temple of Tlaloc, because of the blue bands on the roof, which he associated with rain; in his view, the white disks on a dark background that decorate the other temple signified the starry sky, which was related to Huitzilopochtli. Proceeding downward along the vertical axis in the plan, are a momoztli (small platform on which a priest offers incense); a skull rack; and a ball court represented as an I-shape as in preconquest manuscripts. There is little agreement in regard to the identity of the remaining buildings.43 The buildings discovered in the recent excavations of the site do not correlate well with Sahagún’s plan (Figs. 7.9, 7.10, 7.17, 7.18, 7.19, 7.21).44 Because of the discrepancies, some scholars questioned Seler’s original identification of the plan as a representation of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan, positing instead that it may illustrate the temple precinct of Tepepolco, Tlatelolco, or Texcoco or that it may represent only part of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan. Others suggested that the drawing may represent an idealized ceremonial center belonging to no specific community.45 To add to the confusion, drawings in the Primeros memoriales incorporated preconquest indigenous and European pictorial conventions to varying extents. This sometimes resulted in ambiguous architectural representations. Seler proposed that the names “Macuil Cuelpalin” and “Macuil Calli” (rendered in picture writing) referred to the figures seated on either side of the central pyramid, which represented aspects of “Macuil Xochitl,” god of festivities and games.46 After him, many scholars believed that the figures in Sahagún’s plan represented sculptures of standard-bearers located at the entrance to the Great Temple. The similarity of their posture with that of stone figures found in the vicinity of the precinct supported these associations.47 In the 1980s the art historian Cecelia Klein suggested that the figures in the plan could refer to actual buildings, a proposition substantiated by the recent excavation and analysis of two small red temples with Teotihuacan-style talud-tablero and mural paintings located at the north and south of the Temple of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc. The remains of the north temple (Fig. 7.21, Building C) indicate three stages of construction (V, VI, VII); the one visible today corresponds to phase VI of the Great Temple (1486–1502).48 On the basis of an extensive analysis of the architecture, decorations, and associated offerings, the Mexican archaeologist Bertina Olmedo Vera argues that both of these buildings were dedicated to aspects of Macuilxochitl-Xochipilli, associated with the sun, Venus, music, the nobility, and games. These edifices are the only ones in the precinct with

242   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture circular orifices in their northeast corner, a feature consistent with Seler’s association of the figures in Sahagún’s plan with standard-bearers.49 The substitution of the buildings for the deities they housed was unusual in preconquest representations of architecture. In preconquest manuscripts indigenous artists rendered buildings as front or side elevations or, in the case of ball courts, often as plans.50 Silvia Garza de González identifies three kinds of images of religious buildings in preconquest Mixtec genealogical codices: those that show the building and the deity to which it is dedicated, others that show the rituals that took place in the building, and buildings associated with royal personages, which have toponymic functions. Representations of smaller adoratories conflate the building with the platform on which it is erected.51 In preconquest architectural representations, the human figures inside buildings are disproportionately large. Size could signify rank, as in genealogical codices these figures refer to important ancestors or deities. The draftsman entirely substituted the figures for the buildings in Sahagún’s plan, which suggests a reinterpretation of preconquest conventions. The substitution rendered the architecture invisible to Western scholars.52 Other features in the drawing such as the representation of drapery with folds and renderings of human faces with eyebrows (attributes that the draftsman extended even to the large skull in the skull rack) indicate that the artist had been acculturated to European pictorial traditions.53 Both the Nuremberg and the Primeros memoriales plans were reconstructions. Elsewhere I have argued that no reconstruction can precisely duplicate the original.54 Thus accuracy is not what is principally at stake here. More interesting, and relevant for this discussion, are the intersections, interactions, and transformations of traditions of representation in intercultural situations. Like Marquina’s reconstruction of the Templo Mayor, both sixteenth-century plans of the precinct were products of formal negotiations not necessarily predetermined but part and parcel of the lived process of acculturation and accommodation for both indigenous peoples and Europeans after the Spanish conquest.

Archaeological Evidence At the time he created his reconstruction, Marquina only had archaeological evidence to make a reliable determination of the positions of two buildings: the main pyramid and the tzompantli. He established the position of the other buildings from an extensive analysis of documentary sources. I summarize this evidence here and illustrate Marquina’s working method by analyzing some of the major buildings in his reconstruction. My discussion of the reconstruc-

243   ■  Re-creating the Past tion’s reliability is less an end in itself than a foundation to assess the cultural significance of the project. Five excavations of the precinct before 1960 produced only fragmentary remains. In 1900 the inspector of monuments, Leopoldo Batres, obtained permission from president Porfirio Díaz to delay ongoing works in the drainage system of the center of Mexico City in order to excavate in the area. The urgency of sanitary conditions allowed the excavation to last only three months, during which Batres reported having difficulties with the drainage managers, the press, the public, and the hygienic conditions of the site. Batres’s report of the excavations consisted of a descriptive list of artifacts arranged chronologically by day of discovery. The exact location and the associations of each object were unspecified, and there were no clues regarding the original form of any of the buildings. Batres assumed that three stone monuments decorated with rows of human skulls carved in relief were part of the tzompantli.55 In 1901 the engineer Porfirio Díaz Jr. found a staircase and two monumental sculptures while preparing the ground for the construction of the Ministry of Justice and Public Education on the corner of Relox (now Argentina) and Cordobanes (now Donceles). Díaz excavated the site in collaboration with Batres.56 Dr. Manual Gamio’s excavations on Escalerillas (now Guatemala) Street from 1913 to 1915 brought to light a series of floors on the west and south sides of the main pyramid as well as the monumental head of a serpent that marked the southwest corner of the building. In 1933 Emilio Cuevas, from the Dirección de Monumentos at INAH, excavated the southwest corner of Seminario and Guatemala Streets, discovering the remains of four different floors and walls as well as a balustrade and part of a stairway. In 1948 Hugo Moedano Koer and Elma Estrada de Balmori unearthed a platform with serpent decorations and a great serpent head, also on the south façade. This brief introduction reveals that Marquina had very little material from the site upon which to base his reconstruction. The fractionary remains available to him were located within two city blocks. Marquina based his reconstruction primarily on architectural remains at sites that were founded, conquered, or considered ancestral by the Mexicas. These sites included the cities of Tlatelolco, Tenayuca, Teotihuacan, Tula, Teopanzolco, Malinalco, and Huatusco.57 The similarity of building forms in all these locations attests to the homogeneity of Central Mexican architecture, which Marquina had studied since the late 1920s.58 The architect also employed as models for his reconstruction buildings from sites that have no direct connections with the Mexicas, such as Chichen Itza.59

244   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Marquina’s Reconstruction The reconstruction of the temple precinct had a long gestation. According to his daughter Susana, Marquina began his research in the 1940s. In 1951 he published a plan of the precinct, which he later replaced with the one in his 1960 reconstruction. As the art historian Elizabeth Hill Boone demonstrated, Marquina’s earlier design (Fig. 7.5) was smaller and less symmetrical than his more famous reconstruction and plan (Figs. 7.2, 7.3).60 A comparison of this plan with Sahagún’s drawing (Figs. 7.9, 7.10) suggests that the architect initially gave greater attention to the chronicles than to visual considerations. In fact, the later reconstruction seems motivated by a desire to make the evidence conform to specific design principles. As in Sahagún’s drawing, in the 1951 plan each edifice is individualized by form and size, whereas in the later plan and model some buildings are identical and all the volumes are balanced in the interest of bilateral symmetry. In Marquina’s earlier design the buildings are smaller; especially noteworthy is the diminutive temple of Quetzalcoatl, replaced by an impressive round edifice in the later reconstruction. After Sahagún, in the 1951 plan the first Temple of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc appears as a separate edifice behind the Temple Mayor; the ball court runs east to west, and the Temple of Cihuacoatl appears on the northwest corner of the precinct. In the later plan the ball court runs north to south; the Temple of Cihuacoatl assumes a more central location and has a twin temple balanced by an identical pair on the south (Fig. 7.2, buildings 9, 10, 11, 12). In 1960 the architect introduced other innovations. The Temple of the Sun faces east instead of west. While the earlier plan shows two skull racks (the Great Tzompantli on the southeast and a second tzompantli on the northeast), the later plan only retains the former. Buildings 4, 9, 11, 12, absent in the earlier plan, stress the symmetry of the complex. The edifices that form the central axis (the main pyramid, the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, and the ball court) all have unique designs. Similarly, the Temple of the Sun and the Calmecac (Fig. 7.2; buildings 15 and 18) located on the north and southwest vary in orientation and slightly in size. The addition of building 4 balances the volumes in the eastern side of the complex, while buildings 9, 10, 11, and 12 carry the strict symmetry of the eastern side of the precinct (buildings 1–6) to the west. All of these changes achieved a more rational, orthogonal, and visually imposing architecture in the second design.

245   ■  Re-creating the Past

Chronology Relating his historical research to the scant archaeological materials available to him, Marquina proposed a chronology in which he assigned one construction stage to each ruler, beginning with Itzcoatl (1428–1440). His recognition that the Mexicas augmented “the dimensions of the edifices in each reign or in determined time periods” suggests that he understood his chronology as provisory.61 He attributed the first permanent building of the temple to Itzcoatl, the second to Moctezuma I (1440–1469), the third to Axayacatl (1469–1481), the fifth to Tizoc (1481–1486), and the last to Ahuitzotl (1486–1502). This chronology played a part in his reconstruction design only as far as to influence his selection of Aztec sites contemporaneous with the Templo Mayor as models. Constrained by the scarcity of archaeological remains, he gave greater attention to the location and the form of each building than to stratigraphy. The chronology of the stages of the Templo Mayor became a matter of contention in later scholarship. Eduarto Matos Moctezuma, director of the (1978– 1982) INAH excavations of the site, identified seven building stages based on Marquina’s chronology, date glyphs found archaeologically, and his assumption, when lacking calendrical data, that each ruler was responsible for one building stage (Stages V, VI, and VII).62 Emily Umberger recognized the seven stages identified in the INAH excavations but proposed that all the glyphs found in the structure marked not customary rebuildings but exceptional historical events. She also attributed a renovation of the building on all four sides to each ruler after 1431, excluding Tizoc (who attempted one) and Moctezuma II, who only increased the height of the edifice. Like Marquina, she believed that the edifice built by Ahuitzotl was the last major expansion of the temple.63 Consequently she assigned Stage V of the pyramid to Axayacatl and not to Tizoc, as in Matos Moctezuma’s scheme. In her chronology, both Tizoc and Ahuitzotl contributed to Stage VI, in contrast to Matos Moctezuma’s attribution of the whole of Stage VI to Ahuitzotl. Leonardo López Luján recognizes a total of twelve stages: seven amplifications on all four sides (Stages I-VII) and five or more additions to the western façade (IIa, IIb, IIc, IVa, and IVb); he also notes some failed attempts at amplification.64 The controversy about the dates and patrons of each building stage is still far from being resolved. Because the specifics of each stage played little part in Marquina’s design, it is not necessary to engage with those debates here. For reference purposes, I use the official chronology of the INAH as represented by Matos Moctezuma and López Luján (Fig. 7.11).

246   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 7.11. Building phases of the Templo Mayor. Drawing by Victor Rangel. From Leonardo López Luján, The Offerings of the Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan, 50, Figure 18. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2005. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Number of Buildings inside the Precinct Marquina placed thirty buildings within the precinct, although the extant descriptions of the complex list a different number of structures. Durán stated that eight or nine temples stood close to one another within a large enclosure; Cortés thought that there were approximately forty buildings; and Sahagún mentions seventy-eight buildings within the precinct’s walls.65 The enormous difference in the number of buildings cited by these sources is sufficient to make an accurate reconstruction of the site unfeasible. Marquina assumed both that the precinct was square and that the Templo Mayor was located near the center, on the east side of the enclosure. To support these suppositions he relied on Gamio’s archaeological work, the Nuremberg letter, and the Primeros memoriales plans. Gamio’s excavations allowed

247   ■  Re-creating the Past the architect to determine the position of the pyramid, but only Cortés’s plan shows the precinct as a square. In the Primeros memoriales drawing, the precinct appears as a rectangle. Similarly, Marquina’s measurements for the square resulted from educated conjectures. After calculating 100 meters as the width of the front façade of the Great Temple, he traced a 50-meter line from the pyramid’s southern limit to the north in order to determine its center. He then measured the distance between this middle point and the location that he assigned to the Temple of Tezcatlipoca, which he believed to be the last building on the south side of the precinct. He had no archaeological evidence for the location of this edifice. Next he measured an equal distance of 250 meters from the center of the pyramid to the north, arriving at the street of San Ildefonso. These calculations resulted in a 500-meter distance for the extension of the precinct from north to south. Because Marquina believed that the complex was square, he applied the same measurement from east to west, starting at the intersection of Monte Piedad and Madero. This left him a short distance from the corner of Calles del Carmen and Correo Mayor. Marquina’s basis for beginning his measurement at the Calle de Monte Piedad was the location of the palace of Axayacatl just to the west of this street. Alcocer had previously determined the position of this building as well as the location of the New Houses of Moctezuma at the southern limit of the precinct as they appear in Marquina’s plan.66 If we take Alcocer’s information as correct, this leaves us with a defined boundary for the south section of the precinct. No evidence existed for its limits on the north side. Marquina attempted to find further support for his measurements by citing the statue known as El Indio Triste found at the Calle del Carmen and Correo Mayor.67 As the sculpture was found without relation to any architecture, it failed to substantiate his argument. Marquina’s measurements for the precinct remain unsupported by recent excavations. Nonetheless, in the block that Alcocer indicated as the location of the houses of Motecuhzoma, the Sistema de Transporte Colectivo found a series of rooms, an aqueduct, staircases, and a steam bath.68

Number of Doors In his reconstruction, Marquina illustrated doors to three great causeways that connected Tenochtitlan with neighboring populations: the causeway of Ixtapalapa and Coyoacan to the south, the causeway of Tacuba and Azcapotzalco to the west, and the causeway of Tlatelolco and Tepeyac to the north. His judgment was reasonable in light of chronicle descriptions, which mentioned three, four, and, more infrequently, fifteen doors.69

248   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 7.12. Ignacio Marquina and Carmen de Antúnez, reconstruction model of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan: west door and partial view of the ball court. From Ignacio Marquina, El Templo Mayor de México, 39, photo 7. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1960. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 7.13. Chichen Itza: Mercado, elevation. From Ignacio Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, 884, Plate 272. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia/ Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1964. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

In the model, the doors took the form of wide, colonnaded entrances (Fig. 7.12). Although buildings with similar characteristics had been found at Tula, the columns in Marquina’s project more closely resembled Puuc-style architecture. Supports at Tula take the form of pillars or of statues carved in the round. The gates in his model are reminiscent of the impressive colonnades of the Mercado at Chichen Itza, which Marquina included in Arquitectura prehispánica (Fig. 7.13).70

249   ■  Re-creating the Past

Main Pyramid with the Temples of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc Marquina placed the Main Pyramid with the Temples of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc in such a way that its center corresponds to the corner of today’s Guatemala and Argentina Streets (Fig. 7.2, nos. 1 and 2). His main sources of evidence were Lucas Alamán’s seventh dissertation, Manuel Gamio’s excavations, Cortés’s letter, and Sahagún’s plan.71 According to sixteenth-century sources such as Durán and Tezozomoc, the temple had been located on a lot that at the time was occupied by the house of Alonso de Ávila.72 Alamán believed that the dwelling stood at the corner of Relox and Santa Teresa Streets, which correspond to Guatemala and Argentina.73 In Marquina’s opinion, Gamio’s 1915 excavations supported this inference.74 Due to the archaeological evidence and the central position of the pyramid in the Cortés and Sahagún plans, the architect placed the edifice at the meeting point of the causeways in the reconstruction plan. The 1978–1989 excavations confirmed Marquina’s location of the main pyramid as well as his supposition that the building uncovered by Gamio was the Temple of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc.75 To calculate the dimensions of the main pyramid, Marquina averaged the measurements given by the chroniclers, obtaining a length of 100 meters.76 The sources only provided the length of the front of the building, so he used his estimate only for the west side of the structure. To determine the length of the other three sides, he relied on the measurements of the great pyramids of Tlatelolco and Tenayuca, which exhibit a ratio of 1:08 between the front and the other three sides. The INAH excavations unearthed the platform and the pyramidal base of Stage IV, which measures 61.20 meters from the lowest step of the extreme western side associated with Stage IVb to the northeast extreme of the platform marked by a serpent head.77 According to López Luján, only inside Stage VI of the building were structural columns that distributed the weight evenly. These were large “cylinders 170 cm in diameter reinforced by wooden stakes, in which vertical layers of gray andesite, tezontle, and dirt alternated.” 78 In October 1981 the excavation team uncovered parts of the north wall of the Templo Mayor along with the south façade of the House of the Eagles and four associated temples.79 In the plan of the excavations dated December 1981, the measurement from the westernmost stairs of the pyramid on the southwest, associated with Stage VI, to the section on the east in which these supports appear on the plan is approximately 84.72 meters. The platform measures 77.52 meters from the south limit of Stage IV to the remains of the north wall associated with this stage.80 Thus Marquina’s calculations of the extension of the temple approximate the excavations’ results. According to López Luján, in

250   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Stage VII the Mexicas expanded the pyramid only upward, so it is reasonable to calculate the dimensions of the platform based on Stage VI (Fig. 7.11).81 Spanish chroniclers described the central pyramid as a solid platform crowned by two sanctuaries placed side by side in the back of an open courtyard. Marquina explained that at the time he designed his plan few pyramids with intact temples remained. Specifically he mentioned Tlatelolco described as having two temples in sixteenth-century chronicles, Huatusco with a wellpreserved extant temple, Castillo de Teayo with remains of one temple, and the pyramid of Tenayuca, which he believed had two temples because of its double staircase. Surprisingly, he omitted mention of the small pyramid of Santa Cecilia Acatitlán, with its well-preserved shrine on top.82 The INAH excavations of the precinct confirmed the form of Templo Mayor as a twin temple pyramid with a double staircase as Marquina envisioned it.

The Temple of Quetzalcoatl In Marquina’s reconstruction, the Temple of Quetzalcoatl appears between the streets República del Brasil and República Argentina, facing the Templo Mayor (Fig. 7.2, no. 8). The center of the building corresponds to the east-west axis of the main pyramid. Although many chronicles described this temple, none of them specified its location within the precinct. To position this building Marquina relied entirely on Sahagún’s plan, arguing that a figure that appears standing on a pyramidal base in front of the Temple of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc represents Quetzalcoatl because of costume details such as the bag, the cross, and the incense burner. Eloise Quiñones Keber ascertained that postconquest manuscripts showed no standard costume for the god.83 David Carrasco later suggested that in the Postclassic period “Quetzalcoatl” was an office, a title from which certain leaders derived their authority by association with Toltec culture, and not a singular god/king. H.  B. Nicholson maintained that Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl was a historical figure that later became fused with multiple deities.84 Quetzalcoatl was linked to the priestly orders and to the nobility. The two highest priestly offices were called quequetzalcoa (successors of Quezalcoatl) and were entrusted with the care of the temples of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc.85 Like the standard-bearers in the same drawing, the image of the priest in the Primeros memoriales plan may have indicated the location of the Temple of Quetzalcoatl. The draftsman used this technique inconsistently and depicted architecture in addition to human figures, so it is just as likely that the priest referred to rituals associated with the twin temples.

251   ■  Re-creating the Past The temple in Marquina’s reconstruction consists of an elevated platform combining pyramidal and semicircular forms, surmounted by a round building (Figs. 7.14, 7.2). A staircase provides access to the upper structure, which faces east like the main façade of the building. Marquina’s literary sources include Juan de Torquemada, the Codex Ramírez, Francisco Cervantes de Salazar, and Toribio Motolinía.86 All these writers except Motolinía described the Temple of Quetzalcoatl as a high platform crowned by a round temple with a low entrance. Motolinía differentiated between two types of round structures: those that were “round and low and had a low floor” and those that were high and mounted on platforms. Only the latter were dedicated to Quetzalcoatl.87 Marquina combined both types of round structures in his design, after the round temples from Calixtlahuaca, Cempoala, and Malinalco. The first two buildings were believed to be dedicated to Quetzalcoatl because of their round form; Marquina’s attention to the third one seems to have been an aesthetic choice.88 At that time scholars hesitated to link the temple at Malinalco to Quetzalcoatl because of war-related decorations of jaguars and eagles.89 Later studies revealed early colonial representations of Quetzalcoatl as a warrior.90 Accordingly, the buildings dedicated to him may have war-related attributes. This information, however, was unavailable to Marquina. Archaeologists attributed the building at Calixtlahuaca to EhecatlQuetzalcoatl on the basis of an image of the god that was found near the northeast angle of the platform.91 The exact location of this object in relation to the building’s construction stages was not mentioned anywhere in the literature. This information is crucial, as offerings may be related to specific building stages and not to the edifice as a whole.92 It is possible that researchers associated this temple with Ehecatl to the exclusion of other offerings, because no other details were specified. Little evidence linked the building commonly referred to as Fortín del Dios del Aire (small fort of the God of the Wind), located at Cempoala, to Ehecatl. Like the two round buildings discussed above, the Fortín may have had warrelated associations. The structure is located in front of a smaller building with three entrances toward the east (Fig. 7.15). At the extremes of the smaller edifice are pedestals supporting clay sculptures of seated dogs or coyotes. The edifice is crowned by flint merlons in the form of knives.93 The two buildings appear to form an architectural set, so it is likely that the round temple was related to a war deity. Marquina seems to have relied on a hypothetical reconstruction of the building, as photographs of the original archaeological remains reveal few of its architectural details (Fig. 7.16).94 In conclusion, Marquina had scant archeological evidence on which to base

Figure 7.14. Ignacio Marquina and Carmen de Antúnez, Reconstruction model of

the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan: Temple of Quezalcoatl. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Photo: © 305973 conaculta.inah. sinafo.fm.mexico.

Figure 7.15. Cempoala: reconstruction model of the system of the Wind God according to the plans by José García Payón. Model by R. Solano. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Photo: © 312808 conaculta.inah. sinafo. fm.mexico.

Figure 7.16. Cempoala, Veracruz: Temple of the Wind God, ca. 1928. From Estado

actual de los principales edificios arqueológicos de México: Contribución al xxiii Congreso de Americanistas, 52, photo 3. Mexico City: Talleres Gráficos de la Nación, Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1928. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

254   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture his reconstruction of the Temple of Quezalcoatl. He did have a keen sense of how to use the information available to him to design impressive architecture. The building in his model synthesized the most notable features of the round buildings from each site: the unification of elevated platforms and round structures from Cempoala and Calixtlahuaca, the merlons from the Fortín del Dios del Aire, and the low entrance in the form of a serpent mouth from the temple at Malinalco. Excavations in the area of the precinct conducted in 1968–1969 and 1975– 1976 uncovered several round buildings. A small round structure found by Jordi Gussinyer corresponds most closely to the position of the temple in Marquina’s reconstruction.95 Scholars identified this building as the Temple of Ehecatl until the later discovery under the floor of the cathedral of a larger round structure that is now associated with this god (Fig. 7.17). Rubén Cabrera Castro dates this structure to the last construction stage of the temple precinct.96 Neither this building nor the smaller adoratory found by Gussinyer

Figure 7.17. Constanza Vega Sosa et al., reconstruction of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan. From Constanza Vega Sosa, ed., El recinto sagrado de México Tenochtitlan: Excavaciones 1968–69 y 1975–76, no pagination. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública (sep) e Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1979. Drawing: Arq. Leonora Ventura. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

255   ■  Re-creating the Past

Figure 7.18. Reconstruction of the Templo Mayor. Museo del Templo Mayor, Mexico City, 1991. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

corresponds to the central position of the Ehecatl-Quetzalcoatl temple in the INAH reconstruction. The plan and model of the temple precinct made after the 1978–1982 excavations (Fig. 7.18) and revised in 1999 also show two symmetrically arranged round adoratories, one on either side, behind the larger temple of Quetzalcoatl, a grouping absent in reconstructions based on excavation reports (Figs. 7.17, 7.19).97 The central location of the Temple of Quetzalcoatl and the strict symmetry of the neighboring buildings suggest the lasting influence of Marquina’s design. In 1999 there was already ample evidence for the topographically attentive designs of Mesoamerican ceremonial architecture.98 The designers’ predilection for Marquina’s exceptional symmetry suggests a deep-seated desire to make the evidence conform to traditional academic principles of taste.

Figure 7.19. Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, Francisco Hinojosa, and J. Álvaro Barrera

Rivera, Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan, reconstruction including architectural remains found below the Metropolitan Cathedral. From Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, Francisco Hinojosa, and J. Álvaro Barrera Rivera, “Excavaciones arqueológicas en la Catedral de México.” Arqueología Mexicana 6, no. 31 (May–June 1998): 14. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

257   ■  Re-creating the Past

The Temple of Tezcatlipoca According to Durán, the Temple of Tezcatlipoca stood in a lot later occupied by the archbishop’s palace.99 Cervantes de Salazar confirmed the existence of an unidentified temple in that location.100 Marquina complemented this information with research by the nineteenth-century historian Manuel Orozco y Berra, which suggested that the archbishop’s palace was located on Moneda Street.101 Both Durán and the Codex Ramírez describe the Temple of Tezcatlipoca as a complex of buildings arranged around a patio. Durán mentions a tall and richly decorated edifice with a set of eighty stairs leading to an ample courtyard located in front of a smaller temple with a wide and low door.102 Modeled on the temple at Huatusco, the building in Marquina’s reconstruction takes the form of a pyramidal structure surmounted by a single chamber (Figs. 7.20, 7.2, no. 3).

Figure 7.20. Ignacio Marquina and Carmen de Antúnez, reconstruction model of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan: view from the Temple of Tezcatlipoca. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Photo: ©305967 conaculta.inah. sinafo.fm.mexico.

258   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture The chronicles describe the neighboring buildings as a habitational complex for priests, with no attention to individual structures.103 Marquina assumed that the edifices resembled the great halls found to the south and west of Temple B at Tula, as the Mexicas emulated Toltec architectural traditions. Nevertheless, at the time Marquina designed his reconstruction, little was known about the original form of the halls at Tula. The buildings had been completely destroyed by a great fire, and only the floors with the traces of the pillars were preserved.104 The 1978–1982 excavations at Tenochtitlan discovered several small temples, three on the north side (Fig. 7.21, buildings A, B, and C) and one south of the main pyramid (F), as well as the remains of two associated ritual building complexes (E and G). Matos Moctezuma dates the buildings now visible to phase VI of the Templo Mayor, although each had three or four constructive phases.105

Figure 7.21. Perspective, House of the Eagles and Buildings A, B, C, and D. Drawing

by Victor Rangel. From Leonardo López Luján, La casa de las Águilas: Un ejemplo de la arquitectura religiosa de Tenochtitlan, vol. 2, 237. 2 vols. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes/Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2006. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

259   ■  Re-creating the Past Archaeologists identified building E as the House of the Eagles on the basis of Toltec-style bench reliefs that represent warriors and four life-sized ceramic sculptures, two of eagle warriors and two of the god Mictlantecuhtli, “Lord of the Dead.”106 The building has evidence of four building stages, of which the first corresponds to Stage III of the Templo Mayor. The reconstruction of the House of the Eagles resembles the reconstruction of great open halls at Tula, such as the Palacio Quemado, in that in the south façade a portico supported by pillars precedes the interior spaces. Although 50 percent of the building is still buried under Justo Sierra Street, the reconstruction of the south façade is based on the archaeological remains of Stage II of the building (ca. 1469), consisting of a large platform, two staircases (one accessing the north and the other one the east wing of the building), a portico, and five rooms (Fig. 7.21).107 Scholars have attributed diverse functions to the House of the Eagles, from palace to meeting hall for the order of the Eagle Warriors. Leonardo López Luján, who directed the most recent excavations and conducted an extensive study of the building, concluded that the edifice was the setting for both the vigil for deceased dignitaries and the sacrificial rites of a new ruler before his accession.108 López Luján’s deduction is based primarily on the proximity of the edifice to the Templo Mayor, an analysis of the spatial disposition of rooms, and the building’s decorative program. The architectural complex on the south of the Templo Mayor is more difficult to identity, although López Luján assumes that its position symmetrically corresponds to the location of the House of the Eagles and is of analogous dimensions.109 A stairway, part of the northern façade, and part of an interior room with polychrome bench reliefs decorated with interlocking lines and circles or chalchihuitls constitute the totality of the architectural remains.110 Using the scale on the plan, the L-shaped open portico of the House of the Eagles at Stage 4 measures approximately 34.85 meters across the long side and about 24.85 on the short side.111 The size of the portico suggests that the building must have had considerable dimensions. Two red temples flanking the ritual complexes were earlier identified with Tezcatlipoca and most recently (in Olmedo Vera’s investigations) with Macuilxochitl-Xochipilli. In light of these findings, Marquina’s location of these buildings in the reconstruction was approximate: the House of the Eagles is on the north and roughly corresponds to building 6, a meeting hall, in Marquina’s plan (Fig. 7.2). An unidentified building (G) corresponds to the position of the Temple of Tezcatlipoca and its associated buildings in Marquina’s plan. Although the archaeologists assume that this building is identical to the House of the Eagles

260   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture in form and position relative to the main pyramid, this assumption is yet to be verified archaeologically.

The Temple of the Sun and the Temple of Xipe In Marquina’s plan, the Temple of the Sun and the Temple of Xipe are joined in a compact building on the southwest corner of the precinct (Fig. 7.2, no. 15). The complex consists of a rectangular plaza enclosing the Temple of the Sun and a small platform, identified as the stone for gladiatorial sacrifice, facing its front façade. The open space is framed by a residential building for the Knights of the Sun on the west and by the Temple of Xipe on the east. Massive walls unite these two buildings, so it is difficult to determine where one building begins and the other ends. This visual ambiguity in the reconstruction reflects a comparable lack of clarity in the written sources. In his description of gladiatorial sacrifice, which took place in front of the Temple of Xipe, Durán writes: Still tied, they [the captives] were taken to a place of sacrifice, which was called Cuauhxicalli, a smooth and plastered courtyard measuring seven yards around. In this enclosure stood two stones: one was called Temalacatl, which means “stone wheel”; and the other, Cuauhxicalli, which means “wooden tub” or “vessel.” These two round stones were fixed within that courtyard one next to the other.112

The same chronicler describes the Temple of Xipe as follows: The shrine or hall where this idol was kept was small but richly decorated. In front of this room was a stuccoed courtyard some seven or eight yards square. There stood the two fixed stones; to ascend to them there were four small stairways consisting of four steps each. On one was painted the image of the sun and on the other the count of the years, months, and days. Many rooms surrounded this courtyard. In these were kept the skins of those who had been flayed during the forty days.113

In his next chapter Durán refers to the Eagle Warriors: “This military order had its own temple and house fully decorated, containing many halls and chambers. There the warriors retired and served the image of the sun.” Later in the same chapter he describes the Temple of the Sun: In the upper part of the temple there was a room of medium size next to the courtyard we described in the last chapter; it was about forty by fifty feet and was handsomely stuccoed. On one side of this courtyard stood the hall I have mentioned, and above an altar there hung on the wall a painting done with a brush on cloth: the image of the sun. This figure was in the form of a butterfly with wings and around it a golden circle emitting radiant beams and glowing lines; and the whole chamber was decorated with splendor and magnificence. Approximately forty steps led up to this room.114

261   ■  Re-creating the Past These citations make it evident that Durán refers to the Temple of the Sun and to the Temple of Xipe both as two separate structures and as a single building. Sahagún mentions a Temple of Yopico (Xipe) and a Yopico Calmecac among the seventy-eight buildings of the temple precinct, but he neither describes the structures nor indicates their location. In his list he makes no reference to the Temple of the Sun.115 Marquina’s choice for the position of these buildings relies on a combination of sources. Durán maintained that the Temple of the Sun “stood exactly on the same place now occupied by the [old] Cathedral of Mexico.”116 As discussed earlier, it is difficult to establish the relationship between the Temple of the Sun and the Temple of Xipe, but their frequent association in Durán’s text suggests that the two buildings were situated in close proximity to each other. In his study of the Primeros memoriales plan, Eduard Seler identified the round structure on the summit of the pyramidal structure on the right of the skull rack as the Temalacatl. Marquina thus assumed that this pyramid was the Temple of the Sun and the building on the lower right of the plan the Temple of Xipe.117 Scholars’ identification of the human figure next to these buildings as Xipe on the basis of his costume strengthened Marquina’s argument.118 Lacking any architectural remains to verify the information from the chronicles, Marquina used the stones of Tizoc and the Aztec calendar as evidence for the location of the buildings. Both stones were found in the 1790s in the vicinity of the cathedral. The form and relief decorations on each stone led Seler to believe that they were the two stones that Durán described in association with the Temple of the Sun.119 Given the scarcity of the material evidence and the ambiguities in the literature, Marquina’s design for the Temple of the Sun and the Temple of Xipe stands as an ingenious architectural solution. The excavations in the Metropolitan Cathedral (1975–1976) unearthed a large pyramidal structure on the crossing of the Sagrario Metropolitano. This building is referred in the excavation reports as “Structure A” (Fig. 7.17). The building had two construction stages, the last of which was contemporaneous with the last stage of construction in the Great Pyramid.120 Constanza Vega Sosa identified this building as the Temple of the Sun on the basis of three stones with the glyph chalchihuitl, two on the north talud and one on the west talud of the last construction stage.121 Chalchihuitl is the symbol for green or precious stone. According to scholar Marc Thouvenot, Tonatiuh (the sun) is one of the gods who carries the most green stone ornaments in his representations in the codices. Vega Sosa argues that the colors that appear most frequently on the surface of the glyphs of Structure A (bluish green, red, and white) also relate to the sun. Green is a symbol for greenstone, used metaphorically to indicate things precious, red the color of the body of the god. The com-

262   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture bination of red and white symbolizes eagle feathers, which also refer to the sun. The Aztecs called the rising sun Cuauhtlehuanitl (eagle that ascends); the setting sun was called Cuauhtemoc (eagle that descends).122 Vega Sosa’s analysis of building decorations, an approach seldom used by scholars before her study, complemented her interpretation of the architecture based on form and associated offerings. A smaller pyramidal structure oriented toward the east (Structure C in Vega Sosa’s excavation plans), located to the west of the Temple of the Sun, corresponds to the position of the Temple of Xipe in Seler’s version of the Primeros memoriales plan (Fig. 7.10). To date the building has not been identified. On the east of the Templo Mayor, however, two small structures (H and I) illustrate visual ambiguity reminiscent of Durán’s narrative.123 According to López Luján, these buildings are superimposed but cannot be considered two stages of the same construction. They differ in relative location, proportion, and size. Building I was built on top of building H with some sideways displacement. Building H corresponds to Stage V of the Templo Mayor, and Building I, which has three phases, to Stages VI and VII.124 The small size of these structures makes it unlikely that they correspond to the Temple of the Sun described in sixteenth-century chronicles, yet they demonstrate that the confusion expressed in these sources could have been due to constructions ambiguously built, perhaps for ceremonial reasons.

The Ball Court In Marquina’s reconstruction plan the ball court appears on the west side of the precinct aligned with the central axis of the main pyramid (Fig. 7.2, building 13). Marquina cited Durán and Sahagún in his explanation of his design, although neither author specified the location of the building. Durán discussed the nature of the ball game and the form of ball courts in general, but he made no specific reference to the ball court at Tenochtitlan.125 Sahagún mentioned the ball court in his list of buildings within the precinct: “The 39th edifice was called Teotlachco; this was a ball game located within the same temple; here they killed captives whom they called Amapanme.” In his discussion of the feast of Panquetzalitzi celebrated in honor of Huitzilopochtli, Sahagún noted that “they [slaves] descended from Huitzilopochtli’s Cu, one with the ornaments of the god Painal, and they killed four of those slaves in the ball game that was in the patio which they called Teotlachtli.”126 From these passages it is only possible to conclude that the ball court was located near the Temple of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc.

263   ■  Re-creating the Past After the Primeros memoriales illustration, Marquina aligned the ball court with the central axis of the pyramid, but he changed its orientation. If we assume that the position of the great pyramid is the same in both plans, Sahagún’s ball court runs from east to west, whereas Marquina placed the longitudinal axis of the structure from north to south. Marquina’s choice was aesthetically motivated. His reconstruction offered a visitor entering the precinct from the west door an attractive sojourn before reaching the main pyramid. Had he placed his ball court as in the Primeros memoriales plan, the viewer would be confronted mainly with the backs of buildings before arriving at the center of the precinct. No formal study of ball courts existed before 1960. Marquina selected aspects from extant structures at Tula, Xochicalco, and Chichen Itza for his design because he assumed that all Mesoamerican ball courts were similar.127 As the site of Tula was historically related to the Aztecs, we would have expected the designer to follow the model from that site closely; rather, his model for the building (Figs. 7.3, 7.12) resembles the impressive great ball court at Chichen Itza, including its colonnaded structures. In addition to greatly beautifying the court, the colonnades serve the purpose of framing and reinforcing the centrality of the great pyramid. Columns are lacking at the ball courts at both Tula and Xochicalco. Excavations in the area of the cathedral corroborated Marquina’s location of the ball court, if not the form and orientation of the building. The archaeologists reported finding under the apse walls identified as part of the southeastern end of the ball court and some years later, under the Capilla de las Ánimas, the southern extreme of the western end and part of the talud of this wall. The remains are decorated with paintings, including a skull painted red, black, and yellow in the southeast and another one painted red, white, and black in the southwest.128 The ball court as imaged in the excavation reports is I-shaped and the most recent phase (ca. 1480) runs in an east-west direction as in Sahagún’s plan. The INAH reconstruction of the precinct originally retained the monumental size and the colonnades in Marquina’s design.

Skull Rack Sixteenth-century chronicles mention a large tzompantli (skull rack), located in front of the Temple of Huitzilopochtli.129 Durán described this monument as a platform supporting a row of thick poles drilled for the purpose of displaying human skulls pierced through the temples and strung on thin rods.130 Marquina complemented documentary descriptions with archaeological evidence

264   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture from the remains of tzompantlis at Chichen Itza and at Tenochtitlan (Fig. 7.2, building 14). Archaeological remains from those two sites suggest that the form and construction methods of the bases of the tzompantlis may have differed from site to site, like ball courts. At Chichen Itza the tzompantli rests on a great T-shaped platform measuring 60 meters by 12 meters. In its lower part the base exhibits a talud and tablero profile with Teotihuacanesque proportions. The talud of the building and the belt that limits it are decorated with reliefs of skulls pierced by cylindrical rods. The tablero features eagles and warriors holding human heads. The discovery of a Chac Mool inside the platform indicates that parts of this building were hollow or filled with softer materials.131 Batres discovered several monuments along Guatemala Street, which are commonly identified as parts of Tenochtitlan’s tzompantli.132 The first of these finds consisted of a platform decorated with rows of skulls carved in high relief (Fig. 7.22). The platform’s profile differs from the base of the tzompantli at Chichen Itza in the verticality of all its elements. Batres reported that the monument consisted of two constructions bound together. Later in the year he

Figure 7.22. Tenochtitlan: tzompantli found by Leopoldo Batres in 1900. From Ignacio Marquina, El Templo Mayor de México, 83. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1960. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

265   ■  Re-creating the Past discovered two other monuments that exhibited the same decoration, patterns, and construction materials.133 Although he referred to each structure as an “altar,” it is likely that the three formed part of one building. Subsequent excavations discovered other monuments that scholars believed to be tzompantlis. Gussinyer identified Structure H in the metro excavations as a tzompantli, and Matos Moctezuma excavated a platform on the north of the Templo Mayor (Fig. 7.21, Structure B) with two stairways facing respectively east and west and decorated with more than 240 tenons of plastered tezontle representing human skulls. This building had three construction stages, the oldest of which dates to 1475. The one on view today corresponds to Stage VI of the Templo Mayor.134 Given the central role of the Templo Mayor in sacrificial rituals, it is possible that there were several tzompantlis, as Marquina’s original plan of 1951 indicated.

Other Buildings Colonial chronicles left no specific descriptions for the small temples. Marquina explained that he modeled these buildings on architectural illustrations in the Primeros memoriales, which vary only slightly. This method was reasonable in the absence of other evidence. Nothing justifies the symmetrical arrangement, however, and the use of rhythmic proportions for the buildings in the reconstruction plan. Notice, for instance, that in Marquina’s plan (Fig. 7.2) the east and west sides of the main pyramid measure approximately twice the length of edifices 3 or 4 and that these buildings in turn duplicate each other in size and proportion on opposite sides of the Templo Mayor. Buildings 9, 10, 11, and 12 also replicate each other. The choice of sources that Marquina made for the calmecac reveals his aesthetic preference for symmetry. Although he based his design for this complex (Fig. 7.2, no. 18) on buildings from Teotihuacan, he could have selected the calmecac from Calixtlahuaca as a model. This last complex would better represent Aztec architecture as it was rebuilt during the reign of Moctezuma Ilhuicamina.135 The arrangement of the rooms within this complex is less orderly than in the buildings at Teotihuacan and Tula. Similarities between the plan of the building and the distribution of rooms in the annexes of Edifice B at Tula notwithstanding, the calmecac in the reconstruction more closely resembles the plan of the Nunnery at Chichen Itza, as envisioned by Marquina in Arquitectura prehispánica.136 Later excavations associated the remains of an aqueduct with the tozpalatl (pool or spring) in Marquina’s plan (Fig. 7.2, no. 19).137 Marquina had no evidence for the location of this sacred spring.

266   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Conclusion to the Reconstruction Marquina had reliable archaeological evidence only to determine the position of the main pyramid. His studies of documentary sources and the architecture of other sites as well as his imagination and intuition guided his selections for the location and design of the other buildings. Later excavations confirmed the accuracy of Marquina’s location of the Temple of the Sun and the ball court in his reconstruction. Archaeologists assume that his inclusion of two symmetrical meeting halls on the north and south of the main pyramid as well and his chosen position for the Temple of Tezcatlipoca were correct, although only the position of the north meeting hall (building E) has been confirmed archaeologically. The remains of the building on the south are as yet insufficient for a secure identification of its function and an accurate representation of its form. In his designs Marquina demonstrated a propensity to draw on the most impressive examples of Mesoamerican architecture, which meant that his reconstructions were not always historically accurate. The strict symmetry and geometrical exactness (such as the perfect squared forms of the pyramid platforms) in Marquina’s model are rare in Mesoamerican architecture. The plans of the Aztec sites of Cempoala, Tlatelolco, Teopanzolco, and some of the architectural complexes at Calixtlahuaca show no central axis and variance in the spacing and orientation of the buildings. The closest precedent for such symmetrical site planning is the ceremonial center of Teotihuacan, and even there the symmetry is imperfect. Although the rooms approximate orthogonal design in individual buildings such as the Hall of the Thousand Columns at Tula, the arrangement of buildings on the site makes little attempt at bilateral symmetry as in Marquina’s reconstruction (Figs. 7.2, 7.3). All these sites had been excavated at least partially by 1960. Instead of using these plans as models, Marquina chose a geometrical, proportional, and symmetrical plan for his reconstruction and ignored evidence that suggested the contrary. In contrast to the asymmetrical and nonorthogonal planning and design evident in published excavation reports for the precinct of Tenochtitlan and the neighboring site of Tlatelolco, the model of the temple precinct on exhibit at the Templo Mayor until 2006 exhibited symmetrical organization and perfect geometries reminiscent of Marquina’s plan.138 While the symmetrical location of two red temples north and south of the Temple Major is founded on archaeological evidence, other elements (such as the building corresponding to building 18 in Marquina’s plan, the central placement of the Temple of Ehecatl-Quetzalcoatl, the symmetrical arrangement of the buildings on the north and south of this temple, and especially the inclusion of the identical pyramidal structures corresponding to buildings 9, 10, 11, and 12 in Marquina’s plan)

267   ■  Re-creating the Past all derive from Marquina’s reconstruction. All of the reconstructions of the Templo Mayor have retained the last four buildings clearly attributed to Marquina in Villalobos’s list of the buildings in his plan. Serrato-Combe includes these buildings in his visualization (Fig. 7.23), although he suggests that the buildings are hypothetical by including an illustration which isolates them from the rest of his reconstruction by projecting them above the other buildings (Fig. 7.24). In sum, all of these reconstructions display unacknowledged

Figure 7.23. Antonio Serrato-Combe, reconstruction of the temple precinct of

Tenochtitlan, 2001. From Antonio Serrato-Combe, The Aztec Templo Mayor: A Visualization, 6. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 2001. Published with permission of the University of Utah Press.

Figure 7.24. Antonio Serrato-Combe, reconstruction of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan: view isolating the four temples in front of the main pyramid, 2001. From Antonio Serrato-Combe, The Aztec Templo Mayor: A Visualization, 28. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 2001. Published with permission of the University of Utah Press.

268   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture but persistent aesthetic preferences which, like those of all art, carry political implications. The pairing of Aztec architecture with the orderly principles of Beaux-Arts design associates the Aztec precinct with the established values of high culture, making the reconstruction and by extension the indigenous architecture more digestible for the Western-educated viewer. Just as the rulers in Sigüenza y Góngora’s arch were modeled on classical virtues familiar to educated seventeenth-century viewers, the principles of design favored in these reconstructions also attempt to place Mexican antiquity on a par with ancient European models.

Marquina’s Plan and Beaux-Arts Design The academic tradition of French architecture has taken two primary attitudes in regard to architectural design: a conservative one that holds that good architecture rests upon universally recognized, teachable principles and a modern rejection of this view. The first approach dominated almost uninterruptedly throughout the history of the French academy. This conservative school employs models from the architecture of classical antiquity or buildings derived from that tradition. It favors a formalistic approach to nature, monumentality, and a mechanical mode of presentation in drawing. A formal approach to nature is discernible in the use of geometric rather than organic forms and by centralized order and symmetry achieved primarily through the use of an axis. Monumentality usually implies great scale and durability of materials. Conservative Beaux-Arts drawings exhibit clear outlines and mathematical precision achieved through the use of drafting instruments, deemphasizing individual style and pictorial realism.139 The imprint of the Western classical tradition is visible in Marquina’s reconstruction in the arrangement rather than in the form of the buildings. The use of an axis and the harmonic repetition of geometric forms within the plan were practically nonexistent in post-Classic central Mexican planning. These qualities were associated with European architecture and city planning, especially after the Renaissance.140 The strict calculations that are visible in the proportions of Marquina’s buildings and plan reveal a formalistic approach to nature characteristic of Beaux-Arts design. Mesoamerican peoples, by contrast, placed great importance on the natural landscape as well as on astronomical considerations for building and planning.141 Marquina modeled his version of the temple precinct on monumental archaeological remains of major Aztec sites, such as Tenochtitlan and Tenayuca. In addition, his reconstruction emulated the most impressive examples of Mesoamerican architecture, sometimes without regard for group or period.

269   ■  Re-creating the Past The geometric and precise rendering of his reconstruction plan fits within the formality of Beaux-Arts designs. Marquina’s illusionistic and colorful illustrations follow a pictorial style of representation that was characteristic of the École des Beaux-Arts during the last twenty years of the nineteenth century.142 In his plan Marquina employed the principles of architectural design that he had learned in school at least twenty years earlier, but he must also have considered the problem of introducing ancient Mexican architecture to a public (local and foreign) accustomed to European planning and building traditions. For this purpose the faithful reconstruction of Aztec architecture was less important than the elaboration of a comprehensible composite that illustrated major accomplishments from a collective past. Like Hernán Cortés five centuries earlier, Marquina needed a representation simultaneously European and indigenous to attract his intended public. In his solution the architecture represented indigenous antiquity, while the plan provided the viewer with a familiar syntax. Marquina’s project was consistent with the goal of many contemporary artists and intellectuals of creating and fomenting the public’s appreciation of a genuinely Mexican art. In a book entitled Forjando patria (Making a Homeland, 1916) Manuel Gamio, Marquina’s colleague at the Department of Monuments, ardently argued that such art was essential to the development of a national identity and proposed systematic ways to achieve it. According to Gamio, for a group of people living in the same territory to become a nation, they should exhibit ethnic unity, share a common language, and produce similar cultural manifestations. Examples of countries that could be considered nations included Germany, France, and Japan.143 Mexico’s population was divided by language, culture, and physical environment. These differences were so striking that Mexico appeared to be an aggregate of many small nations. As an example of such regionalism, Gamio reported that Yucatán had its own national anthem and that within the same region the beer from Orizaba was considered an imported product.144 The population also was divided in matters of artistic taste. Indigenous peoples continued to make traditional art forms, but the Spanish had influenced these forms. The middle class kept and cultivated European art that had been affected by traditional indigenous forms, and the aristocracy favored only European art. Disdainful of upper-class snobbishness, Gamio proposed to unify the forms of art cultivated by the indigenous peoples with those favored by the middle class: The passage of time and the economic improvement of the Indians will contribute to the ethnic fusion of the population, but the cultural fusion of both classes will effectively contribute to the same purpose. It is therefore essential to work toward that goal. The method and the system in matters of art—artistic produc-

270   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture tion by Indians and by middle-class individuals—must be systematized as much as possible. It is necessary to bring the aesthetic preferences of the former closer to European-looking art, and to impel the latter toward indigenous art. It is essential that both the Indians and the middle class know the historical antecedents of the art that they consider closer to them and of the art into which it is incorporated. Clearly, the middle-class individual is the one who must take the initiative to learn the technique and the character of pre-Hispanic and contemporary Indian art since today he has easier access to education than the Indian. When the middle class and the Indians share the same criteria in matters of art, we will be culturally redeemed. A national art which is one of the great foundations of nationalism will exist.145

Gamio’s rational approach to the formation of taste stemmed from his belief that it was impossible to experience aesthetic pleasure in the presence of objects that manifested unfamiliar aesthetic codes. In his opinion, positive responses to such objects occurred only if the observer mentally related them to familiar ones. He argued that it was impossible to experience emotion in response to pre-Hispanic art, because observers lacked experience to qualify it or appreciate it. In his view the public’s appreciation of this art could only be achieved through analogies with Western art.146 In light of Gamio’s theory, Marquina’s reconstruction of the temple precinct of Tenochtitlan could be interpreted as a tool to introduce Mesoamerican architecture to Mexico’s middle class. The exhibition of the reconstruction model in the National Museum also made it available to the upper class and to tourists, who, like the intended public, were likely to be more familiar with European than with pre-Hispanic art. To present Mesoamerican architecture to spectators in a familiar way without detracting from the building’s originality it was most expedient to arrange the edifices in a Western plan. To incorporate European elements in the structures or in the architectural decorations would have altered the autochthonous aspect of the buildings and would have been unacceptable as an alternative. After all, reconstructions are expected to be faithful to their models. It is difficult to ascertain whether Marquina deliberately applied Gamio’s ideas to his reconstruction of the Templo Mayor. Marquina’s working relationship with Gamio suggests that he must have been familiar with his theories.147 Regardless of the extent of Gamio’s influence on the reconstruction, Marquina’s integration of local architecture and Beaux-Arts planning principles effectively engaged his public. By contrast, the previous twentieth-century reconstruction of the precinct by Ignacio Alcocer (Fig. 7.4) languished in obscurity. Unlike Marquina, Alcocer failed to adapt his ideas of Aztec architecture and planning to established Europeanized tastes. Basing the position

271   ■  Re-creating the Past of the buildings in his plan on chronicle accounts, he bluntly displayed the results of his textual research with little attention to aesthetics or visual organization. He attempted to fit as many buildings as possible within the precinct walls, identifying each building by name within the plan. Most buildings are imaged as pyramidal structures, and halls take the form of simple rectangles. The visual disorganization of the design obscured the fact that it served as the main source for Marquina’s location of buildings such as the palace of Axayacatl, the Temple of Texcatlipoca, and the Temple of the Sun. Because Alcocer’s plan showed no concern for symmetry or harmony it was unassimilable as an aesthetic object for the Western-educated viewer. Where Marquina became somewhat of a celebrity, Alcocer’s career was marked by economic instability and final disenchantment with scholarship.148 Marquina was not alone in his integration of Mesoamerican and European architecture. The 1920s witnessed the creation of a number of buildings combining Mesoamerican and modernist tendencies, reminiscent of Marquina’s reconstruction in concept rather than in form. These buildings were among the first architectural commissions of a group of Mexican architects who had been introduced to modern architecture as students and were inspired to create a genuinely Mexican architectural idiom. Carlos Obregón Santacilia and Carlos Tarditi’s Pavilion of Mexico and Monument to Cuauhtemoc (1922) in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and Manuel Amabilis’s Baroque Maya Pavilion at the Iberoamerican Exposition in Seville (1929) exemplify this work (Fig. 7.25).149 Marquina’s competition design for the Pavilion of Mexico at that exposition integrates Maya with Western architecture and suggests his affinities with this quest (Fig. 7.26).150 In contrast to Obregón Santacilia (who was largely inspired by German and Austrian modernistic currents as well as by art deco), Marquina employed Renaissance models in accordance with his Beaux-Arts training. Although Marquina’s book El Templo Mayor was published thirty years later, it is directly related to the architecture of that period. According to his daughter Susana, the idea for the reconstruction preceded the final design by many years.151 Nationalism and the quest to define a genuinely Mexican architecture prevailed in various forms during the remainder of the twentieth century. By responding to these two forces, Marquina’s reconstruction manifested the imperative cultural concerns of his lifetime. While he was concerned with the representation of the past to inspire future generations of Mexicans, other architects and intellectuals understood their task as one of integrating modern technologies into future visions of the nation. As in the late nineteenth century, this goal was not divorced from the revival of antiquity. Manuel Amabilis’s building for the 1929 Pavilion of Mexico in Seville, for example, displayed at its entrance two reliefs derived from Maya

272   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture dynastic stelae, of which one represented intellect and the other one physical labor. The image of physical labor (Fig. 7.27) shows industrial belts and pulleys next to a Maya ruler. The inclusion of these contraptions in the central space of the stela visually proposes that in modern Mexico technology should be as important as the ancient past. The next chapter examines works in new media; in contrast to Marquina’s reconstruction, they display their cosmopolitanism in visionary engagements with technology rather than in the reconstruction of the ancient past. Marquina’s reconstruction finds commonality with all of these efforts in its reach from the lived present to the world of another time, to imagine and forge the future of the nation.

Figure 7.25. Manuel Amabilis, Pavilion of Mexico at the Iberoamerican Exposition

in Seville, 1929: façade perspective. From Manuel Amabilis, El pabellón de México en la Exposición Iberoamericana de Sevilla, no pagination, Figure 6. Mexico City: Talleres Gráficos de la Nación, 1929. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 7.26. Ignacio Marquina, competition drawing for the Pavilion of Mexico at the Iberoamerican Exposition, Seville, 1929. Photo: Courtesy of Israel Katzman. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Figure 7.27. Manuel Amabilis, stela representing labor, Pavilion of Mexico at the Ibero-American Exposition, Seville, 1929. From Manuel Amabilis, El pabellón de México en la Exposición Iberoamericana de Sevilla, Figure 16. Mexico City: Talleres Gráficos de la Nación, 1929. conaculta–inah.–mex. Reproduced with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium

8 A F

Rafael Lozano-Hemmer’s “Relational Architectures”

During the period of December 26, 1999, to January 7, 2000, from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., Mexico’s City’s Zócalo was covered by an enormous canopy of light rays, visible from a distance of 15 kilometers. The rays changed position every six seconds, resulting in a new light design. Thousands of participants from four continents and from all the Mexican states created the patterns by manipulating an array of sophisticated technology. These contributions were part of a work of art titled Vectorial Elevation/Alzado Vectorial (Fig. 8.1), designed by Mexican Canadian artist Rafael Lozano-Hemmer on the occasion of Mexico’s government-sponsored celebration of the new millennium. Unlike the canonical compendium of Mexican art and architecture, Vectorial Elevation was ephemeral and abstract, in fact minimalist in appearance. In the twentieth century artists living and working in Mexico engaged with various modernist expressive currents, but abstraction was unusual, with notable exceptions such as the work of artists Gunther Gerzo and Vicente Rojo. Celebrated modern masters of Mexican architecture such as Pedro Ramírez Vázquez, Luis Barragán, Teodoro González de León, and Ricardo Legorreta frequently incorporate references to local building traditions into modernist idioms. Vectorial Elevation’s technological sophistication also separates it from much of Mexican art of the twentieth century. Although technology fascinated numerous Mexican visual artists, few experimented with it directly, with the exception of filmmakers. These differences may have made Lozano-Hemmer’s work attractive to the Mexican government at the close of the millennium. Literally and figuratively Vectorial Elevation integrated Mexico with the rest of the world. The work’s cosmopolitanism paralleled the progressive opening of the nation to the outside evident in the increasingly liberal policies toward foreign investments that successions of Mexican governments have implemented since the 1940s. Additionally, Vectorial Elevation’s fit into the reconfiguration of Mexico as prosperous and technologically competent that the administra274

Figure 8.1. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Vectorial Elevation: view, Mexico City, 2000. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

276   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture tion of President Ernesto Zedillo attempted to promote. But the piece did more than all that. The work of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer responds to social and political conditions precipitated by recent technological developments.1 Like estridentista writers in the early twentieth century, this artist replies to dominant visions of architecture, the city, the body, globalization, identity, and the future. LozanoHemmer’s interventions do not consist of statements, prescriptions, or recipes for better living. Instead he creates virtual openings, which he invites the user to explore performatively and in the process to imagine alternative physical, architectural, and urban bodies. Virtual here means not a disembodied data space but a realm of possibility inseparable from embodiment, after Deleuzian theorists Elizabeth Grosz and Brian Massumi.2 In contrast to traditional media that focus exclusively on the visual, interactive artworks engage the user’s body to varying degrees in the instantiation (seldom the creation) of the work. The active physical involvement of the participants with the art underscores their agency and signals the potential of a technologically compatible form of biopolitics. The absence of explicit messages in the works frustrates expectations of a didactic and directly political Latin American art. Lack of directness, however, does not preclude having political potential. To illustrate these points I work here with a selection of examples from the ongoing series entitled “Relational Architectures,” the artist’s most representative and numerous body of work (fifteen pieces to date) and return to Vectorial Elevation in the process.3

Precedents in the Artist’s Work Like other international artists, Lozano-Hemmer spent a significant part of his life abroad. Born in Mexico in 1967, he resided in Spain during his secondary school years. In 1989 he received a PhD in chemistry from Concordia University in Montreal, Canada, with a minor in art history and began his career as an artist in the same year. In 1990 he was already exhibiting his art professionally, including work in nontraditional media such as performance and radio.4 Before the commission of Vectorial Elevation, Lozano-Hemmer won two honorable mentions in Ars Electronica and in 2000 received the Golden Nica for Interactive Art, arguably the most prestigious awards in the field of media arts. His international success since then has escalated. He won the Excellence Award at the Media Arts Festival 2000; CG Arts in Tokyo, Japan; the first prize in the International Bauhaus Award 2002, Dessau, Germany; and the BAFTA British Academy Award for Interactive Art in 2005, among other honors. He had his first retrospective in Mexico at the Laboratorio Alameda in 2003 and

277   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium represented Mexico at the Venice Bienniale in 2007. His work has been presented at major museums and events throughout the globe. Issues of identity, subjectivity, space, surveillance, the body, and architectural permanence as well as the multiple expressive valences of light have been consistent interests of this artist. In his telepresence installation The Trace (1994), Lozano-Hemmer invited participants in distant locations to share the same telematic space. The term “telematics,” coined by the French government officials Simon Nora and Alain Minc in 1980, refers to the convergence of computers and communication systems.5 Telematic space is understood as the realm of interaction resulting from this convergence. In providing an opportunity for distant participants to affect each other, The Trace resembles previous telematic pieces such as Myron Krueger’s influential Video Place (1975) and Paul Sermon’s Telematic Dreaming (1992). As Lozano-Hemmer explains it, his purpose was to investigate whether participants kept the same Lebensraum or physical distance from others in telematic as in physical space. Two interactive stations were linked via telephone or ISDN (Integrated Service Digital Network) lines. At each location the visitor entered a dark room with a backprojection screen on the ceiling. All participants wore a wireless sensor that monitored their positions. Audiovisual elements such as light vectors, positional sound, and graphic designs indicated the exact location of the distant participant in real time. For example, light vectors coded blue for local participants and white for remote participants crossed when the positions of the users in the local and remote sites intersected. An interactive animation of a ring and a disk specified the locations of each participant in her respective room. Sounds emanating from the icon indicating the position of the distant participant became louder as users in the local site approached. When the ring and the disk interlocked it meant that the participants occupied the same position in the telematic space. This work suggests that from the early years of his career Lozano-Hemmer envisioned bodies not as isolated entities but as realms that could be invaded and inhabited. He would develop this concept further in later works. In 1994 Lozano-Hemmer coined the term “relational architecture,” which he defined as “the technological actualization of buildings and the urban environment with alien memory.” Technological actualization entails the transformation of buildings and urban spaces by adding audiovisual elements to them through the use of hyperlinks predetermined by the artist and activated by the actions of participants. The new visual and auditory associations encourage viewers to rethink the significance and even the function of the specific building or urban setting and consequently transform its dominant narratives.

278   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture In contrast to digital architectures that rely on simulation, Lozano-Hemmer later explained, relational architectures were “anti-monuments for public dissimulation.”6 In his view, while buildings in 3-d animations and virtual-reality simulations are “data constructs that strive for realism” relational buildings are real edifices that pretend to be something other than themselves, “masquerading as that which they might become, asking participants to ‘suspend faith’ and probe, interact and experiment with the false construct.” 7 The building’s masquerade is the dissimulation. Although Lozano-Hemmer first used the term to refer to The Trace, his series of relational architectures began with Displaced Emperors: Relational Architecture 2 presented at Ars Electronica in Linz, Austria, in 1997 (Figs. 8.2,

Figure 8.2. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Displaced Emperors: Linz, Austria, 1997. Photo:

Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

279   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium

Figure 8.3. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Displaced Emperors: Linz, Austria, 1997. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

8.3). The building selected for the intervention was the Habsburg Castle in the same city, a historic building now transformed into a museum. The piece constructed vectors between two apparently unrelated historical events that link Mexico and Austria: the Mexican empire of Maximilian of Habsburg (1864– 1867) and a feather headdress believed to have belonged to the Aztec ruler Moctezuma II, which is now part of the collection of the ethnological museum in Vienna.8 Participants standing in a small plaza in front of one of the castle gates interacted with the building by pointing with their hands. Data from two wireless 3-d trackers placed on one arm and hand indicated the direction of the participant’s arm movement in real time.9 A projection of a digitally animated human hand appeared wherever the spectator pointed and moved according to the user’s movements (Fig. 8.2). The image was projected on the building by sophisticated motion-controlled projectors. As the digital hand “caressed” the façade of the building, it wiped away the exterior wall, revealing interior rooms matched to the exterior so as to seem to be inside the Linz Castle. The animated hand also activated music sequences, which seemed to originate from

280   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture the rooms in view. The superimposed interiors were in fact rooms in Chapultepec Castle, the main residence of Maximilian and his wife, Carlota, during the Habsburg rule in Mexico. At an improvised souvenir shop near the castle, a computer monitor displayed the location of the participant who carried the trackers. For twenty-five schillings (approximately one dollar) other participants could press a big bright red button labeled “Moctezuma” located next to the monitor and interrupt the ongoing interaction. The lights went off, and a 35-meter projection of the feather headdress appeared on the façade of the castle, accompanied by a Mexican mariachi music track (Fig. 8.3). A searchlight with the cultural property symbol, a sign displayed in buildings and monuments recognized as cultural property by the international treaty of The Hague, followed the participant who carried the tracker. A few seconds later the image of Moctezuma’s headdress disappeared, and a selection of Habsburg jewels paraded across the façade of the castle. This event triggered slow dance music known in Latin America as bolero. After this sequence the participants wearing the tracker could resume their interaction. By enticing participants to “caress” the building, the artist prompted them to explore the interdependence of European and so-called minor histories, in this case Mexican history, even at the level of a shared cultural heritage. Despite repeated attempts by the Mexican government to have Moctezuma’s headdress returned to Mexico, the object is officially part of Austria’s cultural treasures. Similarly, in Mexico the Habsburg palace, transformed into the Museo Nacional de Historia at Chapultepec Park, is considered an important part of the national heritage. As the cultural property symbol tracked the body of the participant, Displaced Emperors playfully suggested that even human bodies were vulnerable to appropriation. The piece ultimately proposed that—rather than returning Moctezuma’s headdress to Mexico —Austria should offer some Habsburg jewels as a romantic cultural exchange and the headdress would become an integral part of Austrian identity.10 Despite the potential gravity of the subject matter, Displaced Emperors never shocked or confronted the participants but playfully seduced them to interact with the luscious imagery and music. The juxtapositions and the effects created by the work were so unexpected that the interaction had the potential to stimulate the participants’ curiosity about the building’s history, the intersections of Austrian and Mexican history, and the logic of national heritage or national identity, among other issues. Many users of Displaced Emperors reported feeling a little nucleus of desire for the façade of the Linz Castle in the palm of the hand that gestured toward the building. This reaction may have been linked to the movements of the hand that stripped away the exterior wall of the castle, undressing the building. This was a subtle parody of human erotic involvement

281   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium with inanimate objects and machines as well as an oblique reference to the greed that propels imperial and colonial ventures. The experience of Austrians and Germans standing in front of the Habsburg castle extending their arms in the way of a salute may have become conflictual upon learning that Adolf Hitler had designated the building as his retirement residence.11 Displaced Emperors recontextualized the Linz Castle through the addition of alien visual elements and sounds. The artist grafted one building to another, one history to another. The building’s “new” associations ultimately challenged the supremacy of its previous historical narratives: rather than illustrating an episode of Austrian cultural heritage, the edifice became intertwined in a nonlinear narrative in which Austria ceased to be the sole protagonist. This could lead participants/ observers to question the presumed purity of cultural and ethnic identities.12

Vectorial Elevation: Relational Architecture 4 According to Lozano-Hemmer, art historian Rafael Tovar y de Teresa, the president of Mexico’s Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes (National Council for Culture and the Arts), saw Displaced Emperors in Austria and invited the artist to propose a work for the forthcoming millennial celebrations in Mexico. As in previous state commissions, the government provided the artist directives to design the piece. These derived from an official program titled Year 2000: From the 20th Century to the Third Millennium, presented by President Ernesto Zedillo at the National Palace on April 13, 1999. The instructions to the artist specified that the work should depart from an episode of Mexican history. It should promote national unity and peaceful coexistence and impart a positive, festive, and hopeful message. The piece should be designed for the Plaza de la Constitución or Zócalo. The artist should avoid interventions that could damage the edifices in the plaza and be mindful of their fragile state of preservation and their historic character. Finally, the work had to be spectacular and involve the greatest possible number of participants.13 From the start, Lozano-Hemmer wanted to avoid historicist narratives that promoted a homogeneous image of the nation. In his view, modern masters such as Diego Rivera promoted a “‘revolutionary’ aesthetic that was characterized by a problematic idealization of indigenous peoples, a militant patriotism, and fascination with linear models of history.”14 Instead he wanted to provide a vehicle that would allow the people to become the protagonists of the work and to have a direct impact on the cityscape. To meet the government’s request that the work be based on an episode of national history, the artist investigated the history of Mexican technological culture. Not only did he find precedents for art based on technology, includ-

282   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture ing the electronic music of composer Luis Pérez Esquivel, but to his relish he learned that Norbert Wiener and his Mexican collaborator, Arturo Rosenbleuth, had developed fundamental aspects of the theory of cybernetics at the Mexican Institute of Cardiology in Mexico City. These facts provided him with the historical basis for the piece and allowed him humorously to argue that cybernetic art was a Mexican invention.15 Drafting a preliminary proposal for a work titled 100 Million Mexicos, Lozano-Hemmer envisioned an opportunity to allow the public to write messages on the buildings in the Zócalo, a form of digital graffiti, through a projection of texts submitted via the Internet. He based this idea on his previous work Re:Positioning Fear: Relational Architecture 3 (1997), in which the bodies of participants and texts from a series of real-time Internet Relay Chat (IRC) sessions on the topic of fear were projected on the façade of Landeszeughaus in Graz, Austria, a building that was originally one of Europe’s largest military arsenals. The texts were only visible inside the participants’ shadows. Thus both the architecture and the bodies of the users represented by the shadows acted as backgrounds for alien encounters.16 The very title of 100 Million Mexicos recognized the diversity of the Mexican population. The piece was politically adventurous, considering the ongoing conflict between the government and the Zapatistas in Chiapas and an ensuing student takeover at the National University. The Mexican government rejected the proposal, presumably because the work would be too costly. The artist then suggested using the sky as a background for a light projection. In his view, this was ultimately advantageous because the sky lacked the ponderous cultural coding of the architecture in the plaza and allowed the public to see the work clearly, with no privileged vantage point from any position within 15 kilometers. Vectorial Elevation (Fig. 8.1) began with an invitation to people from all over the world to contribute an ephemeral addition to the Zócalo. The invitation was posted electronically in various international mailing lists and was widely advertised within Mexico through diverse media. By means of a threedimensional simulation of the Zócalo, visitors to the website http://www .alzado.net were able to manipulate eighteen robotic searchlights placed on the roofs of the buildings on the perimeter of the plaza and create a Vectorial Elevation, a “roof ” or sculpture made with rays of light over the city square (Fig. 8.4). Each design was automatically numbered and entered into a queue, and a web page was made for each participant, including personal information, comments, images, and photographs of the design. Three web cams located at the Torre Latinoamericana, the Gran Hotel de la Ciudad, and the National Palace photographed each design and provided the material for a live net cast. Using

283   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium the Internet made the Zócalo accessible to users nationally and internationally. Although at that time the Internet could only reach 2 percent of the Mexican population, it was accessible in all the Mexican states. In order to make participation possible for a wider public, free-access terminals were publicized and installed in various locations throughout the country, including the Centro Nacional de las Artes, the Museo del Papalote, the Museo de Monterrey, and multiple public libraries.17 The site of the Zócalo has enormous historical significance for Mexicans and has been the focus of religious and political power for centuries. As discussed in the previous chapter, it was the heart of the Aztec Empire and the ritual center of the great city of Tenochtitlan, founded in the fourteenth century. During the colonial period, the Zócalo included the Metropolitan Cathedral, the Ayuntamiento (Municipal City Council), the Courts of Justice, the National Palace, and the shops of powerful merchants in its perimeter. In the seventeenth and eighteenth century the city square functioned as a stage set for elaborate displays of wealth as nobles competed to exhibit the richest clothes, servants, and carriages. The social functions of the Zócalo changed during the

Figure 8.4. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, computer interface, Vectorial Elevation: Mexico City, 2000. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

284   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture nineteenth century in relation to official policies.18 In the late 1850s the laws of the Reforma forced the church to sell its real estate, which in this area was located primarily on the west part of the Zócalo. The sale of these properties attracted wealthy residents to the neighborhood, but during the last decade of the century new suburbs developed along the Avenue of the Reforma became more attractive. The exodus of the upper and middle classes from the city center continued during the twentieth century, as Mexico City grew to become one of the largest cities in the world. Despite these changes, the affective value of the great square as the heart and pride of Mexico City prevailed. The Zócalo and its vicinity attest to the antiquity, complexity, and sophistication of Mexican culture. The Metropolitan Cathedral, one of the earliest in Latin America, is a masterpiece of Spanish colonial architecture that houses notable works of viceregal sculpture and painting. The walls around the courtyards of the National Palace are painted with monumental mural cycles by the renowned muralist Diego Rivera. A few blocks away from the square rise the remains of the main pyramid of the Aztec Templo Mayor as well as the archaeological museum dedicated to that site. In addition to its cultural value, the Zócalo is a monumental space capable of holding two hundred thousand people. Traditionally it has been the focus of political rallies, popular protests, and popular celebrations as well as the locus for all kinds of ambulant merchants to sell their wares and during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries also the preferred site for performance art. Vectorial Elevation met the government’s requisites and also opened, albeit slightly, the assiduously guarded space of the representation of the Mexican nation. The work’s minimalist character was a dramatic departure for government commissions, which for the last half of the twentieth century favored buildings that recycled locally developed and established visual codes. It eluded referents to Mexican national identity, including abstracted versions of ancient and colonial motifs acclaimed in modern and postmodern Mexican architecture.19 The work also was a bold statement in the context of an international art world that at that time still demanded referents to ethnicity from Mexican and other Latin American artists.20 Instead the artist drew from recent works of interactive digital art, including Louis Phillippe Demers and Bill Vorn’s installation Espace Vectoriel (1993), Masaki Fujihata’s Light on the Net Project (1996), Ken Goldberg’s Dislocation or Intimacy, and Knowbotic Research’s Anonymous Muttering (1996–1997).21 Although these works are canonical in digital art circles, they remain almost unknown in the commercial, academic, and museum worlds. The use of light as an expressive medium has precedents in spectacular light shows in world’s fairs, in Albert Speer’s projections for the Nuremberg rally in 1935, and in the 1970s genre of sky art, among many others.22

285   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium Because the Zócalo holds a privileged status in Mexican culture and is also recognized by UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) as part of the cultural heritage of humankind, permanent interventions in its architecture are strictly managed. In opening the design of a transitory addition to the Zócalo to the public, Lozano-Hemmer temporarily relaxed the official protection of this revered square and made its transformation a celebratory performance. By making the site accessible to anyone in the world who had Internet access, the artist deterritorialized the square. His invitation to participants to comment on the piece had the potential of stimulating individual representation and public dialogue across national boundaries. Both the light designs and the individual websites encouraged the reinscription of symbolic space and signaled the possibility of envisioning the plaza and the nation differently. By placing no restrictions on the subject or the length of the participants’ comments, Vectorial Elevation implicitly welcomed irony, jokes, and witty interventions into the serious terrain of Mexican politics and history. In addition to having a public dimension, the web pages personalized the Zócalo by recording each participant’s own ephemeral design contribution. In its transitory nature and breach of protocol in the context of a celebration, the project was reminiscent of the function of ephemeral architecture during the colonial period. As discussed in Chapter 1, occasionally temporary monuments were used to introduce and popularize new attitudes about Mexico’s historic past and to stimulate imaginings of an independent future. To people on the street of Mexico City, the light designs in Vectorial Elevation offered a contemplative experience. Viewers observed the patterns in silence for extended periods, alone or with friends and family. Such opportunities for contemplation in this overcrowded and noisy metropolis are rare. The comments of viewers were overwhelmingly positive. While many perceived the work as innovative in the application of diverse contemporary technologies, they also judged it to be extraordinarily beautiful. One observer asked if the designs were inspired by constellations.23 Many participants and passersby expressed the wish that Vectorial Elevation would be permanently installed in the Zócalo. The web page archive is a curious hybrid of a governmental database, an álbum de recuerdos (personal scrapbook of mementos), and a collection of electronic retablos. An álbum de recuerdos is a popular genre in Latin America. It can be general or specific to an occasion or festivity. Like the web pages, each page of the album is individually designed within an established book format. Descriptions of festivities frequently published during the colonial period were an official version of the genre. The retablos are a Mexican tradition of popular painting that record miraculous interventions—usually attributed to a saint—

286   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture in an individual’s life.24 Although the retablos are figural and depict individual experiences, they are usually displayed in a public setting such as a church or chapel. The web pages lack allusions to the divine, but like the retablos they are simultaneously private and public. The organization of each web page showing the date, name, geographical location, and design of the participant also is reminiscent of various official archives such as social security, driver’s license, and police records. This aspect of the work is consistent with the artist’s longstanding interest in surveillance; like many of his works, it alludes to the potential of technology to serve both pleasurable and repressive ends. The comments entered in the web pages of the participants (70 percent of whom were from Mexico) indicate multiple interpretations of the work. For many, Vectorial Elevation was primarily a spectacular aspect of a great feast. The renowned gentility of Mexicans was in evidence: some used the space provided for comments simply to wish everyone happiness in the new millennium; many thanked the artist for giving them the opportunity to partake in the celebrations and contribute to the embellishment of the Zócalo. Others employed the work and the area for comments to strengthen bonds with family and significant others. Parents and relatives helped young children to make their designs; some wrote love messages; one expectant mother dedicated her web page to her unborn child. Several participants expressed hope that the new millennium would bring more justice and respect for all living things; and a few hoped that the intelligence and technical ability displayed in the work could also be used to solve Mexico’s problems. In addition, Vectorial Elevation made evident the resilience of nationalism in the popular imaginary. Many comments expressed great pride in the technological achievements of the Mexican nation and wished for greater international cooperation. Numerous participants congratulated the artist for strengthening Mexico’s presence internationally. To Luis Gerardo Cortez from Aguascalientes, for example, the lights could have had better mobility; yet he wrote, “I want to congratulate the designer of this project, that without doubt will make the world see that Mexico has the same capacities as other nations.” The dualistic tone of the comments, simultaneously nationalistic and global, echoed the government’s vision. In his speech for the presentation of the Year 2000: From the 20th Century to the Third Millennium Program, President Ernesto Zedillo described Mexico as “an independent, sovereign nation with a profound identity that distinguishes us from all others.” He also referred to the celebrations as an opportunity for Mexicans to affirm Mexico’s national project, reflect on the future, and share “with all of mankind.”25 At the beginning of the new year the government’s website for the millennium celebrations described the festivities as a communion of Mexico with the world: “The great celebration that took place the last December

287   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium 31 in Mexico City’s Zócalo had as one of its principal objectives to provide an occasion for unity among Mexicans and to situate the image of Mexico in the world and the image of the world in Mexico. This festivity will have a unique characteristic in history of uniting practically all the nations of the planet.” 26 The government’s goals for the celebration of the new millennium reiterated the wishes of numerous leaders, writers, and artists since the colonial period: to integrate Mexico with the world while preserving its unique character. During the late nineteenth century national and international concerns were carefully balanced in Mexico’s self-representation at the world’s fairs.27 But while this balance was dependent on the interplay of archaeological motifs and modern building materials in architecture, in Vectorial Elevation advanced technology was fundamental to the success of the representation. Then and now Mexico’s symbiotic economic relation with the United States problematizes the dream of national strength through technology. It is primarily U.S. technology that drives Mexican industries, maquiladoras, and border patrols. Ironically, robotic searchlights similar to the ones used in Vectorial Elevation have been used in systems of surveillance along the U.S.-Mexican border. Coincidentally, Vectorial Elevation fulfilled Ernesto Zedillo’s vision of his historical legacy. Zedillo identified decentralization of control from the federal government as one of the major achievements of his administration. This involved the transfer of responsibility from the federal government to the Mexican states for services that traditionally were centrally administered, such as health care, agriculture, and construction. Vectorial Elevation’s deterritorialization of the Zócalo metaphorically paralleled the government’s investment in decentralization. Zedillo’s term of office concluded in 2000. It is customary for Mexican presidents to commission monumental architecture projects as visual reminders of their legacy. Accordingly, in 1999 Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas, the mayor of Mexico City, opened a competition for nothing less than a renovation of the Zócalo. The project was to be carried out by Mexico City’s municipal government in collaboration with the Secretaría de Educación Pública and CONACULTA (Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes) and completed for the celebrations of 2000. This unprecedented intervention in the core of the city would have been Zedillo’s historical landmark. The competition was restricted to Mexican architects and juried by an international team including the architects Fumihiko Maki and Rogelio Salmona and Mexican artist José Luis Cuevas, among other distinguished personalities in the worlds of culture and the arts. Architect Cecilia Cortés Contreras won first prize, Alberto Kalach Kichik second prize, and Teodoro González de León third prize. The government’s award of the first prize to a woman architect was a significant departure from an architectural history that is almost exclusively male in

288   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Mexico and elsewhere. This alone made the project remarkable. The three winning designs fused the Metropolitan Cathedral with the Zócalo by eliminating the cathedral’s atrium. Contrera’s design closed the plaza to traffic and extended it from its actual location to the Templo Mayor in the north. The new Zócalo included a grove of jacarandas delimited by a talud that would also serve as a bench for visitors to sit and a sunken plaza behind the talud. A series of luminous and sonorous columns placed in front of the Templo Mayor and the government buildings in the plaza would allow the public to hear the sounds of the wind. A second plaza decorated with stone sculptures was to be placed behind the Sagrario. Contreras reported that her design was based on studies of the Zócalo, Piazza San Marco in Venice, and Greek plazas, among other public spaces.28 In the opinion of the architect and critic Fernando González Gortázar, the designs of the three finalists were intelligent and responsible and “in contrast to the usual, this competition was a success and in the renovated Zócalo the country will have a beautiful heart.” He worried, however, that the project could permanently damage invaluable archaeological remains under the square if carried out in haste (as would be necessary to finish the renovation before 2000).29 The competition shared with Vectorial Elevation the objective of remodeling the Zócalo, but the two projects differed in significant ways. Most obviously, unlike Lozano-Hemmer’s work, the renovation was to be permanent. The appointment of international architects to participate in the jury suggested the government’s willingness to engage the outside world in the representation of the nation, but contrary to the openness of Vectorial Elevation, the competition was limited to Mexican architects. Despite the foundations of the project on international architecture and the inclusion of interactive elements such as the sonorous columns, the winning design reverted to the use of modernized preHispanic motifs exemplified by the talud and the sunken plazas. In short, the competition suggested the government’s readiness to depart from tradition but in a more limited way than Lozano-Hemmer’s piece did. Cárdenas resigned as a major in 1999, and the project to redesign the Zócalo was abandoned after Zedillo left office. By contrast, after its opening in Mexico, Vectorial Elevation continued its deterritorializing movement. It was later shown in celebratory events in European cities, including the opening of the Basque Museum of Contemporary Art in Vitoria (300,000 participants), the Fête des Lumières, World Summit of Cities, Lyon 2003 (600,000 participants), and the European Union (EU) expansion celebrations in Dublin (520,000 participants).30 Lozano-Hemmer explains that in his work he does not strive to offer a “collective” experience and even less to promote the idea of a global village facilitated by interconnectivity. In his view such visions are “corporative, colonial and naïve.” He explains:

289   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium I am amongst the rank of those that reject the notion of community when it comes to acts of interpretation or perception. I think that we have seen truly disheartening agendas produced in the name of collectivity. In contrast, I really like the concept of the “connective”—a much less problematic word because it joins realities without a pre-programmed approach. What’s interesting about this concept is that it does not convert realities into homogeneity . . . I would even go so far as to define the connective as those tangents that pull us out of the collective.31

Effectively, Vectorial Elevation provided avenues for global and local exchange at creative and affective levels, as people were able to access the designs and comments of distant and local participants. The displacement of the actual installation to several geographical locations intensified the internationalizing gesture of its initial presentation in Mexico. In repetition the work seemed to become standardized yet simultaneously irreproducible because of its participatory nature and the specific cultural coding of each selected location. By replicating the structure of his works and offering similar opportunities for participation in diverse settings, Lozano-Hemmer exposes the complexity of the ongoing process of globalization. Like global media his works achieve different effects in each locale. This was strikingly evident in Body Movies, his next work of relational architecture (Fig. 8.5).

Figure 8.5. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Body Movies: Rotterdam, 2001. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

290   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Body Movies: Relational Architecture 6 (2001) and Select Later Works One thousand portraits of people in the streets of Montreal, Rotterdam, and Mexico City were projected on the façade of the Pathé cinema in Rotterdam using robotic scrollers placed on two high towers facing the building. Three networked computers controlled the installation: a camera server, a video tracker, and a robotic controller cued by MIDI (Musical Instrument Digital Interface) signals. The portraits were muted by two xenon light sources located at ground level. Passersby saw their shadows projected on the façade. The photographic portraits only became visible inside shadows measuring 2 to 25 meters in height, depending on the distance of people from the light sources. Participants could embody a portrait by adjusting the size of their own shadows. When shadows matched all the portraits on the façade a computer selected a new set. A video projection on the square displayed the tracking interface. Most people’s attention focused less on the portraits than on their shadows. Participants with large shadows could play with or threaten those with small shadows. People with small shadows could interact with each other or challenge or aggravate the big shadows with actions such as “tickling.” These exchanges resulted in a carnivalesque event in which strangers played and together improvised skits (Fig. 8.5). In addition to being fun, the piece offered participants an opportunity to reflect on regulating and repressive aspects of contemporary societies. In industrialized countries, powerful machine vision systems and tracking technologies assist governments, police forces, institutions, and individuals to observe and control the behavior of others. Surveillance systems are now integrated in all realms of life, private and public, from baby monitors and building security systems to stores, banks, highways, prisons, and city streets. In these societies surveillance and regulation of all space, especially commercial space, are of vital importance. Multiple artists including Americans Steve Mann and the tactical art collective Critical Art Ensemble (CAE) powerfully illustrate these conditions. Through his invention WearComp (wearable computer with visual display) and a prosthetic camera that he called WearCam, during the last twenty years Mann has documented surveillance systems and the behavior of business representatives in a variety of establishments and distributed the photographs via the Internet.32 In a nomadic performance by Critical Art Ensemble entitled Are We There Yet? presented throughout the state of Florida in 1992, a performer quietly played with toy cars in nonobstructive locations at selected shopping malls and public spaces. The police invariably intervened to terminate the activity.

291   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium Since the advent of modernism, architecture progressively has become standardized and commercialized. Aware of this state of affairs Lozano-Hemmer comments: Cicero said, “We make Buildings and Buildings make us.” Our situation in the globalized city says the opposite: the urban environment no longer represents citizens, it represents capital. Architects and urban designers build with the priority to optimize cost and from there to the homogenization of globalization, and from there to the unfortunate reality of contemporary architecture, which fetishizes the modular, the formula. It has reached a crisis of representation that carries with it a tremendous avidity for connection.33

Businesses capitalize on this need for connectivity. Increasingly, around the globe, screens cover the façades of buildings in city centers. These screens dress the architecture in cascades of constantly changing imagery, with the effect of dematerializing the actual buildings. Like earlier light and neon signs, one of the major purposes of urban screens is advertisement with occasional transmissions of cultural or live sporting events that create an ephemeral experience of community among diverse populations. Although architects, artists, and hackers have experimented with solutions for creating interactive building façades, the screens usually provide one-way spectacles for visual consumption.34 The spectator watches but does not provide content: the selection of visual material usually is restricted to commercial and civic sponsors. Body Movies defies passive spectatorship by letting users spontaneously develop their own content. The piece also counters the regulation of urban centers by opening a space for spontaneous sociability. Like Vectorial Elevation, Body Movies was presented in various cities around the globe: Rotterdam, Linz, Liverpool, Lisbon, Duisburg, and Hong Kong. The piece did not function homogeneously, as was evident by the responses of participants in different locales. Lozano-Hemmer recounts: “when it was to be shown in Lisbon, I thought of the stereotypical ‘Latino’ who loves to be out in the streets, partying and hugging affectionately, so I expected a lot of this type of interaction with the piece. However, what we saw was people trying their best not to overlap with other people’s shadow. In contrast, when we presented the piece in England, where I had thought we would see considerable modesty and moderation, people got drunk, took off their clothes and acted out a variety of orgiastic scenes.”35 Neighborhood residents in Rotterdam regarded the installation as a positive revitalization of the plaza that allowed people who did not know each other to meet and, better yet, to reexperience playing “like children.”36 This comment suggests that the piece allowed residents to behave freely and to have pleasure in human interaction, an experience that capitalism

292   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture constantly attempts to thwart, according to CAE, because it distracts people from consumption.37 Lozano-Hemmer also explored issues of surveillance, the body, and personal space in his installation Subtitled Public presented at the Sala de Arte Público Siqueiros in 2005 (Fig. 8.6). The movements of visitors in an empty exhibition space are tracked with a computerized infrared surveillance system. As a person enters the room, a computer randomly assigns a label consisting of a verb conjugated in the third person, which is then projected on the participant’s body and follows the person everywhere within the space. The only way to get rid of the label is to touch another person: this results in an exchange of labels between participants. Every three minutes the surveillance matrix indicating the position of each person in the room is revealed by a projection on the floor. This work tests the limits of lived personal space by requiring touch in order for participants to free themselves of unwanted labels. Physical touch is risky among strangers and taboo in specific social settings. In stereotyping individuals, Subtitled Public emulates routine practices of contemporary surveillance systems that identify potentially dangerous individuals according to physical traits or ethnicity. By replicating the technique of automatic labeling, the work

Figure 8.6. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Subtitled Public: Sala de Arte Público Siqueiros,

Mexico City, 2005. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

293   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium calls attention to the potentially erratic logic of hyperrational computer systems. The piece elicits empathy among the visitors because any participant is subject to random stereotyping. Like other Lozano-Hemmer works, Subtitled Public invites participants actively to play: it encourages people to chase each other around the room to touch and exchange labels. The playful aspects of the work mask its sinister content. Beginning with Re:Positioning Fear, the artist consistently employs shadows as vehicles for contaminating the body of the participant with events and entities extraneous to it. In Lozano-Hemmer’s opinion, the shadow functions as “a disembodied body part,” being inseparable from the body but not of it.38 In Body Movies the participant could choose to embody the portrait of a stranger. Because of the two-dimensionality and immobility of the portraits, however, interaction of the participants with them was limited. In Under Scan: Relational Architecture 11, 2005–2006, commissioned by the East Midlands Development Agency in England, the portraits became the principal focus of interaction. Thousands of “video-portraits” of people of at least sixteen years of age taken in the streets of Derby, Leicester, Lincoln, Northampton, and Nottingham were projected (with the consent of the participants) onto the ground of the main squares and pedestrian thoroughfares of these cities. A surveillance system tracked the movements of passersby and predicted their trajectory in order to place the portraits on their path. This allowed for seemingly accidental encounters of the public with the work. As in Body Movies, a strong projection of white light washed the images so that each portrait only became visible inside a person’s shadow (Fig. 8.7). This time, however, the portraits looked at the spectator, moved, and exhibited a variety of behaviors. Some pretended to sleep; others danced, mimicked, or threatened the viewers. The interaction ended when a shadow moved away from a portrait. Every seven minutes the tracking system was revealed by the projection of the surveillance grid on the square (Fig. 8.8). Unlike the passivity and distance of the two-dimensional photos in Body Movies, these portraits seemed like real people inhabiting the participant’s shadow. Contemplating these live “others” inside their silhouettes, the viewers may have been encouraged to imagine what it must be like to be that other or to reflect on the person’s reactions to individuals different from herself. These interactions seemed too real or invasive for some of the public to enjoy. Many people reported liking the projection of the surveillance matrix better than interacting with the portraits. This reaction was unexpected to the artist: I thought the interlude was going to be a scary moment when all the tracking mechanisms are revealed, creating an Orwellian environment that would make people aware that they were being scanned with predatorial technology, I wanted some-

294   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture

Figure 8.7. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Under Scan: Lincoln, United Kingdom, 2005.

Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer. thing that would break the representation, like in a Brecht play when all the actors stop suddenly and say “wait, this is only a play” and thus make people aware of themselves, of the theatre, of the whole artificiality of the construct. Instead, every time the grids came out, people laughed and ran and often danced. I think this happened because interacting with the portraits turned out to be quite an eerie experience—where someone you don’t know was in your shadow making eye contact maybe sending you kisses or waving or trying to tell you something or frowning at you.39

These responses ultimately suggested the public’s complicity with repressive surveillance systems. To be surveyed was more comforting than to be directly confronted with a stranger. Nonetheless, because the work relies on process and performativity and not on representation, it offers the participants an opportunity to reflect on their own reactions. The last work in the Relational Architecture series actualized the original objective in 100 Million Mexicos of giving the public a voice. Voz Alta: Relational Architecture 15 was presented at the Plaza de las Tres Culturas in Tlatelolco from September 25 to October 5, 2008, to commemorate the fortieth anniversary of the student massacre at the same location on October 2, 1968. The work was

295   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium commissioned by the Centro Cultural Tlatelolco of the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, an institution that houses a memorial gallery and a multimedia media archive of the event. The military’s brutal attack on a student demonstration, which left hundreds of people dead, is one of the most significant historical episodes in the second half of the twentieth century in Mexico. For thirty years a succession of Mexican governments in conjunction with the mass media obscured the event, with the result that subsequent generations of Mexicans gradually lost memory of it. None of the responsible parties were brought to justice. An investigation finally began in 2001 under the regime of President Vicente Fox (2000–2006). The former president Luis Echeverría, who served as secretary of the interior from 1964 to 1970, was indicted on a charge of genocide; but to the public’s outrage, the charges were dismissed in 2009 due to the statute of limitations.40 In the opinion of writer Carlos Monsiváis, who witnessed the massacre, the

Figure 8.8. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, surveillance grid, Under Scan: Lincoln, United

Kingdom, 2005. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

296   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture government recognized that “there was genocide but no one committed it. Either they were invisible assassins or the forces of evil, which, lacking immigration documents, did not reveal themselves.”41 In 2003 the National Security Archive at George Washington University electronically published a Briefing Book resulting from an investigation of the event and made available to a wide public previously classified documents implicating both the Mexican and the United States governments in the events that led to the slaughter.42 LozanoHemmer’s Voz Alta thus arose amid the painful stirrings of a violent past. A participant standing on the plaza spoke into a megaphone. As the person spoke, a powerful searchlight beamed the voice into the sky as a sequence of flashes (Fig. 8.9).43 The intensity of the lights corresponded to the volume of the voice. As the light reached the top of the Centro Cultural Tlatelolco (CCT), three additional searchlights relayed the light beam over the cityscape: one pointed to the Zócalo, another to the Monumento a la Revolución, and a third to the Basílica de Guadalupe. The lights reached a maximum radius of 15 km of visibility depending on the weather and smog. Anyone could listen to the person speaking by tuning in to Radio UNAM 96.1 fm, which broadcast the speeches live. When no one spoke into the megaphone, the searchlights in the sky turned off. As music of the period played, archival documentation of the massacre as well as artworks commissioned by UNAM to commemorate the event were projected onto the façade of the CCT. Thousands of people from all walks of life participated. Like other Lozano-Hemmer works, Voz Alta is nomadic. In addition to the public version, it can be shown in art museums and galleries via a modified prototype along with video documentation of the public work.44 In the public work, the artist’s selection of the sites to which the light beams pointed was significant. As discussed earlier, the Zócalo is not only a cultural monument but also a historic site for social agency. The Monumento a la Revolución by Carlos Obregón Santacilia (1938) transformed the cupola of the monumental Palacio Legislativo into a celebration of the revolution that deposed the Díaz regime. The Basílica of Guadalupe marks the site of the apparitions of the Virgin of Guadalupe to Juan Diego. As the patroness of Mexico, the Virgin is a popular religious icon but is also strongly associated with popular resistance. Her image adorned the banners of the Mexican troops in the independence struggles against Spain. In relaying a person’s voice in the form of light to all of these sites, Voz Alta metaphorically refers to the power of the voice across space and time to mobilize other voices and to effect change. The louder the voices, the greater the visual impact on the environment. The Mexican public represented in the artists’ video documentation read the piece at this metaphorical level. Many were grateful for a work that was

297   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium

Figure 8.9. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Voz Alta: Mexico City, 2008. Photo: Courtesy of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.

accessible to everyone, contributed to the recuperation of collective memory, and honored the dead. Several participants also interpreted the piece as an “exhortation” to continue the struggle for democracy and justice. For them, Voz Alta not only commemorated the past but also inhabited the present with keen attentiveness to the future. Some may object to this representation and argue that things are not that simple. If the work were allowed to exist in Mexico without censorship, would this not indicate an additional cover-up, primarily a cynical move by the government to give the impression of fairness in the face of the investigation into the massacre then in process? The evidence would seem to support this position: the parties responsible for the bloodbath ultimately went unpunished. But to what extent does this outcome negate the art’s political engagement, and what does the work tell us about political artistic expressions in the current global era? Like many of Lozano-Hemmer’s works, Voz Alta has no single function artistically or politically. It performs a politics of improvisation, ambiguity, and opportunism. It does what it can when it can how it can without explicitly stating what it wants to do. The work illustrates Regis Durand’s understanding of “the voice as a migratory notion”: it can be a vocal production, a psychoanalytic

298   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture concept, a metaphorical support for pure time, mobility, intensity, and ultimately, perhaps, a name for the unnamable.45 Voz Alta synesthetically enables the viewer by rendering the voice visible.46 It could be argued that the translation of sounds into light and color is a recurrent theme in media arts from color organs in the Renaissance onward. But in Voz Alta the synesthetic gesture recursively expands as the light beam is relayed across the sky to become movement and communication among the lights and fold into affect. As such it enables a matrix of possibilities. As one participant opined, “brilliant thoughts become words”: the transformation of voices into lights is a way “to complete the cycle between thoughts and voice.” Another commented on the “strange emotion” that he felt as he saw his voice “in photons.” So strong was the unnamable affect that he began to forget the poem he was reciting and became anxious about forgetting.47 Ironically, art historian and critic Catherine Spaeth, who saw the prototype at a show of the artist’s work at Haunch of Venison Gallery in New York, described Voz Alta as “nostalgic.”48 In contrast to art about a political situation, which is made inside of this situation, to her the piece suggested that “we can’t think about the political anymore without wrapping it up into the past and feeling the loss of it.” Her impression may have resulted from the isolation of the event as art in a gallery space and the decontextualization of the piece from the site and from the public directly affected by both the massacre and the ongoing investigations; it is also possible that at a distance the video documentation of the work merged with the daily onslaught of media representations of wars, catastrophes, and other people’s joys and sufferings that seldom seem real. From the reactions of the participants documented in the video Spaeth only surmised “this sense of being entranced by technology as an expression of power.” This conclusion implies that technology effectively serves power in the work but that it fails to empower.49 However we may choose to interpret Voz Alta, one thing is clear: the voice speaks of the body. It is inside and outside the body; it is both presence and absence. It speaks of desire, of unconscious drives and fantasies and also of loss and fall from the body.50 By amplifying the voice auditorily and visually through technological means and inserting it in a charged political context, the work emphasizes the interconnection of bodies, politics, and technologies and signals the emergence of a technologically engaged biopolitics. For architect Keller Easterling, the current moment is one in which both the nation-state and transnational forces cultivate obfuscation, a traditional instrument in the maintenance of power. What is important for architects, she argues (and I submit that this also applies to artists and to anyone who wishes to intervene), is not the consolidation of a singular position but the acquisition

299   ■  Transnational Culture at the End of the Millennium of an expanded and agile repertoire, or what she calls the practice of “impure ethical struggles.”51 Like Siqueiros and Renau’s Portrait of the Bourgeoisie, Voz Alta performs this impurity by refusing to articulate a singular political message. Voz Alta’s simultaneous attention to the past and future while conscientiously inhabiting the present identifies it as a performance of critical cosmopolitanism. By honoring the dead the work also engages with an ethics of visuality, as discussed in Chapter 4. To conclude, Lozano-Hemmer’s work treats the body, identity, architecture, and the city as constructs open to transformation.52 His addition of audiovisual phenomena disturbs the stability of each concept so that it connotes relationality rather than permanence. For example, in Displaced Emperors and in Vectorial Elevation, “nation” stands not for a homogeneous community, real or imaginary, but for a multiplicity that overflows national boundaries. In The Trace, Displaced Emperors, Body Movies, Subtitled Public, and Under Scan personal identity is vulnerable to invasion and co-optation; architecture and the human body lose their presumed coherence and become hosts to alien presences. The works mimic effects of globalization, which presumably erode national identities, homogenize or/dematerialize architecture, and colonize minds and bodies. Mimicry of these processes in the context of art problematizes the source phenomena. For instance, the artist’s use of technologies of surveillance, far from playing a promotional role, invites the viewers and participants to question the effects of these technologies in everyday life. Lozano-Hemmer’s work is cosmopolitan and transnational, yet it elicits consideration of contemporary conditions that facilitate transnationality. Physically engaging with the work, the user unwittingly becomes involved in the exploration of serious subjects, such as the meaning of national identity, the control of public space, violence, electronic surveillance, and the challenge of political interventions in the age of global media. While users might be unaware of the conceptual bases of the work, their own behavior might later provide them as well as nonparticipating viewers with food for thought.53 Lozano-Hemmer is neither the only Mexican artist who functions in an international arena nor the sole Mexican practitioner of digital art. Most contemporary artists today strive to exhibit their work internationally. Artists of international renown such as Gabriel Orozco and Francis Alÿs (the Belgian artist residing in Mexico) occasionally create multiples and tailor versions of the same works to diverse institutions and cultural settings. For a number of years Mexican artists including Arcángel Constantini, Ivan Abreu, Fran Ilich, and Minerva Cuevas have used the Internet to show and distribute their work.54 Constantini received wide international recognition for his work Atari Noise (1999). In a gesture reminiscent of experimental video works by Nam

300   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture June Paik and Joan Jonas, Constantini altered an old 2600 Atari video game console randomly to generate audiovisual noise patterns. The nearly obsolete machine was retooled for another purpose. Like Lozano-Hemmer, Constantini is neither interested in representing Mexico through regionally established visual codes nor solely seduced by the newness of digital technologies. Repurposing outdated technologies has always been a tactic of innovators, especially those with limited access to state-of-the-art technologies. It is also a customary practice among tactical media activists and artists who employ an array of technologies for diverse social and political purposes. Although Atari Noise lacked overt sociopolitical content, it invited creativity by demonstrating the versatility of technology. Constantini currently runs Cyberlounge at the Rufino Tamayo Museum in Mexico City, a space where he curates exhibitions, promotes the work of Mexican digital artists, and organizes online events.55 The work of these artists, which some critics may view as antithetical to identitybased Latin American art, actively contributes to shape global art and culture networks.56 Similarly global networks were fundamental to the development of cosmopolitan cultures established with colonization.

Conclusion

A F

The studies in this book demonstrate that cosmopolitanism in Mexico was closely linked to colonization. International learning and belief structures and communication networks established in the colonial period were saturated with indigenous forms of knowledge and expression. These resulted in cultural products that united international with vernacular traditions. This implies that after colonization international culture ceased to be merely imported but became part and parcel of Mexican subjectivity. Colonization also created a system of values where European culture protected under the mantle of universality occupied a dominant position. Because in that value system the local in its particularity was opposed to the universal, peoples and works from conquered regions acquired subaltern status. In Mexico this value system was adopted and simultaneously resisted; beginning in the colonial period, this dynamic also structured the relations of the independent Mexican state with indigenous peoples and with international culture. This vacillation drove the artists and intellectuals in this study, from the colonial period onward, toward the achievement of two goals: to demonstrate equality with the developed nations and to assert the uniqueness and value of local culture. Demonstrating equality involved not only imitation, as is frequently believed, but deployment of international models, often in unique or extravagant forms. While Sigüenza y Góngora’s Teatro de virtudes políticas demonstrated his mastery of European sources, it also inserted models from Mexican antiquity into the traditional cannon of European virtues. Boari’s Palace of Fine Arts, by contrast, attempted to compete with the architecture of European nations by employing neoclassical and modernizing visual languages sparsely inflected with regional accents. I have discussed how scientific discourses and new technologies became part of international modernity in the late eighteenth century and entered into the making of Mexican identity and visual culture. The Pavilion of Mexico and the National Theater illustrated the imbrications of the past with the present by 301

302   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture incorporating the classical language of architecture, technological expertise, and references to local antiquity. Chapters 1 and 7 have shown that from the colonial period onward references to Mexican antiquity, especially the Aztec Empire, represented the local. Even this move was colored by colonial dynamics: the Europeans previously had adopted Greek and Roman antiquity as both local heritages and universal languages. The Mexicans’ focus on the indigenous past was a matter of both local and later nationalistic pride as well as an instrument of contestation to challenge the supremacy of the only past that until then had been vested with universal value. I have argued that the seemingly contradictory desires for integration in the global and affirmation of the local need not be read as signs of confusion or the inability of artists and intellectuals to dominate international languages but can be seen as characteristics of cosmopolitanism. If cosmopolitanism entails participation in international culture, then the multiplicity implied in the term “international” needs to be taken seriously. The affirmation of cultural specificities would be a given aspect of the process of cosmopolitanization. It would be possible to see that the visual languages and discourses that we regard as universal are also the products of specific locales. What distinguishes the universal from the local often is related not only to extension but also to economic and political might. Consequently cosmopolitanism is a complex of relations that change according to the vicissitudes of power. In its proximity to power, cosmopolitanism often is affiliated with violence. My studies found violence of various kinds related to cosmopolitanism. The violence of colonial conquest saturated and transformed the later structuring of social groups within Mexico. I have argued that the same values that drove the racial classification as represented in casta painting affected the evaluation of the Mexican Baroque and eclecticism in architecture. Chapters 2 and 4 also have addressed the violence directed toward indigenous peoples both during the colonial period and under independent regimes. To Mexican elites under the lingering influence of colonial power, the indigenes were an unassimilable aspect of the local that could only be integrated into national and international culture when dead or Europeanized. All the studies here have addressed the less visible but pernicious effects of epistemic violence in the a priori evaluation of intellectual and cultural products of subaltern peoples as derivative or confused works that invariably fell below the standards set in the traditional imperial centers. Although few intellectuals today directly judge works in this manner, that form of evaluation had tremendous impact on the history of art. Not until the last twenty years, for example, did modern art from outside Europe and North America begin to be

303   ■  Conclusion included in histories of modernism; even in this decade the representation of areas outside of Europe and the United States in modern and contemporary art exhibitions is still a matter of contention.1 To my knowledge, despite a number of recent exhibitions of colonial art of Latin America, no works from this period have yet entered survey texts on the history of art. Most of the works discussed in this book demonstrate that the responses of architects and artists to imperial and epistemic violence seldom have been directly oppositional. Perhaps because most of the works discussed were state commissions, they engage in the double-coded etiquette exemplified in Sigüenza’s Teatro and, like this work, unify a variety of goals. Don Carlos’s inclusion of the Aztec rulers as virtues in his triumphal monument could be interpreted as a sign of alliance or as a gesture of resistance. Similarly, we may interpret Lozano-Hemmer’s Vectorial Elevation and Voz Alta as complicit with global culture and dominant technologies or as interrogations of both. These positions need not be mutually exclusive: I suggest that the strength of these works resides not in their directness but in their duplicitousness. Rather than offering the reassurance of closure, which ultimately may be paralyzing, the works energized by instability are unable to reside comfortably in one camp or the other. As discussed in Chapter 8, duplicity, first identified as a characteristic of colonial discourse, is now in the eyes of some contemporary theorists an intelligent response to power. This book deals primarily with the effects of European colonialism on the formation of Mexican cosmopolitanism from the colonial period to the late twentieth century, a period in which Western powers were dominant. As power relations change, so do cosmopolitanisms. With the collapse of major world economies, the continuing emergence of China and India as world powers in the twenty-first century, and the rise of previously underdeveloped regions, the victory of the West over the rest is hardly the end of the story.

THIS PAGE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

Notes

introduction 1. For Spivak relevant questions include how power appropriates knowledge, who produces knowledge, and who authorizes it and validates it. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” and “French Feminism in an International Frame.” 2. Walter D. Mignolo, “The Many Faces of Cosmo-polis: Border Thinking and Critical Cosmopolitanism,” 160. 3. After Michel Foucault, subjectivity here refers to the individuals’ unique ways of perceiving the world and to the relation of the subject to power. Identity refers to self-construction and expression emerging from interaction between self and other. Identity partakes in the process of subjectivity by informing self-recognition and recognition of the self by others. For a historical examination of notions of identity and subjectivity in relation to Foucault’s thought, see Robert Strozier, Foucault, Subjectivity and Identity. 4. Serge Gruzinski, The Mestizo Mind: The Intellectual Dynamics of Colonization and Globalization, translated by Deke Dusinberre, 62. 5. Armand Mattelart, Networking the World, 1794–2000, 4–5. 6. Fredric Jameson, “Notes on Globalization as a Philosophical Issue,” in The Cultures of Globalization, edited by Fredric Jameson and Masao Miyoshi, 55. 7. Kevin Terraciano’s recent analysis of native accounts of the Spanish invasion of Mexico makes evident the violence inherent in that project as well as the ideological differences between the perception of the invasion as war or as conquest. Kevin Terraciano, “Three Texts in One: Book XII of the Florentine Codex.” Also see Rebecca P. Brienen and Margaret A. Jackson, eds., Invasion and Transformation: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the Conquest of Mexico. Many art-historical texts prefer the more neutral word “encounter” and focus on the points of compatibility between indigenous and European cultures. See, for example, Elizabeth Hill Boone and Thomas B. F. Cummings, “Colonial Foundations: Points of Contact and Compatibility,” in The Arts in Latin America, 1492–1820, organized by Joseph J. Rishel with Suzanne Stratton-Pruitt, 11–22; and Converging Cultures: Art and Identity in Spanish America, edited by Diana Fane. 8. William T. Sanders, Jeffrey R. Parsons, and Robert S. Santley, The Basin of Mexico, 176. 9. Charles Gibson, The Aztecs under Spanish Rule, 38.

305

306   ■  Notes to Pages 3–5 10. Gibson estimates the population loss at one-third. Gibson, Aztecs, 62. Various Spanish chronicles estimated the losses at five-sixths. See J. I. Israel, Race, Class, and Politics in Colonial Mexico (1610–1670), 13. 11. Nicolás Sánchez Albornoz, The Population of Latin America, 56; Vicente Riva Palacio, México a través de los siglos, 2:478–479. 12. Cities for Spaniards such as Puebla de los Ángeles and towns designated as towns for indigenous peoples such as Tlaxcala, Cholula, Texcoco, and Tlatelolco adhered to this order. Mexico City and later municipalities were planned with an administrative Spanish center and the indigenous peoples’ quarters in the outskirts. George Kubler, Mexican Architecture of the Sixteenth Century; Edmundo O’Gorman, Reflexiones sobre la distribución urbana colonial de la ciudad de México; Gibson, Aztecs, 370–377. 13. See, for example, Black Africans in Renaissance Europe, edited by T. F. Earle and K. J. P. Lowe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 14. Santiago Sebastián López, José de Mesa Figueroa, and Teresa Gisbert de Mesa, Arte iberoamericano desde la colonización a la independencia: Primera parte, 28:142–149; Manuel Toussaint, Colonial Art in Mexico, edited and translated by Elizabeth Wilder Weismann, 26–31; John McAndrew, Open-Air Churches of Sixteenth-Century Mexico: Atrios, Posas, Chapels, and Other Studies. 15. Posa chapels are small processional edifices placed at the corners of the atrium. Toussaint, Colonial Art, 21–26. Also see Rafael López Guzmán et al., Arquitectura y carpintería mudéjar en Nueva España; and Mario Sartor, Arquitectura y urbanismo en Nueva España: Siglo XVI. 16. Jeanette Favrot Peterson, The Paradise Murals of Malinalco. See, for example, Figures 28, 46, and 55. 17. For an explanation of the incorporation of feather painting into Christian ritual, see Alessandra Russo, “Plumes of Sacrifice: Transformation in Sixteenth-Century Mexican Feather Art.” For previous discussions of The Mass of Saint Gregory, the earliest fully documented feather painting in relation to print culture, see Elena Isabel E. de Gerlero and Márita Martínez del Río de Redo, “The Mass of St. Gregory,” catalog entry in Mexico: Splendors of Thirty Centuries, 259–260; Elena Isabel E. de Gerlero, “School of San José de los Naturales, Mass of Saint Gregory, 1939.” For the relationship of prints to mural painting, see Favrot Peterson, Paradise Murals, 65ff.; and Constantino Reyes Valerio, Arte indocristiano: Escultura del siglo XVI en México. 18. The term “relation” here includes various kinds and degrees of interaction, including opposition. 19. I use the term “confluence” to mean the coexistence of two or more cultural traditions in the same time and space and “convergence” to indicate conceptual, behavioral, or formal associations between those traditions. I intend to convey a sense of process even if I lose the specificity that the last term in particular traditionally has in the literature. The late George Kubler defined convergence as interchangeable “behavior patterns” originating in unconnected traditions. He exemplified this concept with forms and elements that exhibit similar visual characteristics but have differing cultural origins and meanings, such as open chapels, which served the needs of open-air worship in different cultures, and architectural ornaments that could be read as either console

307   ■  Notes to Pages 7–10 brackets in the Spanish style of Diego de Siloé or Chac noses among the Mayas. Kubler understood colonial survivals of ancient indigenous art less as indications of the continuation and transformation of native traditions than as forms of extinction; hence he defined these phenomena as static and isolated from each other. George Kubler, “On the Colonial Extinction of the Motifs of Precolumbian Art,” in Studies in Ancient American and European Art: The Collected Essays of George Kubler, 66–74. 20. Clara Bargellini, “Originality and Invention in the Painting of New Spain,” 79; Jonathan Brown, “Introduction: Spanish Painting and New Spanish Painting 1550– 1700,” in Pierce et al., Painting a New World, 19, 21. 21. “Globalization” here refers to the integration of diverse regions into a global network of communication, economic production, and exchange as well as the transnational circulation of ideas, commodities, and mass culture. While some theorists view globalization as fostering diversity, others associate its present form with the homogenization or flattening of world cultures through Americanization. For a useful collection of essays on globalization, see Jameson and Miyoshi, Cultures of Globalization. 22. Summaries are by definition reductive. Recognizing this limitation, the function of this discussion of cosmopolitanism is to provide a succinct background to theories fundamental both to the subject and to the development of my own thought. 23. Immanuel Kant, “Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch,” 93, 96, 102, 105–106, 107, 114. For a recent evaluation of Kant’s ideas on perpetual peace, see Allen W. Wood, “Kant’s Project for Perpetual Peace,” 59–76. 24. Wood, “Kant’s Project for Perpetual Peace,” 63; Mignolo, “Many Faces,” 173. 25. Cited in Craig Calhoun, “The Class Consciousness of Frequent Travelers: Toward a Critique of Actually Existing Cosmopolitanism,” 102. 26. Steven Vertoven and Robin Cohen, “Introduction: Conceiving Cosmopolitanism,” in Conceiving Cosmopolitanism, edited by Robin Cohen and Steven Vertoven, 7. 27. Peter van der Veer, “Colonial Cosmopolitanisms,” 165. 28. Calhoun, “Class Consciousness,” 105. 29. See, for instance, Gauvin A. Bayley, Art of Colonial Latin America, 16. 30. Ulf Hannerz, “Cosmopolitanism,” 71. 31. Ibid. Hannerz also discusses a cosmopolitanism that involves skills and self- confidence to deal with a heterogeneous alien environment; a cosmopolitanism in which diversity and wider horizons are sought as being rewarding for their own sake; a top-down cosmopolitanism led by organizations that promote cultural diversity; and a bottom-up cosmopolitanism emerging from personal and group experience (79). 32. Sheldon Pollock, “Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in History,” 15, 17, 39. 33. James Clifford, “Traveling Cultures,” in Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century, 36, 25, 27–28. 34. For examples, see McKenzie Wark, Virtual Geography: Living with Global Media Events. 35. Clifford’s essay “Fort Ross Meditation” is illuminating in this respect: Routes, 299–347. 36. Homi K. Bhabha, “Unsatisfied: Notes on Vernacular Cosmopolitanism,” 195–196, 192.

308   ■  Notes to Pages 10–15 37. Homi K. Bhabha, “‘Race,’ Time and the Revision of Modernity,” in Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture, 236–256. For critiques of Bhabha’s notion of vernacular cosmopolitanism, see Pnina Webner, “Vernacular Cosmopolitanism”; and Pnina Webner, “Understanding Vernacular Cosmopolitanism,” 7, 11. For a related critique of the association of cosmopolitanism with democracy, see Calhoun, “Class Consciousness,” 88, 92, 105. 38. Mignolo, “Many Faces,” 158, 181, 159. 39. The philosopher Martha Nussbaum envisioned a cosmopolitanism defined by a series of concentric circles beginning with the self and expanding to include the entire world. Her discussion ignited much controversy because she characterized patriotism as an impediment for the attainment of universal values such as justice and equality. Martha C. Nussbaum, “Patriotism and Cosmopolitanism,” 9. 40. Kwame Anthony Appiah, “Cosmopolitan Patriots,” 28, 24, 25. 41. van der Veer, “Colonial Cosmopolitanisms,” 179, 167, 178. 42. Bruce Robbins, “Introduction, Part I: Actually Existing Cosmopolitanism,” in Cosmopolitics: Thinking and Feeling beyond the Nation, edited by Pheng Cheah and Bruce Robbins, 2, 3, 5. 43. Pheng Cheah, “Given Culture: Rethinking Cosmopolitical Freedom in Transnationalism,” in Cosmopolitics, edited by Cheah and Robbins, 303, 316, 303. 44. In this context the self may stand for a social collective. 45. Mignolo associates the project of colonization with Eurocentrism and through the work of Michel-Rolph Trouillot with “killing, dominating and enslaving.” Mignolo, “Many Faces,” 164, 170. After this book was completed, I became aware of two studies which argue for the need to assume responsibility for violence into the ethical objectives of cosmopolitanism. Unlike the essays in this volume, these studies focus on modern and contemporary forms of political violence and attempt to integrate it into a concept of world responsibility associated with cosmopolitanism. See Gerard Delanty, “Cosmopolitanism and Violence: The Limits of Global Civil Society,” European Journal of Social Theory 4, no. 1 (2001): 41–52; Robert Fine, “Cosmopolitanism and Violence: Difficulties of Judgment,” British Journal of Sociology 57, no. 1 (2006): 49–67. 46. Kobena Mercer, ed., Cosmopolitan Modernisms, 11, 21, 22. 47. Fernand Braudel, Civilization and Capitalism, 15th–18th Century; Mignolo, “Many Faces,” 157ff. 48. Jacqueline Barnitz, Twentieth-Century Art of Latin America, 42–74. 49. Natalia Majluf, “‘Ce N’est Pas le Pérou,’ or, the Failure of Authenticity: Marginal Cosmopolitans at the Paris Universal Exhibition of 1855,” 869, 870, 869, 875, 893. 50. Gerardo Mosquera, “Infinite Islands regarding Art, Globalization and Cultures: Part I,” 64. 51. For a similar perspective, see Mari Carmen Ramírez, “Beyond the Fantastic: Framing Identity in U.S. Exhibitions of Latin American Art”; reprinted in Beyond the Fantastic: Contemporary Art Criticism from Latin America, edited by Gerardo Mosquera, 229–246. 52. Lowery Stokes Sims, “The Post-Modern Modernism of Wifredo Lam,” 96. 53. Numerous efforts have been made prior to this century to investigate the formal

309   ■  Notes to Pages 15–19 and technical lineage of specific kinds of objects and to establish links between these objects and other world traditions on the basis of style and technique of manufacture (e.g., the relationship of biombos, enconchados, feather painting, ceramics, and textiles with Eastern traditions), but this orientation seems more pronounced in conjunction with the dissemination of globalization theory in the last two decades. See, for example, Marta Dujovne, Las pinturas con incrustaciones de nácar; and Teresa Castelló Yturbide and Marita Martínez del Río de Redo, Biombos mexicanos; the more recent works by Gauvin A. Bailey, Art of Colonial Latin America and Art on the Jesuit Missions in Asia and Latin America, 1542–1773 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999); and Sofia Sanabrais, “The Biombo or Folding Screen: Examining the Impact of Japan on Artistic Production and the Globalization of Taste in Seventeenth-Century New Spain” (PhD dissertation, New York University, 2005). 54. Chaos theory in mathematics and physics deals with the behavior of complex nonlinear systems. Such systems behave in ways that are simultaneously unpredictable and patterned. Chaotic systems include the atmosphere, turbulent fluids, and economies. See Ilya Prigogine and Isabelle Stengers, Order Out of Chaos: Man’s New Dialogue with Nature (Boulder, CO: New Science Library/distributed by Random House, 1984). 55. Gruzinski, Mestizo Mind, 19. 56. Ibid., 31, 22, 31. 57. Ibid., 129. 58. Ibid., 147, 177. 59. Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, 70–71. 60. Brian Massumi, “Translator’s Foreword: Pleasures of Philosophy in Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari,” in A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, edited by Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, ix–xv. See also Deleuze and Guattari, Thousand Plateaus, 235, 296. 61. Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, 278, 208–209 (emphasis in the original). 62. Gilles Deleuze, The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, 23, 35. 63. Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 1: The Movement-Time Image; and Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2: The Time Image, 98–125. 64. Gruzinski, Mestizo Mind, 198, 178. 65. Walter D. Mignolo, The Idea of Latin America, 115–128, 141–148; Walter D. Mignolo, Local Histories/Global Designs: Coloniality, Subaltern Knowledges, and Border Thinking, 149–164. 66. Manuel de Landa, A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History. 67. I am indebted to the work of Michael Foucault for these ideas, specifically to his classic book Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. For an eloquent and concise discussion of Foucault as a visual historian, see John Rajchman, “Foucault’s Art of Seeing.” 68. Homi K. Bhabha, “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse”; and Homi K. Bhabha, ed., Nation and Narration. 69. Franz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth was seminal for Bhabha’s work and for this idea.

310   ■  Notes to Pages 20–27 70. See Jerry Bentley, Old World Encounters: Cross-Cultural Contacts and Exchanges in Pre-Modern Times; Eric R. Wolf, Europe and the People without History. 71. Emily Umberger, “Antiques, Revivals and References to the Past in Aztec Art”; Frances Berdan et al., eds., Aztec Imperial Strategies. 72. For an erudite discussion of this process, see Serge Gruzinski, La colonización de lo imaginario: Sociedades indígenas y occidentalización en el México español: Siglos XVI–XVIII. 73. Clara Bargellini uses “native” as synonymous with “indigenous person.” Bargellini, “Originality and Invention,” 80. Linda Curcio-Nagy consistently refers to indigenous Mexican people as Native Mexicans or Native Americans. Linda A. Curcio-Nagy, The Great Festivals of Colonial Mexico City: Performing Power and Identity. 74. James Lockhardt, The Nahuas after the Conquest, 115. 75. Jolene Rickard, speech delivered at “Round Table on Indigeneity,” Cornell University, Center for Comparative Modernities, December 7, 2009. 76. For Foucault, evidence is related to the acceptability of a practice. Rajchman, “Foucault’s Art,” 72. In this text, I use the word “traditional” to refer to accepted practices or evidences within a specific discipline. 77. Braudel, Civilization and Capitalism; Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason; Bruno Latour, We Have Never Been Modern. 78. In the early 1960s Umberto Eco coined the term “open work” to describe a work that requires audience participation for its instantiation without a predetermined trajectory for resolution. Umberto Eco, Opera aperta (Milan: Bompiani, 1962); Umberto Eco, The Open Work.

chapter 1 1. For detailed descriptions of these rituals, see Cristóbal Gutiérrez de Medina, Viage de tierra y mar feliz por mar y tierra; Lucas Alamán, “Entrada de un virrey en el reino de Nueva España, y toma de posesión del mando”; Ignacio Rubio Mañé, “Viaje de los virreyes de Nueva España a su destino, llegada y recepción,” in Introducción al estudio de los virreyes de Nueva España, 1535–1746, 1:115–197; Octavio Paz, “Ritos políticos en la Nueva España”; and Curcio-Nagy, Great Festivals of Colonial Mexico City. 2. John Phelan, The Ceremonial and Political Roles of Cities in Colonial Spanish America, 3. 3. Paz, “Ritos políticos,” 6; Phelan, Ceremonial and Political Roles, 5. 4. For a reconstruction of the arch, see Helga von Kügelgen, “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, su Teatro de Virtudes Políticas que constituyen a un príncipe y la estructuración emblemática de unos tableros en el Arco de Triunfo,” 151–160; and Helga von Kügelgen, “Línea prehispánica: Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora y su Teatro de Virtudes Políticas que constituyen a un príncipe,” Plates 3 and 4, 214–215. For a theoretical discussion of the process of reconstruction and a different approach, see María Fernández, “The Truth in Reconstruction and the Teatro,” Chapter 7 of “The Representation of National Identity in Mexican Architecture: Two Case Studies (1680 and 1889),” 205–237.

311   ■  Notes to Pages 27–29 5. This chapter includes material which formed a significant part of my doctoral dissertation defended in December 1992 and submitted in May 1993 (ibid.). I presented a summary of my original arguments in “Constructing a Mexican Identity: Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora’s Teatro de Virtudes Políticas (1680),” a paper presented in the session “Amerindian Art” chaired by Tom Cummins, College Art Association, Chicago, February 13, 1992. See College Art Association 1992; tape no. 120212–021 for a transcript of the session. 6. Bhabha: “Unsatisfied,” 192, 195. 7. Carmela Velásquez Zanelli proposed a similar interpretation for the loa as for the auto sacramental El divino Narciso by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. I focus on Sigüenza’s work and not on Sor Juana’s because the Teatro preceded the loa by a decade; although both authors attempted to reconcile the Aztec past with Christianity, Sor Juana’s loa does not feature virtues with the exception of Zeal (Celo) but allegories (America, The Occident, Religion). I mention relevant aspects of Sor Juana’s work where appropriate. The loa has been the subject of numerous literary studies, including Carmela Velásquez Zanelli, “La loa de ‘El divino Narciso’ de Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz y la doble recuperación de la cultura indígena mexicana”; Jorge Checa, “El divino Narciso y la redención del lenguaje”; Alfonso Méndez Plancarte, “Estudio liminar,” in Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: Obras completas, vol. 3, edited by Alfonso Méndez Plancarte. 8. For an extensive bibliography on transnationalism compiled by Mexico-North Research Network, accessed November 10, 2012, see http://dlir.org/bibliography -search.html?view=search&bid=1&stype=&sword=&bstyle=apa. 9. Francisco López Cámara, “La conciencia criolla en Sor Juana y Sigüenza”; Jacques Lafaye, Quetzalcoatl and Guadalupe, 65–66; Paz, “Ritos políticos,” 9; José Rojas Garcidueñas, “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora y el primer ejemplo de arte neoprehispánico en América (1680),” 47; George Kubler, Esthetic Recognition of Ancient Amerindian Art, 69–70. On the critical reception of Latin American art in the 1980s, see Ramírez, “Beyond the Fantastic.” 10. Anthony Pagden, Spanish Imperialism and the Political Imagination, 92–93. 11. Anthony Pagden, “Identity Formation in Spanish America,” 72. Pagden reiterated these opinions in “Fabricating Identity in Spanish America,” 44. 12. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things, 40. See also José Pascual Buxó, “El Triunfo Parténico: Jeroglífico barroco”; Anna More, “La Patria Criolla como jeroglífico secularizado en el Teatro de Virtudes”; Jaime Cuadriello, “Los jeroglíficos de la Nueva España.” 13. More, “Patria Criolla,” 49, 54–55. More reiterates her opinion in her essay “Carlos Sigüenza y Góngora y el Archivo Criollo en la Nueva España,” published after this chapter was completed. Departing from Jacques Derrida’s concept of the archive, More stresses the importance of the local in the construction of Creole identity. 14. Ibid., 69. 15. I first proposed and developed this idea in Fernández, “Representation of National Identity,” xiv, 16–46. 16. Kathleen Ross, The Baroque Narrative of Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora: A New World Paradise, 9. Ross focuses her study on Sigüenza’s Parayso occidental (1684). I

312   ■  Notes to Pages 29–31 became aware of her work after reaching similar conclusions in my study of the Teatro: Fernández, “Representation of National Identity,” viii, 130ff. 17. Margaret Rich Greer, The Play of Power: Mythological Court Dramas of Calderón de la Barca, 81 (quotation), 123. When I first wrote this text, I was unaware of this work. I thank an anonymous reviewer for bringing it to my attention. 18. Michael Schreffler, The Art of Allegiance: Visual Culture and Imperial Power in Baroque New Spain, 3, 44, 57, 85, 92. See also Michael Schreffler, “The Conquest of Mexico and the Representation of Imperial Power in Baroque New Spain,” in Invasion and Transformation: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the Conquest of Mexico, edited by Rebecca P. Brienen and Margaret A. Jackson, 110. In the same volume Mathew Restall also identifies local Mexican themes such as the conquest as subsumed in a celebratory discourse: Mathew Restall, “Spanish Creation of the Conquest of Mexico,” 94. 19. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Glorias de Querétaro en la Nueva Congregación Eclesiástica de María Santíssima de Guadalupe, 2–6. 20. See Henry Kamen, Spain in the Later Seventeenth Century, 1665–1700, 20–22; Steven Orso, Art and Death at the Spanish Habsburg Court, 79–81. For the economic effects of Spain’s deterioration on the New World dominions, see Woodrow Borah, New Spain’s Century of Depression, 20–25; and P. J. Bakewell, Silver Mining and Society in Colonial Mexico: Zacatecas, 1546–1700, 208–212, 226–230, 234; Israel, Race, Class and Politics in Colonial Mexico, 28, 30; Kamen, Spain in the Later Seventeenth Century, 133–134. 21. Benjamin Keen, The Aztec Image in Western Thought, 185, 174–176, 147, 163; Kamen, Spain in the Later Seventeenth Century, 20–22, 133–134. 22. In the process of reviewing the edited manuscript for this book, I became aware of Alejandro Montiel Bonilla’s book El Teatro de virtudes de Sigüenza y Góngora. Bonilla interprets the Teatro as a treatise designed to secure the viceroys’ favor by presenting the author as the highest authority on the Mexican past. In his opinion, Sigüenza did not intend to construct a Mexican identity but rather sought to exalt the value of the Mexican past in order to legitimate Spanish power. Montiel Bonilla does not present sufficient evidence to validate his claims, yet his conclusion is not incompatible with the ambivalence that I have identified in Sigüenza’s work. 23. For definitions of identity and subjectivity, see note 3 in the Introduction. 24. The collection of texts El origen del reino de la Nueva España, 1680–1750, vol. 1 of Los pinceles de la historia (4 vols., Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1999), is fundamental and indispensable for the study of Mexican seventeenth-century art and identity but is seldom cited. See especially Jaime Cuadriello, “El origen del reino y la configuración de su empresa: Episodios y alegorías de triunfo y fundación,” 50–107; Antonio Rubial and María Teresa Suárez Molina, “La construcción de una iglesia indiana: Las imágines de su edad dorada,” 142–179; and Cuadriello, “Tierra de prodigios: la ventura como destino,” 180–228. 25. Schreffler, Art of Allegiance, 44. 26. I use the notion of a tactic in accord with Michel de Certeau’s differentiation of tactic from strategy. While strategies are spatially locatable and are geared to regulating relations by means of targets and threats, tactics depend on “opportunities” which

313   ■  Notes to Pages 32–37 have to be seized and are characterized by improvisation and indeterminacy. Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, 29ff. 27. Joaquín García Icazbalceta, Francisco Terrazas y otros poetas del siglo XVI, 69 (emphasis added). For theories of cultural and political liminality, see Anne Norton, Reflections on Political Identity, 189–190; Homi K. Bhabha, “DissemiNation: Time, Narrative, and the Margins of the Modern Nation,” in Nation and Narration, ed. Homi K. Bhabha, 297, 300, 306; as well as the seminal text by Victor Turner, The Ritual Process. 28. For an example, see the history of the Fernández de la Cueva family in Rubio Mañé, Introduction al estudio de los virreyes, 1:249–250. 29. Manuel Ribera Cambas, Los gobernantes de México, 205. 30. Ibid.; see also 256–257. 31. Irving A. Leonard, Baroque Times in Old Mexico, 194. 32. Ibid., 195–196, 199, 204. 33. López Cámara, “La conciencia criolla en Sor Juana y Sigüenza,” 368. 34. Octavio Paz, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz o las trampas de la fe, 344, 106–108; Leonard, Baroque Times, 214; Antonio de Robles, Diario de sucesos notables, 3: Francisco Pérez de Salazar, Biografía de D. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, seguida de varios documentos inéditos, 161–192. 35. Giovanni Francesco [Juan Francisco] Gemelli Careri, Viaje a la Nueva España, 69ff. Sigüenza’s works with indigenous themes, now lost, include Imperio Chichimeco fundado en la América Septentrional por su primer poblador Teochichimecatl, engrandecido por los Ulmecas, Tultecas, y Acolhuas, tiranizado por los Mexicas, Culhuas . . . ; Fenix del Occidente S. Tomás Apostol hallado con el nombre de Quetzalcoatl entre las cenizas de antiguas tradiciones conservadas en piedras, en tecamoxtles Tultecos, y en cantares Teochichimecos y Mexicanos; Genealogía de los reyes Mexicanos: Un fragmento de la historia antigua de los indios con estampas; and Kalendario de los meses y fiestas de los Mexicanos: Irving A. Leonard, Ensayo bibliográfico de Sigüenza y Góngora, 15–17, 19–20. 36. For an extensive list of Sigüenza’s writings extant and lost, see Leonard, Ensayo bibliográfico. 37. Félix Zubilaga, “Los Jesuitas en Nueva España en el siglo XVI: Orientaciones metódicas,” 619, 627. 38. Texcoco was the capital city of the Acolhua Aztecs and a member of the Triple Alliance, a military union of the cities of Tenochtitlan, Tlaconpan, and Texcoco effective after 1428. 39. For a digital facsimile of the Codex Ixtlilxochitl, accessed December 12, 2012, see www.famsi.org/research/graz/ixtlilxochitl/index.html. 40. Ferdinand Anders, Marteen Jansen, and Luis Reyes García, Códice Ixtlilxochitl: Apuntaciones y pinturas de un historiador: Estudio de un documento colonial que trata del calendario naua, 16–17. 41. Pablo Escalante Gonzalbo, “Portrait of Moctezuma (Motecuhzoma II, Xocoyotzin),” cat. no. 23 in Painting a New World edited by Donna Pierce, Rogelio Ruiz Gomar, and Clara Bargellini, 172–173. 42. Native documents believed to have been sources for Obras históricas include the Codex Xolotl, the Quinatzin, Tlotzin, and Tepechpan maps, the Leyenda de los soles, and

314   ■  Notes to Pages 37–39 Anales de Cuauhtitlan. Anders, Jansen, and Reyes García, Códice Ixtlilxochitl, 16–17. Also see Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Obras históricas publicadas y anotadas por Alfredo Chavero. 43. Garcidueñas, “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora y el primer ejemplo,” 49; Leonard, Baroque Times, 199. 44. Kubler, Esthetic Recognition, 69. 45. For an analysis of Ixtlilxochitl’s work, see Salvador Velazco, “La imaginación historiográfica de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl: Etnicidades emergentes y espacios de enunciación.” In a recent essay, which reached my desk after this chapter had been completed, Pablo García discusses Sigüenza’s debt to Ixtlilxochitl as manifested in the text of the Teatro in greater detail than I do here. Pablo García, “Saldos del creollismo: El Teatro de virtudes políticas de Carlos de Siguenza y Góngora a la luz de la historiografía de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl.” 46. H. A. Groenewegen-Frankfort and Bernard Ashmole, Art of the Ancient World, 450. The arch of Titus, built in Rome in 81 AD, for example, shows Titus riding his chariot on one side and the spoils brought to the city from the Temple of Jerusalem on the other. The monument was built to commemorate the suppression of a Jewish revolt by Titus and his father, Vespasian, in 71 AD. 47. Zdzislaw Bieniecki, “Quelques remarques sur la composition architecturale des arcs de triomphe à la Renaissance,” 203. 48. George Kubler, Portuguese Plain Architecture, 105. 49. Barbara Chabrowe, “Baroque Temporary Structures Built for the Austrian Habsburgs,” 104, 110. 50. Fernando Checa Cremades, Carlos V y la imagen del héroe en el renacimiento, 167, 169. 51. “Los arcos triunfales sufrieron la misma evolución que el resto de las artes durante el período barroco. Como si se tratase no de un objeto físico sino de un concetto materializado, se transformaron más y más en enigmas monumentales. Los lienzos y todas las superficies disponibles de los muros y las columnas se cubrieron de relieves, medallas, emblemas e inscripciones. El monumento se convirtió en un texto y el texto en una charada erudita. Para descifrar el sentido del monumento había que ocurrir a sabias explicaciones y elucubraciones. Como el Gran Vidrio de Marcel Duchamp, ininteligible sin las notas del Boîte Verte, los arcos triunfales de la edad barroca tenían como obligado complemento un libro en el que se explicaba ingeniosamente y con la ayuda de la más extravagante erudición el sentido de las pinturas, los emblemas, y las inscripciones” (Paz, “Ritos políticos,” 7). For a useful anthology and bibliographies on Renaissance and Baroque ephemeral architecture, see Barbara Wisch and Susan Scott Munshower, eds., “All the World’s a Stage . . .”: Art and Pageantry in the Renaissance and Baroque. 52. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Teatro de virtudes políticas, in Seis obras, 172. 53. Francisco de la Maza, La mitología clásica en el arte colonial de México, 12. 54. José Pascual Buxó, Arco y certámen de la poesía mexicana colonial (siglo XVII), 37–47; Leonard, Baroque Times, 134ff. 55. De la Maza, Mitología clásica, 12.

315   ■  Notes to Pages 39–41 56. Antonio Bonet Correa, “La fiesta barroca como práctica del poder,” 50–51. 57. Mathías de Bocanegra, Teatro gerarchico de la luz, 3. 58. de la Maza, Mitología clásica, 88–91, 16–17, 61. 59. These ideas are based on Pollock’s essay “Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in History,” 24–25, 30–31. 60. Maurizio Fagiolo Dell’Arco and Silvia Carandini, L’Effimero barocco 2:115–124. 61. “Las obras de arquitectura, estructura [sic], y pintura realizadas en materiales perecederos sin pretensión de durar, eran las que, al igual que un manifiesto de arte de vanguardia, abrían la moda, introducían novedades, llamaban la atención de las gentes, ofreciendo variedad, por lo menos estilística, a un ritual siempre parejo, de una etiqueta igual a sí misma” (Bonet Correa, “Fiesta barroca,” 50). 62. Arches with three stages include the arches built by the cabildo for the ceremonial entry of the Marqués de Villena in 1640 and the Conde de Salvatierra in 1642; two arches built for the Conde de Alba de Liste in 1650, one commissioned by the cabildo and the other by the church; the Metropolitan Cathedral’s arch for the Duque of Albuquerque in 1653; the cathedral’s arch for the Conde de Baños in 1660; the cathedral’s and the cabildo’s arches for the Marqués de la Laguna; and two other arches: a funeral arch built in 1653 in honor of Don Marcelo López de Azcona, archbishop of Mexico, and an arch for the accession of the archbishop Francisco de Aguiar y Seixas erected by the cathedral in 1683. The tradition of dividing arches in three stages and using classical themes as illustrations prevailed well into the eighteenth century. 63. de la Maza, Mitología clásica, 97. 64. Jorge Alberto Manrique, “La estampa como fuente del arte en la Nueva España.” 65. Teresa Zapata, La entrada en la Corte de María Luisa de Orleans: Arte y fiesta en el Madrid de Carlos II, Figs. 75 and 83. According to Zapata, the arches were designed by Jerónimo González, Francisco de la Torre, Sebastián de Benavente Pedro de Ávila Cenicientos, and others; the principal painters were Claudio Coello, Matías de Torres, and José Jiménez Donoso. See also Edward J. Sullivan, Baroque Painting in Madrid: The Contribution of Claudio Coello (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1986), 45, Fig. 37; and Rosa López Torrijos, “Grabados y dibujos para la entrada en Madrid de María Luisa de Orleans (1680).” For other three-tiered European arches built for the Habsburgs, see Barbara Chabrowe, “Baroque Temporary Structures,” Figs. 102, 103, and 118. 66. Fr. Baltasar de Medina, Chronica de la santa provincia de San Diego de México. 67. The description of the triumphal arch for the Conde de Alba de Liste commissioned by the cabildo in 1650 mentions that in the second stage the arch had windows between the triglyphs, in the place of the metopes, suggesting an unusually large interior space. Alonso de Alaves Pinelo, Astro mythologico politico que en la entrada del excelentissimo señor Don Lvis Henriquez de Guvzman. 68. “Los sepulcros o monumentos que se ponen en México son bonitos y vistosos, pero pobres de luces; todos iguales y cada año se ponen de un mismo modo” (Gemelli Careri, Viaje, 1:103). 69. Toussaint, Colonial Art in Mexico, 222. 70. See “Ordenanzas de Albañilería. Expedidas el 27 de mayo de 1599. Confirmadas

316   ■  Notes to Pages 41–46 el 30 de agosto de 1599,” reproduced in Martha Fernández, Arquitectura y gobierno virreinal: Los maestros mayores de la ciudad de México, siglo XVIII, 287–291. 71. Ibid., 68–69. 72. Francisco del Barrio Lorenzot, “Compendio de los libros capitulares de la muy noble, insigne y leal Ciudad de Mexico.” 73. The city council of Mexico enacted a set of ordinances for carpenters, carvers, joiners, and viol makers on August 30, 1568. The Royal Court (Real Audiencia) confirmed this edict on the following October 26. New and stricter ordinances for sculptors and carvers were drafted by the city of Mexico on April 17, 1589, and confirmed by the viceroy on August 18 of the same year. 74. Francisco del Barrio Lorenzot, Ordenanzas y gremios de la Nueva España, 81. 75. “Primeramente ha de saber, ordenar, dibujar, trazar a una Montea, una planta o plantas, si tuviere muchos cuerpos conforme a buena arquitectura de la cual se le tome en cuenta particularmente de los miembros de ella en lo tocante a los cinco géneros Tozcano, Dórico, Tónico, Corinthio y Compósito, ha de ser examinado de la Talla y escultura tomando razón de cada cosa por práctica, teórica y demostración y el que fuere examinado en el todo de esta facultad pueda poner tienda y tomar otra obra de lo que fuere examinado así de madera como de piedra pena de veinte pesos” (ibid., 84). For an extensive explanation of montear, see Simonin, Tratado elemental de los cortes de cantería o arte de la montea. 76. Toussaint, Colonial Art in Mexico, 158. 77. The name used for architect in this document is albañil. This term for architect was replaced in 1746 when the ordinances for architecture were revised. For more information, see Fernández, Arquitectura y gobierno virreinal, 31–32. 78. Ibid., 155. 79. The artists credited for the design of the arches for María Luisa’s entry indicate that in Spain the monuments were a collaborative project. See note 65 above. 80. Martha Fernández has identified regional characteristics that differentiate the retablos of New Spain from their Spanish counterparts. See her “Tipologías del retablo novohispano (una aproximación).” For recent surveys on retablos, see Martha Fernández, ed., Retablos; and Clara Bargellini et al., Los retablos de la Ciudad de Mexico: Una guía. 81. For a brief description of the relation between Latin and Spanish in the textual descriptions of triumphal arches and the relation of the text to the work of art, see Claudia Parodi’s recently published “Fiestas Palaciegas,” 36–37. 82. Sigüenza’s elucidation of the city’s arch survives in several editions. The manuscript was first printed in Mexico by the widow of Bernardo Calderón in 1680. By 1790 the only extant copy of the book in Mexico City was kept in the library of the Convent of La Merced. The book was reprinted that year in response to a royal request dated February 21. It was reprinted again in 1856 by the Imprenta de Vicente García Torres as part of the collection Documentos para la Historia de México. In 1928 it was published in Obras, edited by Francisco Pérez Salazar; in 1960 in Obras históricas, edited by José Rojas Garcidueñas, and also as part of a collection titled Seis obras, edited by William G. Bryant. According to Guillermo Tovar de Teresa, a copy of the original 1680 edition

317   ■  Notes to Pages 46–49 is kept at the Biblioteca Medina in Santiago de Chile. About one-third of the original text is in Latin, as Sigüenza included numerous quotations from classical authors in support of his explanations. In the Rojas Garcidueñas and Bryant editions, the Latin quotations have been translated into Spanish. Bryant has retained most of the original translations by Rojas Garcidueñas. The seventeenth-century Spanish of the text, however, has been left largely untouched. I have worked with two texts: the 1856 version published in 1928 and Bryant’s edition. In the discussion below, I have retained the Latin translations from the 1984 edition. In my translations from the Spanish I have tried to re-create the original meaning, not the aesthetic qualities of the original work. Sigüenza’s abbreviations appear as in the original text. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Teatro de virtvdes políticas, supplement to part 1; Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Obras, ed. Francisco Pérez de Salazar,, 1–148; Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Obras históricas, ed. José Rojas Garcidueñas, 225–361; Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, ed. William G. Bryant, 167–240. 83. von Kügelgen, “Línea prehispánica,” 225–226. 84. Fernández, “Representation of National Identity,” 205–237. 85. E. H. Gombrich, The Image and the Eye, 266, 272. 86. “Glorioso premio de mis estudios, reconozco la ocasión en que me puso mi dicha, siendo la mayor a que pudiera aspirar hallar motivo de postrarme a los pies de vuestra excelencia para ensalzar mi fortuna; elevárase ésta a superior eminencia si obtengo el que con cariño acepte este triunfal Teatro de las virtudes políticas, en que las que en vuestra excelencia pueden servir de modelo augusto para que se reformen aquéllas, se aplaudan inmortales, con prerogativas de heróicas” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 167; Obras, 5). 87. “Y si era destino de la fortuna el que en alguna ocasión renaciesen los mexicanos monarcas de entre las cenizas en que los tiene el olvido, para que como fénixes del Occidente los inmortalizase la fama, nunca mejor pudieron obtenerlo que en la presente, por haber de ser vuestra excelencia quien les infundiese el espíritu, como otras veces lo ha hecho su real y excelentísima casa con las que ilustran la Europa” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 167–168; Obras, 6). 88. See John Bierhorst, trans., Cantares Mexicanos: Songs of the Aztecs, 4, 18, 23. For period descriptions of mitotes, see Andrés Pérez de Ribas, History of the Triumphs of Our Holy Faith amongst the Most Barbarous and Fierce Peoples of the New World, 715; José de Acosta, Historia natural y moral de las Indias, Book I, Chapter 28, 376. For the tocotín as source for the Teatro, see Fernández, “Representation of National Identity,” 113–124. 89. Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 169; Obras, 6. 90. “Si siempre hemos experimentado a los príncipes que nos han gobernado nada sangrientos, como puede tener denominación de triunfal la pompa con que México recibe a los que ofrece su amor?” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 170; Obras, 7). 91. “Indignidad nada decente cortejar con sátiras a los príncipes a quienes sólo se deben sacrificar atenciones y venerar con aprecios” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 170; Obras, 8 [emphasis added]). 92. “Providencia será también el que la vez primera que a los príncipes y gobernadores se les franquean las puertas sea cuando en ellas estuvieren ideadas las virtudes

318   ■  Notes to Pages 50–51 heroicas de los mayores . . . para que, depuesto allí todo lo que con ellas no conviniere, entren al ejercicio de la autoridad y del mando adornados de cuantas perfecciones se les proponen para ejemplar del gobierno” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 171; Obras, 8). 93. “Estilo común ha sido de los americanos ingenios hermosear con mitológicas ideas de mentirosas fábulas las más de las portadas triunfales que se han eregido para recibir a los príncipes” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 172; Obras, 10). 94. Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 173; Obras, 11. 95. “Cómo, pues será lícito el que sirvan de idea a los príncipes, que son imagen de Dios, las sombras de aquellas deidades tenebrosas, a quienes los mismos gentiles quitaron tal vez la máscara de la usurpada divinidad?” (ibid.). 96. “No será muy desestimable mi asunto cuando en los mexicanos emperadores, que en la realidad subsistieron en este emporio celebérrimo de la América, hallé sin violencia lo que otros tuvieron necesidad de mendigar en las fábulas” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Obras, 13). The 1984 edition reads: “Seguir muy desestimable mi asunto” (Seis obras, 175). Because the word “seguir” does not make sense in the sentence, I believe that it may have been a misprint. 97. See Stacie Widdifield, “Dispossession, Assimilation, and the Image of the Indian in Late-Nineteenth-Century Mexican Painting”; and The Embodiment of the National in Late Nineteenth-Century Mexican Painting. 98. “Luego, si de la Atlántica, que governaba Neptuno, pasaron gentes a poblar estas provincias . . . ¿quién dudara el que de tener a Neptuno por su progenitor sus primitivos habitadores los toltecas, de donde dimanaron los mexicanos, cuando en sumo grado convienen con los egipcios, de quienes descendieron los que poblaron la Atlántica?” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 183; Obras, 23). 99. “Neptuno, llamado Conso, Harpocrates, y Sigalim, hijo de Isis, y por consiguiente, de Mizraím” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 179; Obras, 17). The title of the prelude says it all: “Neptune is not a fictitious God of Kindness, but son of Mizraím, Godson of Cam, Great-Grandson of Noah, and Protector of the Occidental Indians.” 100. Diego de Durán, The History of the Indies of New Spain, translated by Doris Heyden, 1–11; Christopher N. C. Couch, “Style and Ideology in the Durán Illustrations: An Interpretative Study of Three Early Colonial Mexican Manuscripts,” 76, 104, 131–133, 139, 140–141, 336, 342, 397; Pablo Escalante Gonzalbo, “Pintar la historia tras la crisis de la conquista,” 24–49. 101. Salvador Velazco, “La imaginación historiográfica de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl: Etnicidades emergentes y espacios de enunciación.” Also see García, “Saldos del creollismo.” 102. Keen, Aztec Image, 187–189. 103. “Los miserables indios . . . gente arrancada de sus pueblos, por ser los más extraños de su provincia, gente despedazada por defender su patria y hecha pedazos por su pobreza, pueblo terrible en el sufrir y después del cual no se hallara otro tan paciente en el padecer, gente que siempre aguarda el remedio de sus miserias y siempre se halla pisada de todos” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 180). 104. According to Sigüenza y Góngora, a group of indigenous women began the

319   ■  Notes to Pages 51–53 revolt; but his report also suggests that members of the church incited popular discontent against the viceroy. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Alboroto y Motín de México de 8 de junio de 1692, 54, 58–65. 105. “[G]ente la más ingrata, desconocida, quejumbrosa e inquieta que Dios crió”; “Los que mas instaban estas quejas eran los Indios . . . Ellos eran, como he dicho, los de mayores quejas y desvergüenzas, siendo así que nunca experimentaron mejor año que el presente” (ibid., 54). 106. For theoretical discussions of stereotypes, see Homi K. Bhabha, “The Other Question,” in The Location of Culture, 66, 77, 82; Sander Gilman, Difference and Pathology: Stereotypes of Sexuality, Race and Madness, 15–31, 76–108. 107. Máscaras were a popular form of entertainment of European origin, consisting of a group of people wearing costumes and masks who paraded in the streets on horseback and on foot. The costumes represented historical, mythological, and biblical personages. Leonard, Baroque Times, 119; Irving A. Leonard, “A Mexican Máscara of the Seventeenth Century.” For a complete account of the conspiracy, see Manuel Orozco y Berra, Noticia histórica de la conjuración del Marqués del Valle: Años 1565–1568. For a discussion of máscaras and other forms of popular culture as precedents for the Teatro, see Fernández, “Representation of National Identity,” 113–124. 108. “[C]onstando de tres cuerpos, sin las acroterias y remates que se movieron sobre diez y seis pedestales y otras tantas columnas de jaspe, revestidos los tercios de hojas de parra con bases y capiteles de bronze como también la cornisa con arquitrabe, tocadura, molduras y canecillos de lo mismo, sin que al friso le faltasen triglifos, metopas, modillones y cuantos otros ornamentos son individuos de la orden corintia de que constaba. Hermoseóse el cuerpo segundo con la variedad concertada que a lo compósito se permite, excediendo al cuerpo primero con singulares primores, como también a éste el tercero que se formó de hermatemas áticas y bichas pérsicas, aliñadas con cornucopias y volantes. “Dispúsose la arquitectura con tres entrecalles, que fueron la de en medio y las laterales. Unas y otras descollaban sobre tres puertas, retirándose la de en medio para dentro la de en medio para dentro a beneficio de la perspectiva, como también todo el resto de aquella calle que se unía con las otras con unos intercolumnios admirablemente dispuestos y hermoseados (como también los pedestales de las columnas inferiores) con varios jeroglíficos y empresas concernientes al asunto y que parecieron bien a los eruditos . . . omito la especificación prolija de la simetría y partes de este arco o portada triunfal, contentándome con decir que se dispuso como para quien era y con la circunstancia de que siempre se adelanta México con gigantescos progresos en tales casos. Las cuatro entrecalles exteriores de las dos fachadas dieron lugar, según la distribución de cuerpos, a doce tableros, sin otros dos que ocuparon el lugar de la de en medio desde la dedicatoria, que estribaba sobre el medio punto de la puerta principal hasta el frontis de la coronación, que substenía las armas reales entre las de sus excelencias, todos estuvieron en marcos tarjeteados con cortezas, festones, y volutas de bronce y cuantos otros aliños se sujetaron al arte” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 185–186; Obras, 26–27). 109. Parallels to this phenomenon can be found in musical compositions in which

320   ■  Notes to Pages 53–57 the melismata have a stronger musical profile than the tunes. Argentine composer Alejandro Viñao views ornamentation in music as a powerful expressive vehicle: “if we remove the ornament, we remove identity”: Alejandro Viñao, “Computer Music.” 110. With the advent of neoclassicism in the eighteenth century and modernism in the twentieth, ornament fell into disregard in architecture theory if not always in practice. Detailed studies of ornament in Mexican architecture are still wanting. 111. Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 189; Obras, 31. I thank David Meyers and the classics scholar Michael Fontaine for their assistance with the translation of this inscription. Professor Fontaine alerted me to errors in the transcription of this inscription in the extant texts, even though the translations invariably assume the Latin to be correct. For the corrected Latin inscription, see Jorge Adame Goddard, “El teatro de virtudes políticas de Sigüenza y Góngora: Una manifestación del pensamiento político novohispano.” I am grateful to Professor Fontaine for introducing me to Goddard’s text, which argues for the political nature of Don Carlos’s work like this chapter but in more schematic form. Any other errors in the translation are mine. 112. “No es mi intento investigar el principio de donde les dimana a los príncipes supremos la autoridad; presupóngola con el recato y veneración que se debe, advirtiendo que ésa misma es la que delega a sus vicarios y substitutos . . . dijo Johannus Altus, in Polit. Cap. 18, num. 7: ‘Ni la república ni el reino son para el rey, sino que el rey o cualquier otro magistrado, es para el reino y la ciudad. Pues el pueblo es, por naturaleza y por tiempo anterior, mayor y superior a sus gobernantes, así como los componentes son anteriores y superiores al compuesto’” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 207–208; Obras, 55). 113. Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 188; Obras, 26. For a discussion of the relation of pictorial mimesis to colonial Mexican history, see Michael Schreffler, “Their Cortés and Our Cortés: Spanish Colonialism and Aztec Representation.” Schreffler argues that mimetic painting in historical representations was analogous to eyewitnessing in the narration of a “true” history. Schreffler’s essay was published after the completion of this chapter. 114. See Cremades, Carlos V, especially 166–180. 115. “[D]el nombre de cada emperador o del modo con que lo significaban los mexicanos por sus pinturas, se dedujo la empresa o jeroglífico en que más atendí a la explicación suave de mi concepto que a las leyes rigurosas de su estructura” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 188; Obras, 29). 116. Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 212–213; Obras, 60–61; von Kügelgen, “Línea prehispánica,” 225–226; von Kügelgen, “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, su Teatro,” 155–156. 117. “La doctrina simbólica (en que se comprenden empresas, jeroglíficos, emblemas) es una ciencia en que, con breves y compendiosas palabras, expresamos algunos insignes y variados misterios, algunos tomados de los dichos de los sabios y otros de las historias” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 188; Obras, 29). 118. Walter Benjamin, “The Task of the Translator,” 74. 119. Jaime Cuadriello, “Moctezuma,” 377; Jaime Cuadriello, “Moctezuma a través de los siglos,” 109; Cuadriello, “Origen del reino,” 59.

321   ■  Notes to Pages 57–61 120. Cuadriello, “Moctezuma a través de los siglos,” 109; Cuadriello, “Origen del reino,” 59. For the connection between Quetzalcoatl and Saint Thomas, see Durán, History of the Indies of New Spain, 504, 505, 530; and David Carrasco, Quetzalcoatl and the Irony of Empire, 57. 121. Cuadriello, “Moctezuma a través de los siglos,” 111; Cuadriello, “Origen del reino,” 59; Cuadriello, “Moctezuma,” 377. 122. Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 190; Obras, 32. 123. “A las voces del Amor que fueron tomadas des Salmo 23, vers. 7: “Abrid oh príncipes vuestras puertas . . . y entrará . . . ,” abrían las del arco que allí se representaba algunos de los mexicanos emperadores para que se le franqueasen a Mercurio y Venus que, volando sobre unas nubes y adornados como la antigüedad los describe, ocupaban las manos con unos escudos o medallones que contenían los retratos al vivo de sol excelentísimos señores virreyes dando mote el Génesis, cap. I, vers. 16: ‘Astros grandes que presidiesen.’ Desde lo más superior atendía a este triunfo entre nubes que servían de vaso a lo dilatado y hermoso de sus lagunas la ciudad de México, representada por una india con su traje propio y con corona murada, recostada en un nopal, que es su divisa o primitivas armas. Y sabiendo, cuantos lo veían, ser el arco de los reyes y emperadores mexicanos, y que la flor de la tuna tiene representación de corona, no extrañaban el mote, Virgilio, égloga 3, que coronaba al nopal: ‘Inscript nomina regum Nascantur flores’ [Nacen las flores con los nombres de los reyes escritos]” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 190; Obras, 32). 124. Escalante Gonzalbo, “Pintar la historia,” 41. 125. Cuadriello, “Moctezuma a través de los siglos,” 112; Escalante Gonzalbo, “Portrait of Moctezuma,” 173; Cuadriello, “Moctezuma,” 377; Detlef Heikamp, Mexico and the Medici, 23; Susan Milbrath, “Representations of Caribbean and Latin American Indians in Sixteenth Century European Art”; Jaime Cuadriello, Las glorias de la república de Tlaxcala: O la conciencia como imagen sublime, 370. 126. In representations of the tocotín, the rulers’ costumes also exhibit European influences. See Ilona Katzew, Casta Painting: Images of Race in Eighteenth-Century Mexico, Figs. 1, 8, 22, 77, for representations of indigenous women in the early eighteenth century and Fig. 229 for a representation of the tocotín ca. 1780. 127. Cuadriello, “Origen del reino,” 34. 128. See, for example, Elizabeth Hill Boone, Stories in Red and Black: Pictorial Codices of the Aztecs and Mixtecs; Elizabeth Hill Boone, ed., Painted Books and Indigenous Knowledge in Mesoamerica: Manuscript Studies in Honor of Mary Elizabeth Smith; Barbara Mundy, The Mapping of New Spain: Indigenous Cartography and the Maps of the Relaciones Geográficas; and John Pohl, The Politics of Symbolism in the Mixtec Codices. 129. “Me parece conveniente prevenir a quien me pueda objecionar el que hago mención de las fábulas en el mismo papel que las repruebo, diciéndolo con Pedro Blessence, Epist. 91: ‘porque escuchas a disgusto, intercalo historias fabulosas’ conque puede ser que satisfaga” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 191; Obras, 33). 130. “[Q ]ue fue el que los condujo de su patria . . . a estas provincias que llamó la antigüedad Anáhuac” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 187; Obras, 28). 131. Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 191; Obras, 40.

322   ■  Notes to Pages 61–63 132. Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 196; Obras, 40. 133. “Pintóse entre las nubes un brazo siniestro empuñando una luciente antorcha acompañada de un florido ramo en que descansaba el pájaro huitzilin a que dio mote Virgilio Aenid 2, Ducente Deo. En el país se representó en el traje propio de los antiguos chichimecas al valeroso Huitzilopochtli que mostrando a diferentes personas lo que en las nubes se veía los exhortaba al viaje, proponiéndoles el fin y el premio con las palabras del Génesis, cap. 43, Ingentem magnam; fue mi intento dar a entender la necesidad que tienen los príncipes de principiar con Dios sus acciones para que se descuellen grandes y se veneren heróicas. Explicóse este concepto, como se pudo con el siguiente epigrama: Acciones de fe constante que obra el príncipe, jamás se pueden quedar atrás en teniendo a Dios delante. Los efectos lo confiesan con justas demostraciones, pues no tuercen las acciones que sólo a Dios enderezan.” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 197; Obras, 40) 134. “[S]ignificados recónditos y misteriosos” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 197; Obras, 41). 135. von Kügelgen, “Línea prehispánica,” 220–221, 222; von Kügelgen, “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, su Teatro,” 154–155. 136. von Kügelgen, “Línea prehispánica,” 220; von Kügelgen, “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, su Teatro,” 154. 137. Elizabeth Hill Boone, Incarnations of the Aztec Supernatural: The Image of Huitzilopochtli in Mexico and Europe, 67. 138. Ibid., 59. 139. Nicholson supported his identification with a bas-relief sculpture of the slain goddess found at the base of the temple stairs, which commemorates her sacrifice. H. B. Nicholson, “The New Tenochtitlan Templo Mayor Coyolxauhqui-Chantico Monument,” Indiana 10 (1985), Gedenkschrift Gerdt Kutscher, part 2: 77–98. 140. Barbara Mundy, “Mapping the Aztec Capital: The 1524 Nuremberg Map of Tenochtitlan, Its Sources and Meanings,” 21. 141. An auto sacramental was a morality play written to accompany Corpus Christi processions. 142. “Pintóse este suceso en el país del tablero que le pertenecía, y en su primer distancia se veía a Cuitlahuatzin con una vestidura llena de manos, imitando al grande Alejandro en la acción de romper los nudos de las coyundas de Gordio, padre de Midas . . . el mote que pareció proporcionado fue: ‘Rumpe moras [Rompe la dificultad]’ y todo lo que de esto pudo decirse, lo comprendió este epigrama: Cuando mira la equidad Difícil la ejecución La misma resolución

323   ■  Notes to Pages 63–65 Rompe la dificultad; Que ceguedades en calmas De dificultad no importan Pues las manos que las cortan Traen a su príncipe en palmas.” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 227; Obras, 78–79)

143. “No solo debe mantener a los súbditos sino eximirlos de los riesgos que pueden peligrar por las violencias extrañas” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 228; Obras, 79). 144. “Pero nada de esto me confundió como el ver, que sin más práctica que el cuydo con el que tal vez atendieron las Españolas marchas, ó en conductas de gente, ó en regocijos, y fiestas, dispusieron la suya con orden tan admirable, que ni el compás de los movimientos, ni en la igualdad de las filas, ni en la gala del disparar, ni en la presteza de las cargas, ni el concierto de escuadronarse, y salir, les hizieran muy conocida ventaja los Veteranos; de donde puede inferirse, no ser incapaces de disciplina, si a caso fuera necesario introducirlos en los Marciales estudios” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Glorias de Querétaro, 47–48; emphasis added). 145. von Kügelgen, “Línea prehispánica,” 227; von Kügelgen, “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, su Teatro,” 157. 146. “Para elogiarle esta constancia se pintó con rostro mesurado y alegre sobre una columna, que es como debía estar según Apuleyo, lib. de Dogmat. Platón: ‘El varón sabio no se abate en las cosas adversas, ni se levanta en las prósperas, permaneciendo en la inflexibilidad y fortaleza de la roca.’ Combatíanle la guerra, el hambre y la muerte, que se especificaban con sus insignias . . . Leíase en la columna ‘Non Inclinabitur’ [No se inclinara], Psalm. 103, vers. 3, y sobre la cabeza de Cuauhtemoc en lugar de corona: ‘Mens immota Manet [La mente permanece inconmovible],’ Sil. Ital., lib. I; y aunque eran los epígrafes explicación bastante de aquesta empresa, para hacerla mas común fue necesario añadirle este epigrama: La columna diamantina Que este rey con persistencia Abraza no a la violencia, No al infortunio se inclina; Porque la guerra, la muerte, Y el hambre sin contrastarle, Sirven solo de aumentarle Prerrogativas de suerte.” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 228–229; Obras, 80–81) 147. “De esta manera salí (como pude) del empeño en que me puso mi patria en ocasión tan grande observando lo que de Platón, lib. de Amore, dice Casan en Cathal. I, consid. 50: ‘La perfecta alabanza es aquella que describe los orígenes de una cosa que narra la forma presente y que muestra los siguientes acontecimientos.’ Pues, en la descripción de este arco se halla el principio del mexicano gobierno y lo demás que me prometo muy cierto. Y aunque ya expresé los motivos que me obligaron a no valerme de fábulas, apólogos o parábolas, debo añadir aquí el que juzgué crímen enorme disfrazar las verdades entre mentiras” (Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, 231; Obras, 83).

324   ■  Notes to Pages 66–70 148. “Cosa muy diferente aconteció, como sabemos, un siglo después, cuando ciertos estudios e investigaciones, y sobre todo públicas reivindicaciones de asuntos de la tradición y de los valores y temas de lo indio, fueron vistos como ligados políticamente a un nacionalismo que podía ser, y en efecto acabó por serlo, adverso y subversivo contra el dominio de España en estas tierras. Mucho menos de lo que en 1680 hizo Sigüenza y Góngora cien años después costó al padre Mier su primer destierro y prisión” (Rojas Garcidueñas, “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora y el primer ejemplo,” 51). 149. Even in 1690 Spanish American talent was largely unappreciated in Spain, as is clear in Sor Juana de la Cruz’s loa to “El divino Narciso,” where Zeal asks Religion to consider “the impropriety” of staging a play written in Mexico in Madrid. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, “Loa para el Auto Sacramental,” 19. 150. Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, “What Is a Minor Literature?” 59, 67. 151. Ibid., 59–61. 152. Bhabha, “DissemiNation,” 305. 153. Benjamin, “Task of the Translator,” 71–72.

chapter 2 1. Vitruvius, The Ten Books of Architecture, Book III, Chapter 1, part 3, 73; Book III, Chapter 1, part 5, 73. 2. An illustration by Cesariano shows the man with slim proportions. Joseph Rykwert, The Dancing Column: On Order in Architecture, 88. 3. Robert Tavernor, “Contemplating Perfection through Piero’s Eyes,” 78–93. 4. Vaughan Hart, “On Inigo Jones and the Stuart Legal Body: Justice and Equality . . . and Proportions Appertaining,” 141. For an extensive treatment of proportion and symmetry during the Renaissance, see Rudolf Wittkower, Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism. The association of the ideal male bodies with clearly articulated, often exaggerated musculature and the attribution of moral qualities to such bodies can be traced to classical Greece. See Shigehisa Kuroyama, The Expressiveness of the Body and the Divergence of Greek and Chinese Medicine, especially Chapter 3, “Muscularity and Identity,” 111–152. 5. The Codex Ríos or Codex Vaticanus A includes an illustration that resembles Leonardo’s Vitruvian man. As part of a sixteenth-century copy (in Italian) of a native Mexican manuscript, this image could have been based on a print of Leonardo’s drawing or a version of it. See Ferdinand Anders, Maarten Jansen, and Luis Reyes García, eds., Códice Vaticano A3738, vol. 1., 54r; vol. 2, Religión, costumbres e historia de los antiguos mexicanos, 245–247. For comments on the heterogeneous style and proposed dating of the manuscript (1562 to 1566), see vol. 2, 23, 37, and 29. 6. While studies of gender in architecture are at least two decades old, considerations of race are more recent, scarcer, and largely focused on the modern period. See, for example, Sites of Memory: Perspectives on Architecture and Race, edited by Craig E. Barton (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2001); and Lesley Naa Norle Lokko, White Papers, Black Marks: Architecture, Race, Culture (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000). For classic essays in gender and space, see Beatriz Colomina,

325   ■  Notes to Pages 70–72 ed., Sexuality and Space (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1992); and Diana Agrest, Patricia Conway, and Leslie Weisman, eds., The Sex of Architecture (New York: Harry Abrams, 1996). 7. Elizabeth Grosz, Architecture from the Outside: Essays on Virtual and Real Space, 63, 57, xvi. 8. Current research indicates that casta painting originated in Mexico and the majority of these paintings were produced there, so I treat casta paintings as a locally developed genre. Although paintings of ethnic types are found throughout South America, only one series of casta paintings had been identified in the region at the time of this writing. Scholars who studied this series concurred that it was based on Mexican models. I thank Natalia Majluf for confirming that this information is still valid. See Katzew, Casta Painting, 150–151; Pilar Romero de Tejada, “Los cuadros de mestizaje del virrey Amat,” in Los cuadros de mestizaje del virrey Amat y la representación etnográfica en el Perú colonial, edited by Natalia Majluf, 18; Luis Eduardo Wuffarden, “Los lienzos del virrey Amat y la pintura limeña del siglo XVIII,” in Los cuadros de mestizaje del virrey Amat, edited by Natalia Majluf, 59. For catalogs of Mexican casta paintings, see Katzew, Casta Painting; Ilona Katzew, New World Orders: Casta Painting and Colonial Latin America; and María Concepción García Sainz, Las castas mexicanas: Un género pictórico americano. For examples of South American paintings of local types that resemble but lack the characteristics of casta paintings, see García Sainz, Las castas mexicanas, 232–240. In the introduction to a collection of essays published while this chapter was undergoing revisions, Susan Deans-Smith and Ilona Katzew state that “the pictorial genre known as casta painting was invented in Mexico in the eighteenth century.” To my knowledge, this assertion has not been challenged. Susan DeansSmith and Ilona Katzew, “Introduction: The Alchemy of Race in Mexican America,” in Race and Classification: The Case of Mexican America, edited by Ilona Katzew and Susan Deans-Smith, 3. 9. Carolyn Dean and Dana Liebsohn attribute the invisibility of Asians in the scholarship on Latin American mestizaje to the theoretical limitations of postcolonial studies. The absence of Asians in eighteenth-century Mexican casta paintings indicates that selective tendencies in the construction of Mexican identity may have begun earlier. According to recent studies, Asians often were classified as indigenous peoples. Carolyn Dean and Dana Liebsohn, “Hybridity and Its Discontents: Considering Visual Culture in Colonial Spanish America”; Ilona Katzew and Susan Deans Smith, “Introduction,” 7. 10. María Elena Martínez, “The Language, Genealogy and Class of ‘Race’ in Colonial Mexico,” 32, 35. For an exhaustive list of popular casta designations, see Riva Palacio, México a través de los siglos, 2:472. These categories seem to have been exclusively Mexican. For different racial designations, see references for the Peruvian set of casta paintings cited in note 8. 11. Katzew, Casta Painting, 5. 12. Ibid., 46; Magali Carrera, Imagining Identity in New Spain: Race, Lineage, and the Colonial Body in Portraiture and in Casta Paintings, 41. 13. See, for example, Katzew, Casta Painting, Figs. 48, 51, 53, 130, 181, 223.

326   ■  Notes to Pages 72–78 14. Ibid., 114. 15. Ibid., 30–31, Plates 48, 49, 51. 16. Carrera, Imagining Identity, 14–15. 17. The recent anthology Race and Classification by Katzew and Deans-Smith includes detailed discussions of these issues, especially Martínez, “Language, Genealogy,” 25–42. 18. Ibid., 27–30, 39. 19. Katzew, Casta Painting, 3, 202. 20. Ibid., 39, 53. Ironically, other Europeans (and later North Americans) described the populations of Spain as racially mixed and consequently degenerate. Susan DeansSmith, “Creating the Colonial Subject: Casta Paintings, Collectors, and Critics in Eighteenth-Century Mexico and Spain,” 176, 192. 21. Katzew and Deans Smith, “Introduction,” 9. 22. After Foucault, discourse here is to be understood as a system of representations including texts, images, concepts, and practices that construct, define, and regulate an object of knowledge. 23. Rebecca Haidt, Embodying Enlightenment: Knowing the Body in EighteenthCentury Spanish Literature and Culture, 114–115. 24. Ibid., 117, 122. The Greek origins of these ideas also are discussed extensively in Kuroyama, Expressiveness of the Body, 111–152. 25. Sidney Donnell, Feminizing the Enemy: Imperial Spain, Transvestite Drama, and the Crisis of Masculinity, 41–42, 66–67. 26. Ibid., 42. The feminization of non-Europeans had antecedents in ancient Greece. Kuroyama, Expressiveness of the Body, 141–142. 27. Henry Kamen, Philip V of Spain: The King Who Reigned Twice, 8, 12–13, 24, 228–229. 28. Haidt, Embodying Enlightenment, 117–118, 135, 118–119. 29. Janis Tomlinson, From El Greco to Goya: Painting in Spain, 1561–1828, 88, 110, 122– 125 (for contrasts with early Bourbon portraits). See also Janis Tomlinson, “Painters and Patrons at the Court of Madrid, 1701–1828.” Jonathan Brown explained the austerity of the portraits of Philip IV as a nostalgic gesture to emulate the style of portraiture of the reign of Philip II. Jonathan Brown, “Enemies of Flattery: Velázquez Portrait of Philip IV.” For a relevant investigation of black dress in Europe, which could complicate Brown’s study, see Jane Schneider, “Peacocks and Penguins: the Political Economy of European Cloth and Colors.” 30. Kamen, Philip V, 220, 234; for painting under the Bourbons, see Ronda Kasl and Suzanne L. Stratton, eds., Painting in Spain in the Age of Enlightenment. For a focused survey of Spanish art during the reign of Philip V, see Yves Bottineau, L’Art de cour dans L’Espagne de Philippe V, 1700–1746. The majo, a working-class type that characterized purity and casticismo, figures in various paintings of the period, especially in works by Goya; but because of his lower-class associations and unruly behavior, he does not match the literary model of masculine refinement and moderation. For discussions of the majo, see Haidt, Embodying Enlightenment, 119, 144; Tomlinson, From El Greco to Goya, 140–144. For differences between paintings of courtiers and intellectuals during

327   ■  Notes to Pages 78–82 the same period in England, see Steffi Roettgen, Anton Raphael Mengs, 1728–1779, and His British Patrons, 22. 31. Esteban de Arteaga, La belleza ideal, 88. 32. “Debiendo, pues, el pintor representar sus figuras en acción, debe expresar sus semblantes y en todo lo demás aquella situación y aquellos movimientos que el alma produciría en los cuerpos si realmente se hallase en aquel estado; pero como entre estos movimientos hay su más y su menos, esto es, que unos son forzados, otros fáciles; algunos nobles, otros ordinarios, y de otras mil maneras depende, por tanto del gusto del pintor el saber escoger los que producen belleza. Si la pasión que quiere expresar es muy violenta, y copia materialmente algún modelo ordinario, hará una cosa afectada y fea que, moviendo demasiado las fibras de los sentidos, causará pena en vez de placer. Ni un instante debe perder de vista aquel gran principio en que consiste el misterio de su arte, esto es que el objeto de la pintura es contentar el alma y los sentidos deleitándolos y no fatigándolos” (ibid., 88–89). 33. “[S]in alteración aun en los mayores tormentos y angustias”; “El rostro afligido de la Virgen no se diferencia del de una mujerzuela que llora y gimotea por las calles” (ibid., 81). 34. Haidt, Embodying Enlightenment, 131; Kuroyama, Expressiveness of the Body, 137–141. 35. Haidt, Embodying Enlightenment, 149. 36. Ibid., 142. For a discussion of the feminization of fashion in eighteenth-century Europe, see Jennifer M. Jones, Sexing La Mode: Gender, Fashion and Commercial Culture in Old Regime France. 37. Haidt, Embodying Enlightenment, 129, 150. 38. Ilona Katzew, “That This Should Be Published and Again in the Age of the Enlightenment: Eighteenth-Century Debates about the Indian Body in Colonial Mexico,” 77, 78, 85. 39. Harriet Ritvo, The Platypus and the Mermaid and Other Figments of the Classifying Imagination (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997), 130–132, 133–134, 144, 160–161. 40. The association of classifications of race and gender in this chapter is by no means unique. See Sander Gilman, Difference and Pathology: Stereotypes of Sexuality, Race and Madness; Anne McClintock, Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Conquest; Ritvo, Platypus and the Mermaid, 165ff.; Donna Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. 41. For some of these opinions and a discussion of clothing in relation to race, see Rebecca Earle, “Luxury, Clothing and Race in Colonial Spanish America,” 219–227. 42. For other examples, see Katzew, Casta Painting, 23, Plate 34; 122, Plate 150. Katzew identifies the banyan in the painting attributed to Alcíbar as made of chintz. Although there were chintz factories in Barcelona, these fabrics were not legally exported until after 1778 to New Spain, where they rapidly proliferated. See Marta Vicente, Clothing the Spanish Empire: Families and the Calico Trade in the Early Modern Atlantic World, 80, 86. 43. Bernardo de Balbuena, Grandeza mexicana. Balbuena spent most of his child-

328   ■  Notes to Pages 82–84 hood and part of his young adulthood in Mexico and may have developed Creole sensibilities. His glorification of the local may also have been intended to extol the achievements of the Spanish conquest, which was not inconsistent with Creole pride (see Chapter 1). 44. La plata del Piru, de Chile el oro Viene a parar aquí, y de Terranate Clauo fino, y canela de Tidoro, De Cambray telas, de Quinsay rescate, De Sicilia coral, de Siria nardo, De Arauia encienso, y de Ormuz granate, Diamantes el la India, y del Gallardo Scytha balanges y esmeraldas finas, De Goa marfil, de Syan euano pardo. (Balbuena, Grandeza mexicana, 97–98)

45. Ibid., 97–98, 82, 109. 46. Thomas Gage, A New Survey of the West Indies, 1648: The English-American, 84–86. For Creole responses to this text, see Katzew, “That This Should Be Published,” 93, 97. 47. Rebecca Earle argues that eighteenth-century European scientific opinion regarded clothing as a racial characteristic and that race could be classified through clothing in the New World. Earle, “Luxury,” 222–223. 48. Ibid. 49. Katzew, Casta Painting, 107, 109. 50. A pulquería is an establishment where pulque, the fermented juice of the agave plant, is sold. For examples, see Gage, New Survey; Katzew, Casta Painting, 111–113. 51. See Enrique Florescano and Isabel Gil Sánchez, “La época de las reformas borbónicas y el crecimiento económico, 1750–1808.” 52. Rubial and Suárez Molina, “La construcción de una iglesia indiana,” 170. 53. Justino Fernández, El arte del siglo XIX en México, 3; Pablo de Jesús Sandoval and José Ordóñez, La Catedral Metropolitana de México, 125. 54. Ironically, Winckelmann and his followers based many of their theories of the classical Greek style on later Hellenistic art. See Joachim Wohlleben, “Germany 1750– 1830,” 170–201. For Mengs’s friendship with Winckelmann, see Thomas Pelzel, Anton Raphael Mengs and Neoclassicism, 2, 72ff. 55. Anton Raphael Mengs, The Works of Anthony Raphael Mengs: First Painter to His Catholic Majesty Charles III. For Mengs’s opinions on taste, see documents CW3306416507, CW3306416603, and CW3306416604 and vol. 1, Chapter 7, “Of Those Things Which Most Destroy Beauty and Why They Destroy It” (Gale Document Numbers: CW3306416585–CW3306416590). For discussions of Mengs’s aesthetic theories, see Pelzel, Anton Raphael Mengs, 116–118; Mercedes Águeda Villar, “El ideal de belleza en Mengs-Bayeu-Goya.” 56. John H. R. Polt, “Anton Raphael Mengs in Spanish Literature”; Juan J. Luna, “Mengs en la corte de Madrid: Notas y documentos.”

329   ■  Notes to Pages 85–87 57. Eduardo Báez Macías, “La Academia de San Carlos en la Nueva España como instrumento de cambio,” 44. 58. Ibid., 52–54, 58. 59. Abelardo Carrillo y Gariel, Datos sobre la Academia de San Carlos de Nueva España, 35; Toussaint, Colonial Art in Mexico, 406 (quotation). 60. Fernández, El arte del siglo XIX, 3. 61. Estípites are vertical supports or decorative elements in the form of inverted pyramids, characteristic of Baroque architecture in Spain and its colonies. 62. Báez Macías, “Academia,” 46. 63. “El estípite es un esquema geométrico del cuerpo humano. El capitel es la cabeza; el cubo o sección bulbosa es el pecho; el angostamiento entre el cubo y la parte superior de la pirámide hace claramente la figura de caderas y piernas, estrechándose al descender a los pies. Es posible que su gran difusión Latina se deba a esto, si bien de una manera inconsciente” (Francisco de la Maza, El Churrigueresco en la ciudad de México, 9). 64. See Wittkower, Architectural Principles; Rykwert, Dancing Column; Richard Sennett, Flesh and Stone: The Body in Western Civilization; and George Dodds and Robert Tavernor, Body and Building: Essays on the Changing Relation of Body and Architecture. 65. Donna Pierce, “At the Crossroads: Cultural Confluence and Daily Life in Mexico: 1521–1821,” in Painting a New World: Mexican Art and Life, 1521–1821, edited by Donna Pierce, Rogelio Ruiz Gomar, and Clara Bargellini, 42. Also see Margaret Connors McQuade, Talavera Poblana: Four Centuries of a Mexican Ceramic Tradition (New York: America’s Society, 1999); and Castello Yturbide and del Río de Redo, Biombos mexicanos. 66. The Chapel of El Rosario was consecrated in 1690. The construction of Santa María de Tonatzintla began in the sixteenth century, but the church underwent its greatest building phase in the latter half of the seventeenth century and the beginning of the eighteenth according to Antonio Rubial García. Rubial García, Santa María Tonatzintla: Un pueblo, un templo. Manuel Toussaint proposed 1730 as the date of completion for the Monastery of Acatepec. Toussaint, Colonial Art, 206. 67. The competition and the monument were discussed at length in Juan de Vera Tassis y Villarroel, Noticias historiales de la enfermedad, muerte y exequias de la esclarecida reyna de las Españas, Doña María Luisa de Orleáns, Borbón, Stuart y Austria. For other significant discussions of this monument, see Victoria Soto Cava, “La configuración de un modelo: Los catafalcos madrileños durante el reinado de Felipe V,” 173; Leslie J. Martin and E. Sarmiento, “Masks and Monuments of the Spanish Baroque: Churriguera’s Catafalque for the Funeral of Maria Luisa de Orléans, 1689,” 194; Alfonso Rodríguez G. de Cevallos, Los Churriguera, 18–19; Victoria Soto Cava, “Los catafalcos madrileños en el siglo XVIII: Originalidad hispana y modelos italianos.” 68. “[T]an vigoroso y decisivo, que cambió el gusto formal del Barroco hispánico” (de la Maza, El Churrigueresco, 11). 69. Despite a significant body of contrary evidence some scholars maintain that Churriguera never designed estípites. This error may be due to the marginality of the study of ephemeral architecture. My thanks to Teresa Zapata for confirming that the authorship of the design of the catafalque for María Luisa d’Orléans by Churriguera

330   ■  Notes to Pages 87–94 was not in question. Among other scholars, she maintains that the estípite was used in earlier ephemeral Spanish monuments such as the arch for the Puerta del Sol for the reception of the same queen María Luisa (personal communication, June 22, 2009). See also her book La entrada en la Corte, Figs. 75 and 83; James Early, Colonial Architecture of Mexico, 169; de la Maza, Churrigueresco, 15; Joseph A. Baird, “The Ornamental Niche-Pilaster in the Hispanic World,” 10. 70. Numerous scholars have discussed the estípite, and I make no attempt to cite the full bibliography here. Despite conceding that Joseph Churriguera had employed “estípite-like columns” in his designs, Baird attributed the development of the “true” estípite to Balbás, an explanation that many other scholars unquestioningly accepted. Joseph A. Baird, “Eighteenth Century Retables of the Bajío, Mexico: The Querétaro Style”; Joseph A. Baird, “Style in 18th Century Mexico,” 264. More recently John Moffit views the estípite as a variant of the “pilastra compuesta” and the development of Mexican Baroque as a trans-Hispanic phenomenon. John F. Moffit, “El Sagrario Metropolitano, Wendel Dietterlin, and the Estípite: Observations on Mannerism, and Neo Plateresque Architectural Style in 18th-Century Mexican Ecclesiastical Facades,” 342. Moffit’s interpretations are indebted to the work of George Kubler, Martín Soria, and Fernando Chueca-Goitia: George Kubler and Martín Soria, Art and Architecture in Spain and Portugal and Their American Dominions, 1500–1800; Fernando ChuecaGoitia, Invariantes castizos de la arquitectura española: Invariantes en la arquitectura hispanoamericana, manifiesto de la Alhambra. Diego Angulo Iñiguez with Enrique Marco Dorta, Historia del arte hispanoamericano, was foundational to later studies. Other scholars who significantly contributed to the study of the Mexican Baroque include Manuel Toussaint, Manuel González Galván, Antonio Bonet Correa, Martha Fernández, and Jorge Alberto Manrique. 71. Antonio Ponz, Viaje de España: En que se da noticia de las cosas mas apreciables, y dignas de saberse que hay en ella, vol. 10, carta cuarta, 79–80. 72. Ibid., vol. 2, carta última, paragraph 4, 281. Ponz’s admiration for the Gothic is discernible throughout his work and explicitly expressed in vol. 1, carta segunda, paragraph 13, 52. 73. For associations of classical architecture with moral qualities in sixteenth- century Spain, see Catherine Wilkinson, “Planning a Style for the Escorial: An Architectural Treatise for Philip of Spain.” 74. Ponz, Viaje de España, vol. 1, paragraph 17, 11; vol. 11, carta tercera, paragraph 3, 59; vol. 3, carta primera, paragraph 15, 10; and vol. 11, carta tercera, paragraph 2, 59. “[L]a solidez, la conveniencia, la variedad, la armonia, el decoro, la unidad, y simplicidad en los edificios, son cosas dificiles de componer: son las que constituyen la verdadera belleza: las que han dado tanta reputación á los primeros artifices” (ibid., vol. 4, carta sexta, paragraph 28, 146). 75. “[O]bras despreciables, deshonrosas á sus pueblos, é indignas del gran artífice del universo, que todo ordenó con proporcion, y medida” (ibid., vol. 3, carta primera, paragraph 17, 12). Ibid., paragraphs 18, 13. 76. “La Parroquia de Santa Cruz que está casi al frente del Colegio de Santo Thomás, se abrasó años pasados, ocasionando el estrago, segun se dixo, una de las muchas velas

331   ■  Notes to Pages 95–97 que ardian en el retablo mayor, con motivo de festividad . . . deberían bastar para que de una vez se abandonase el uso de semejantes promontorios de madera, y al mismo tiempo la pueril práctica de poner en ellos tantas ocasiones de quemarse . . . Ha de añadirse, que con cuatrocientas, ó quinientas velas, como freqüentemente se amontonan en nuestros retablos, sobre el riesgo de incendios, se ennegrecen brevemente las Iglesias, y las Imágines: es una distracción para los que se hallan en el Templo, el ver cruzar por todo el altar desde arriva á abaxo los que andan ocupados en encender tantas luces: un continuo cuidado en observar, como en las decoraciones teatrales, si se tuerce una vela, ó si cae un pávilo, que pegue fuego en un instante á toda la máquina” (ibid., vol. 5, segunda división, paragraph 18, Madrid Parroquia de Santa Cruz, 75). 77. “[L]as deformidades que se advierten en sus fábricas y adornos y en la estructura de los Altares”; “reverencia, seriedad y decoro”; “frágiles y combustible de las materias” (Conde de Floridablanca [José Moñino y Redondo]: “Real Disposición para desterrar las deformidades arquitectónicas de los edificios [1777]”; reprinted in Francisco de la Maza: Obras escogidas, 507, 509–510). 78. Carrillo y Gariel, Datos sobre la Academia, 34, 35; Early, Colonial Architecture, 193; translation by Elizabeth Wilder Weisman in Toussaint, Colonial Art, 406. 79. See Alejandro Cañeque, The King’s Living Image: The Culture and Politics of Viceregal Power in Colonial Mexico, 20–21. 80. Ibid.; Sennett, Flesh and Stone, 23–24; Rykwert, The Dancing Column, 38. 81. “La plebe es pusilánime, pero mal inclinada y por eso y por su gran multitud merece alguna reflección . . . Esta se compone de diferentes castas que han procreado los enlaces del español, indio y negro; pero confundiendo de tal suerte su primer origen, que ya no hay voces para explicar y distinguir estas clases de gentes que hacen el mayor número de habitantes del reino. Degenerando siempre en sus alianzas, son correspondientes sus inclinaciones viciosas, miran con entrañable aborrecimiento la casta noble del español y con aversión y menosprecio la del indio. No se acomodan a las honradas costumbres de aquél ni a las humildes y algo laboriosas de éste, y a la verdad, pudieran bien compararse las castas infestas de Nueva España, a la de los verdaderos o supuestos gitanos de la antigua” (Duque of Linares as cited by Villarroel, Enfermedades, 285–286 [emphasis added]). 82. “El gitano de verdadera profesión no reconoce domicilio; vive sin pudor ni vergüenza; le es indiferente andar vestido o desnudo; su cuna es el engaño y la mentira; su inclinación es el hurto; sus oficios y ministerios los que le facilitan medios para robar; hace sus delicias el juego, la inconstancia y la embriaguez . . . Esta es también la copia más fiel de un coyote, de un lobo, de un tente-en-el-aire de un saltatrás y las demás generaciones de hombres que con distintas denominaciones componen el indefinido número de castas infestas de la Nueva España, peores sin disputa que la de los gitanos . . . los de la Nueva España forman un monstruo de tántas especies cuanto son las castas inferiores, a las que se agregan infinitos españoles. Europeos y criollos perdidos y vulgarizados con la pobreza y la ociosidad” (ibid., 286–287 [emphasis added]). 83. “[C]entro del libertinaje y asilo de los vicios y del desenfreno” (ibid., 400). 84. Katzew, Casta Painting, 113. Villarroel discusses the deleterious effects of the milk nurses on the economy and on the king’s revenues: Enfermedades, 249.

332   ■  Notes to Pages 97–100 85. “Reformas y adiciones a las Ordenanzas de Arquitectura propuestas por los arquitectos Miguel de Espinosa, Miguel Custodio Durán, José Eduardo de Herrera, Manuel Álvarez, Lorenzo Rodríguez, José de Roa, Bernardo de Ordoña, José González e Ildefonso de Iniesta Bejarano, a través de su apoderado Manuel de la Marcha, el 25 de abril de 1746” (reproduced in Martha Fernández, Arquitectura y gobierno virreinal: Los maestros mayors de la ciudad de México siglo XVII, 395). 86. Mexico City, “Anotaciones que propuso el Corregidor de la ciudad de México, Gregorio Francisco Bermúdez Pimentel, a las reformas de las ordenanzas de arquitectura, 17 de agosto de 1746,” 299. 87. Mexico City, “Anotaciones que propuso el fiscal de Su Majestad, Juan Andaluz, a las reformas de las ordenanzas de arquitectura, 11 de noviembre de 1749,” 303–304. 88. “Causan horror, Sor. Exmo. Tantos abusos como produce la ignorancia, en Efigies, Retablos y Públicos Oratorios. No vemos mas qe. Ntra. Propia deshonra en manos de Yndios, Españoles, y negros, que aspiran sin reglas, ni fundamentos a la imitación de los objetos Santos” (Carrillo y Gariel, Datos sobre la Academia, 22). 89. Juan A. Ortega y Medina, “Comentario a ‘La Academia de San Carlos en la Nueva España como instrumento de cambio’ de Eduardo Báez Macías,” in Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Las academias de arte, 55. Buildings in this tendency completed in the nineteenth century include the Oratory of San Felipe Neri, Guadalajara, Jalisco, finished in 1812; the Naples Chapel in the Villa de Guadalupe, Zacatecas (1845–1866), designed by Fray Diego de la Concepción Palomar and redecorated by the maestro de obras Refugio Reyes; the tower of the parish church in Lagos de Moreno, Jalisco, finished in 1871; and the Spanish Casino by Emilio González del Campo, Mexico City (1901–1903). As in the Mexican colonial Baroque, the majority of these edifices exhibit rich surface decoration and little structural dynamism. 90. Carlos María Bustamante, “Bueno y con buena intención,” Diario de México, November 21, 1809; cited in Ernesto Lemoine, “Estética y política en el pensamiento de Carlos María de Bustamante,” 66. 91. Bustamante cited by Lemoine, “Estética y política,” 68. 92. “¿Por qué son zarandajas los ramilletes y adornos que tenía el altar mayor de Santo Domingo? . . . La magnificencia del templo no se mide por las copias inéditas sino por la tradición de la Iglesia . . . Lea usted la magnificencia del templo de Salomón y allí advertirá usted que aunque no se vea el alabastro del tabernáculo [basta con que] se vea el exceso de las ofrendas y votos de los fieles” (anonymous critic cited by Lemoine in ibid.). 93. “[I]niquidad de las preocupaciones y la soberbia de la raza blanca del Cáucaso”; “Como quiera que sea, los hombres, por ser africanos, o americanos, o mixtos, negros, aceitunados o pardos . . . no dejan de ser todos hijos de un padre común, y por consiguiente de la misma especie . . . Acuérdense los europeos que casi todos ellos han sido esclavos, pues lo era la inmensa mayoría del Imperio romano . . . hasta que en el siglo XII el Papa Benedicto, considerando que todos los cristianos éramos hermanos en Jesucristo . . . nos llamó con el Evangelio a la libertad” (Servando Teresa de Mier, “Notas ilustrativas,” 93, 95).

333   ■  Notes to Pages 100–109 94. See, for example, Manuel González Galván, “Modalidades del barroco mexicano,” 39–68; and Toussaint, Colonial Art. 95. Jorge Alberto Manrique, “‘El Neóstilo’: La última carta del barroco mexicano,” 342, 345. 96. Ibid., 355. 97. “La última carta del barroco novohispano”; “‘El neoclásico mexicano conservó mucho del espíritu barroco’” (Martha Fernández, “El Neóstilo y las primeras manifestaciones de la ilustración en Nueva España,” 45, 43).

chapter 3 1. María Fernández, “In the Image of the Other: A Call for Re-evaluation of National Identity,” and “Representation of National Identity,” 238. Similar issues were discussed by Timothy Mitchell, Colonising Egypt, 10–13, a book that I was unaware of when I first wrote about this subject. 2. Israel Katzman, Arquitectura del siglo XIX en México, 17; Antonio Bonet Correa and Francisco de la Maza, La arquitectura de la época porfiriana, 15. 3. Cristina Puga, “Industry and Industrialization.” 4. See Hugh Honour, Chinoiserie: The Vision of Cathay (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1961); and Jack Flam with Miriam Deutch, eds., Primitivism and Twentieth-Century Art: A Documentary History, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). 5. Katzman, Arquitectura del siglo XIX, 76. 6. This phenomenon was not unique to Mexico. New technologies often are made to appear similar to older technologies. See Carolyn Marvin, When Old Technologies Were New: Thinking about Electric Communication in the Nineteenth Century; and, for amusing examples, Leonard De Vries, Victorian Inventions (London: John Murray Publishers; reprint 1992). 7. Katzman, Arquitectura del siglo XIX, 271. 8. Ibid., 276, 287. 9. Fernández, “In the Image of the Other,” and “Representation of National Identity.” 10. Mauricio Tenorio-Trillo, Mexico at the World Fairs: Crafting a Modern Nation, 97. 11. Bonet Correa, “Fiesta barroca,” 50–51. 12. Acuerdo, February 16, 1888, Secretaría de Fomento, Dirección Exposición de Paris de 1889, Departamento de Administración, Sección de Archivo, Caja 1, Legajo 1, Expediente 6, Archivo General de la Nación, Mexico City (hereafter cited as Exposición de Paris de 1889, AGN); Antonio Peñafiel, Monumentos del arte mexicano antiguo: Ornamentación, mitología, tributos y monumentos, 85. 13. The careers of engineer and architect were combined in 1856 in a study plan designed by Javier Cavallari, director of the Academia de San Carlos. 14. Comunicado from Manuel Díaz Mimiaga, Comisario General de la Exposición, December 1887, Exposición de Paris de 1889, Caja 1, Legajo 1, Expediente 2, AGN; L. Salazar, V. Reyes, and J. M. Alva to Carlos Pacheco, May 26, 1888, Exposición de Paris de 1889, Caja 1, Legajo 1, Expediente 2, AGN; Peñafiel, Monumentos, 85. 15. Peñafiel, Monumentos, 86.

334   ■  Notes to Pages 109–118 16. Alfardas are wide vertical elements that flank or divide the stairs in central Mexican pyramid platforms. 17. Peñafiel, Monumentos, 86, 87. 18. Stacie Widdifield, The Embodiment of the National in Late Nineteenth-Century Mexican Painting, 91–92. 19. Tenorio-Trillo, Mexico at the World Fairs, 119. 20. Peñafiel, Monumentos, 64–88; L. Salazar, V. Reyes, and J. M. Alva, Informe, May 26, 1888, Exposición de Paris de 1889, Caja 1, Legajo 1, Expediente 6, AGN. 21. Peñafiel, Monumentos, 86. 22. Memorias de la Secretaría de Fomento, Colonización, Industría y Comercio (Mexico City, 1876–1877), chapter 5: 5, 362–363. The instructions for the competition were reprinted in Daniel Schávelzon, “El Concurso del Monumento a Cuauhtemoc (1876– 92),” in La polémica del arte nacional en México, 1850–1910, compiled by Daniel Schávelzon, 127–131; and Fernández, Arte del siglo XIX, Appendix 5, 213–214. 23. “[H]e creído que ningún estilo de arquitectura convendría como un renacimiento en cuyos elementos entraran los detalles hermosos que hoy se contemplan en las ruinas de Tula, Mitla y Palenque, conservando tanto cuanto más fuere posible el carácter de la arquitectura de los antiguos habitantes de este continente; arquitectura que contiene riquezas y detalles tan bellos y adecuados, que se prestan para desarrollar un estilo característico, que podremos llamar el estilo nacional” (quoted in Schávelzon, “Concurso,” 131). 24. Widdifield, Embodiment of the National; Ida Rodríguez Prampolini, “La figura del indio en la pintura del siglo XIX: Fondo ideológico,” 202–217; Elsa García Barragán, “Escultura y arquitectura neoindígena,” 181–183. 25. For an extensive catalog of Velasco’s paintings, see María Elena Altamirano Piolle, José María Velasco (1840–1912: National Homage), 2 vols. (Mexico City: Museo Nacional de Arte/Ediciones del Equilibrista, 1995/distributed by University of New Mexico Press). 26. “Aquello lo veía yo enteramente raro y anti-artístico y se me figuraba un individuo Mexicano vestido correctamente con casaca, corbata blanca, y guantes, pero embozado en un zarape del Saltillo: en lo primero veía yo nuestros productos marcando nuestro adelanto; en el zarape, las fachadas indias del edificio tapando las columnas de fierro, las escaleras, los tragaluces, y sobre todo, los objetos de nuestra industria” (Manuel Francisco Álvarez, Las ruinas de Mitla y la arquitectura, 275). 27. Quoted in ibid., 276. 28. Tenorio-Trillo, Mexico at the World Fairs, 84, 99. 29. Robert C. Post, ed., 1876: A Centennial Exhibition, 186, Fig. 294. 30. Katzman, Arquitectura del siglo XIX, 253. 31. Post, 1876, 21–23. 32. Daniel Cosío Villegas, La vida política exterior: Segunda parte, 630. 33. Friedrich Katz, The Secret War in Mexico, 25–26; Jan Bazant, A Concise History of Mexico from Hidalgo to Cárdenas, 1805–1940, 112–114; James D. Cockroft, Mexico: Class Formation, Capital Accumulation, and the State, 93. 34. In 1845 the United States annexed Texas to its territory; in 1847 U.S. troops occu-

335   ■  Notes to Pages 118–123 pied Mexico City; and Mexico turned Texas, New Mexico, and California over to the United States by virtue of a peace treaty signed by the two countries in 1848. To add to these losses, in 1853 Mexican president Antonio López de Santa Ana sold Arizona to the United States for 10 million pesos. 35. Blondel to Delcasse, April 28, 1901, quoted in Katz, Secret War, 23–24. 36. Sainte Foix to Spuler, September 10, 1889, quoted in Katz, Secret War, 53. 37. Katz, Secret War, 26. 38. Report from Manuel Díaz Mimiaga, Commissioner General of the Exhibition, to Secretaría de Fomento, December 1887, Exposición de París de 1889, Caja 1, Legajo 1, Expediente 2, AGN. 39. For a plan of the exhibition’s grounds, see Schávelzon, Polémica, Fig. 46. 40. “En el projecto de Anza agradó su originalidad pues afecta una forma sui generis que se cree causará interés y atractivo para los visitantes de la exposición y por consigüiente lucirá México más con un edificio según el projecto de Anza. Estas ideas corroboradas por el director del Museo del Trocadero a quien a iniciativa mía sujetamos la calificación de los proyectos” (Salazar to Pacheco, July 24, 1888, Exposición de París de 1889, Caja 1, Legajo 1, Expediente 6, AGN). 41. For examples, see Mitchell, Colonising Egypt, 1–33; and Zeynep Çelik, Displaying the Orient: Architecture of Islam at Nineteenth-Century World’s Fairs (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). 42. These arches are illustrated in Schávelzon, Polémica, 247. 43. Luis Salazar, La arquitectura y la arqueología: Memoria presentada por el ingeniero Luis Salazar al Congreso de Americanistas en su sesión verificada en México en 1895, 142– 143, 148. 44. See Manuel Amabilis, El pabellón de México en la Exposición Iberoamericana de Sevilla. 45. Fernando González Gortázar, “Prólogo,” in Fernando González Gortázar, coordinator, La arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX, 20. 46. See Carlos Obregón Santacilia, El monumento a la revolución, simbolismo e historia; and Graciela de Garay, La obra de Carlos Obregón Santacilia. 47. “Resumiendo . . . puede decirse, que si la participación de México fue en 1889 total y extensiva a todos los órdenes de la actividad humana, para demostrar nuestra potencia virtual, la de 1900 necesitaba limitarse a hacer patente todo lo que habíamos conseguido en la práctica” (Sebastián B. de Mier, México en la Exposición Universal Internacional de París, 1900, 21–26 [quotation]). 48. Fernández, Arte del siglo XIX, 178–179; Israel Katzman, Arquitectura contemporánea mexicana, 47–48. 49. Rafael Tovar y de Teresa, “Adamo Boari and the Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City,” 15. 50. Víctor Jiménez, “Introducción,” in La construcción del Palacio de Bellas Artes: Documentos para la historia de la arquitectura en México, Juan Urquiaga, Victor Jiménez, and Alejandrina Escudero, 14. See also the essay by Xavier Moyssén, “El Palacio de Bellas Artes” and “The Palace of Fine Arts,” in Palacio de Bellas Artes, México, 22–47 and 99–119. Although both of these sources include primary documents by Boari and

336   ■  Notes to Pages 123–129 Mariscal and Palacio de Bellas Artes, México includes English translations of the texts, I rely primarily on the earlier, more extensive work. 51. Moyssén, “El Palacio de Bellas Artes,” 41–42. 52. The judges awarded several second places. 53. Urquiaga, Jiménez, and Escudero, Construcción, 41, 295. 54. Ibid., 68. 55. Ibid., 44, 42. 56. Adamo Boari, “Informe preliminar sobre el proyecto para la construcción del Teatro Nacional de Mexico,” 318. 57. Adamo Boari, “Proyecto,” 328. 58. Ibid., 330. In 1918, however, the architect reported that the theater as then built occupied a surface of two hectares, including ramps and staircases. Adamo Boari, La costruzione di un teatro, 343. 59. Boari, “Informe preliminar,” 318. 60. “[D]e que tanta necesidad tiene una raza latina expansiva” (Adamo Boari, “Apuntes sobre el proyecto del Teatro Nacional: Ante proyecto,” 325). 61. Boari, “Proyecto,” 328; Urquiaga, Jiménez, and Escudero, Construcción, 46; Moyssén, “Palace of Fine Arts,” 108. 62. Boari, Costruzione, 344. 63. Boari, “Informe preliminar,” 318. 64. Ibid. 65. “Las formas del Oriente se han mezclado a las del Occidente y así como en el dominio de la ciencia todos los hombres caminan con movimiento uniforme y constante, en el campo del arte el mundo se unifica y emprende su marcha triunfal, en la que nada será capaz de detenerlo” (ibid.). 66. “Hoy más que nunca cada país debe hacer gala de sus formas arquiectónicas típicas, modernizándolas” (ibid.). 67. Boari, Costruzione, 344; Urquiaga, Jiménez, and Escudero, Construcción, 46. 68. “La mas moderna steel contruction á prueba de fuego y de movimientos sísmicos” (Boari, “Informe preliminar,” 318). 69. “¿Cual será la fisonomía arquitectónica—que aún no existe—del fonoestereocinematógrafo? . . . Los actuales teatros para Cines, todavía en embrión, parecen destinados a fundirse con los antiguos teatros de ópera en un ambiente más complejo, más vasto e idóneo para las dos sensaciones unidas de la vista y del oído” (Boari, Costruzione, 346). 70. Boari, “Informe preliminar,” 323. 71. Boari, Costruzione, 345, 346. 72. Boari, “Informe preliminar,” 323; Boari, Costruzione, 344. 73. Boari, Costruzione, 345. 74. Carolyn Marvin, “Inventing the Expert: Technological Literacy as Social Currency,” in When Old Technologies Were New, 9–62. 75. Ibid., 68, 69, 160, 172. In 1913 this work was left unfinished. 76. Ibid., 73, 92. 77. Boari, Costruzione, 346.

337   ■  Notes to Pages 130–137 78. Boari, “Informe preliminar,” 318; Urquiaga, Jiménez, and Escudero, Construcción, 88. 79. Urquiaga, Jiménez and Escudero, Construcción, 104, 118. 80. Ibid., 88, 116. 81. Ibid., 154. 82. The design for the curtain is often attributed to Dr. Atl (Gerardo Murillo), but his biography reveals that he was in Europe during the development of the project. Arturo Casado Navarro, Gerardo Murillo: El Dr. Atl, 26–27. 83. Boari, Costruzione, 345. 84. Ibid., 154, 344. 85. “La utilización del acero en las estructuras ha dado a la construcción nuevos huesos, ha modificado su esqueleto: el cuerpo, por lo tanto deberá también modificarse. Pero existe una ética que forma parte de la conciencia del arquitecto y que le impide abjurar del pasado: la arquitectura, entonces nacida de sí misma es un devenir continuo y progresivo del milenario trabajo humano” (ibid.). 86. “[I]mitación banal de la naturaleza”; “El Furor de emplear formas del todo desconocidas, sin que la razón ó la necesidad las dicten, obliga a los arquitectos, para parecer originales, á copiar servilmente la hoja de un árbol, para darle la forma á un vano”; “Los tipos mas excéntricos de diversas arquitecturas se ven mezclados íntimamente” (Mier, México en la Exposición, 228). 87. See Rodríguez Prampolini, Crítica del arte; Salazar, Arquitectura y la arqueología; Schávelzon, Polémica; Ernesto Alva Martínez, “La búsqueda de una identidad,” in La arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX, edited by Fernando González Gortázar, 34–57. 88. Urquiaga, Jiménez, and Escudero, Construcción, 173–174. 89. Ibid., 189–224. 90. “[S]u confianza ciega, su inconsciente banalidad, su bienestar sin raíces, su gusto por la ornamentación ostentosa y complicada” (A. J. Pani and Federico E. Mariscal, “Apuntes para el proyecto de terminación,” in Construcción, edited by Urquiaga, Jiménez, and Escudero, 247–248; Urquiaga, Jiménez, and Escudero, Construcción, 256). 91. Pani and Mariscal, “Apuntes para el proyecto de terminación,” 247–248. 92. Urquiaga, Jiménez, and Escudero, Construcción, 245, 262. 93. See Bhabha, “Of Mimicry and Man,” 126, reprinted in Bhabha, Location of Culture, 85–92. 94. See Chapter 7. 95. For Rivera’s and O’Gorman’s contributions to Mexican architecture, see Rafael López Rangel, Diego Rivera y la arquitectura mexicana; Ida Rodríguez Prampolini, Juan O’Gorman, arquitecto y pintor (Mexico City: UNAM, 1982); Juan O’Gorman, La palabra de Juan O’Gorman; Marisol Aja, “Juan O’Gorman.” 96. Jorge Alberto Manrique, “El futuro radiante: La ciudad universitaria,” 126. 97. “Que me digan si no es verdad, que una de las grandes causas del desequilibrio económico es la sobreimportación exagerada de materiales de construcción del extranjero, yo quisiera que me hicieran favor de decirme: de los millones que costó la Ciudad Universitaria, ¿cuantos millones se emplearon en materiales importados del extranjero, no sólo en maquinaria, que eso era indispensable, puesto que todavía no se

338   ■  Notes to Pages 137–140 ha permitido hacerla en México . . . sino en material?” (Diego Rivera, “La huella de la historia y la geografía en la arquitectura mexicana,” paper delivered in June 1954 at the Palacio de Bellas Artes, later published in Cuadernos de Arquitectura 14 [Departamento de Arquitectura, Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, México, September 1964]). This text is partially reproduced in Rafael López Rangel, Diego Rivera y la arquitectura mexicana, 105. 98. Manrique, “Futuro radiante,” 137. 99. For a socioeconomic analysis of the architecture of this period, see Humberto Ricalde and Gustavo López, “Arquitectura en Mexico 1960–1980,” in Apuntes para la historia y crítica de la arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX, 1900–1980, 22–23. 100. For a survey of twentieth-century architecture in Mexico, see González Gortázar, Arquitectura mexicana. For a succinct account, see my “Architecture: Twentieth Century.” 101. Louise Noelle, Agustín Hernández, arquitectura y pensamiento. 102. For multiple examples, see Mario Melgar Adalid and José Rogelio Álvarez Noguera, eds., Seis años de arquitectura en México, 1988–1994 (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1994); Paul Heyer, Mexican Architecture: The Work of Abraham Zabludowsky and Teodoro González de León; Jorge Glusberg, Seis arquitectos mexicanos. 103. For the role of the Mexican government in the development of tourism, see Michael Clancy, “Mexican Tourism: Export Growth and Structural Change since 1970,” Latin American Research Review 36, no. 1. (2001): 128–150. 104. Alberto González Pozo, “¿Quién defiende a la ciudad y sus monumentos?” and “Macroproyecto del D.F.: ¿Quién responde por el incremento de la vulnerabilidad sísmica?” 105. See Julio García Coll and Carlos Villalobos, “La Arquitectura autoproducida,” in La arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX, edited by Fernando González Gortázar, 234–241. 106. “Estos años, además han sido los del comienzo de la apertura a los mercados, los intercambios y las influencias regionales e internacionales. El país está en vías de superar el subdesarrollo . . . el diseño y la construcción de edificios forman, en estos años un vigoroso factor económico y, en consecuencia un objeto de mercado sujeto a las normas de la competencia y de la calidad”; “Forma parte de bloques económicos, comerciales y culturales supone, desde luego, realizar intercambios en todos sentidos” (Xavier Cortés Rocha, “La arquitectura en México entre 1888 y 1994,” 29). 107. Architects who built work in this vein between 1989 and 1995 include Luis Vicente Flores; TEN Arquitectos Enrique Norten and Bernardo Gómez Pimineta; and the partnerships Óscar Bulnes Valero and Bernardo Lira López and Aurelio Nuño and Associates. 108. For a recent report on CNM, see Andrea Di Castro, “Art and New Technology in Mexico: The National Center for the Arts,” Leonardo 39, no. 4 (August 2006): 371–372. 109. The analogy of computer design and architecture (e.g., “von Neumann architecture”) is of significance in this respect.

339   ■  Notes to Pages 140–144 110. United Nations, 1995 International Trade Statistics Yearbook/Annuaire Statistique du Commerce International, 2:183. 111. In 2007 Fortune Magazine declared Mexican businessman Carlos Slim to be the richest man in the world, accessed April 12, 2009: http://money.cnn.com/2007/08/03/ news/international/carlosslim.fortune/index.htm.

chapter 4 1. E. V. Walters, Placeways: A Theory of the Human Environment, 21, 124. Walters’s theory draws heavily on Plato’s notion of chora later explored by Derrida. See Plato, The Timaeus and the Critias, translated by Thomas Taylor (New York: Pantheon, 1944); Jacques Derrida and Peter Eisenman, Chora L Works (New York: Monacelli, 1997). 2. I presented a shorter version of this essay, entitled “The Social Function of Ruins in Nineteenth-Century Mexico,” at the Annual Conference of the College Art Association, January 26, 1994, in San Antonio, Texas, in a session chaired by Stacie Widdifield. The text was published in Spanish as “La función social de las ruinas en el siglo XIX en México.” While making corrections to this chapter, I was pleased to find that archaeologists are now giving serious consideration to current and historical perceptions of archaeological sites. See Travis W. Stanton and Aline Magnoni, eds., Ruins of the Past: The Use and Perception of Abandoned Structures in the Maya Lowlands. 3. See Rosa Casanova, “Lo indígena en la conformación de la nacionalidad mexicana, 1860–1876”; Rodríguez Prampolini, “La figura del indio en la pintura del siglo XIX”; Eloisa Uribe, “Lo indígena en la conformación de la nacionalidad mexicana 1830–1850: El indio viejo frente al indio nuevo.” 4. Fernández, “In the Image of the Other.” 5. Stacie Widdifield was the first to discuss the criticism of Aztec art in relation to modern politics and scientific thought in her groundbreaking study “The Calendar Stone: A Critical History.” She later demonstrated the centrality of the Aztec past to late nineteenth-century politics and culture in “National Art and Identity in Mexico, 1869–1881: Images of Indians and Heroes,” and in her book The Embodiment of the National. For a review of Widdifield’s book, see María Fernández, “Stacie Widdifield, The Embodiment of the National in Late Nineteenth-Century Mexican Painting,” Hispanic American Review 79, no. 3 (August 1999): 556–557. For an additional and excellent study on the connection of science, Mexican antiquity, and modernity focusing on Mexican pavilions at the world’s fairs, see also Tenorio-Trillo, Mexico at the World Fairs. 6. Giovanni Francesco [Juan Francisco] Gemelli Careri, Las cosas más considerables vistas en la Nueva España, 195; Ignacio Bernal, History of Mexican Archaeology, 49. For Sigüenza’s theories about the origins of the ancient Mexicans, see Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Teatro de virtudes politicas, in Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Seis obras, edited by William G. Bryant, 183. 7. Francisco Pérez de Salazar, Biografía de D. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, seguida de varios documentos inéditos, 161–192. 8. Roberto Moreno, ed., José Antonio de Alzate: Memorias y ensayos, 11; José Antonio

340   ■  Notes to Pages 144–147 de Alzate, “Descripción de las antigüedades de Xochicalco.” See also Alberto Saladino García, Dos científicos de la ilustración en Hispanoamérica: J. A. Alzate and F. J. de Caldas. 9. Augusto Molina Montes, “Una visión de Xochicalco en el siglo XIX.” 10. For a recent book on the Sociedad Bascongada, see María Cristina Torales Pacheco and Josefina María Cristina Torales Pacheco, Ilustrados en la Nueva España: Los socios de la Real Sociedad bascongada de los amigos del país. 11. “Los mexicanos son bárbaros porque hacían sacrificios de sangre humana: ¿Y que hacen todas las naciones? ¿No arcabucean a un hombre tan solamente porque ha desertado? ¿No pasan a degüello a un vencidario entero, a una guarnición de plaza? Algunos soberanos de Europa ¿no sacrifican a sus vasallos por un motivo tan ligero como es el de recibir cierta cantidad de dinero? etcétera; pues si todo esto se hace en virtud de la legislación y no es barbaridad ¿por qué lo ha de ser respecto de los mexicanos cuando sus leyes así lo preceptuaban?” (Alzate cited by Moreno, José Antonio Alzate, 12). 12. Enrique Florescano, “The Creation of the Museo Nacional de Antropología of Mexico and Its Scientific, Educational, and Political Purposes,” 90. 13. Jesús Sánchez, “Reseña histórica del Museo Nacional de México.” 14. Florescano, “Creation,” 92. 15. Schávelzon, Polémica; and Widdifield, Embodiment of the National, are both dedicated to this theme. 16. See the fundamental work by Ignacio Bernal, History of Mexican Archaeology, and “La arqueología de México: Historiadores y viajeros entre 1825 y 1880,” in Schávelzon, Polémica, 88–111. 17. Antonio de León y Gama, Descripción histórica y cronológica de las dos piedras, 108; Widdifield, “Calendar Stone,” 11–13. 18. “[M]anifestar al orbe literario parte de los grandes conocimientos que poseyeron los indios de esta América en las artes y las ciencias, en tiempo de su gentilidad, para que se conozca cuan falsamente los calumnian de irracionales o simples los enemigos de nuestros españoles, pretendiendo deslucirles las gloriosas hazañas que obraron en la conquista de los reinos” (León y Gama, Descripción histórica, 4). 19. In addition to many distinguished government posts, Alamán was the author of the nationally acclaimed Historia de Mexico (5 vols.; Mexico City: Lara, 1849–1852). 20. Ernesto Lemoine, “Estética y política en el pensamiento de Carlos María de Bustamante,” 55. 21. The original titles of the positions mentioned are “ministro de la Suprema Corte de Justicia,” “ministro de relaciones públicas,” “secretario de gobierno,” “conservador y director del Museo Nacional,” “presidente de la Academia Imperial de Ciencias y Literatura,” “presidente de la Junta Nacional de Instrucción Pública,” and “presidente de la Junta Directiva de la Academia de Bellas Artes”: Ernesto de la Torre Villar, “Dos historiadores de Durango: José Ramírez y José Ignacio Gallegos,” 406. 22. Bustamante, cited in Lemoine, “Estética y política,” 63, 65. 23. Scholar José Ramírez first published this text in 1867–1880. 24. Widdifield, “Calendar Stone,” 29–32.

341   ■  Notes to Pages 148–150 25. “La veracidad de una historia depende de las fuentes de donde se ha tomado . . . bajo este aspecto nuestra historia antigua es mas digna de fe que la de la mayor parte de los pueblos primitivos del viejo mundo. En éstos la leyenda es la única guía de los primeros tiempos y séa porque ricos de imaginación, multiplicaron sus fábulas de manera exagerada, séa porque buscando orígenes muy remotos sustituyeron á la realidad la ficción, es lo cierto que tenemos datos mas precisos de nuestros antiguos pueblos, y no es exageración decir que en esto nuestra historia es superior a la misma historia de Grecia” (Alfredo Chavero, Historia antigua y de la conquista, xix). 26. “Los amantes del buen nombre de México verán en este precioso libro algo de nuestro glorioso pasado; algo que da luz entre la oscuridad del tiempo y la ingratitud de las naciones” (Antonio Peñafiel, “Introducción,” in Antonio del Rincón, Arte mexicana, no pagination). 27. These included the Mexican Society of Natural History, the Academy of Medicine of Mexico, the Geographical and Statistical Society, the American Philosophical Society of Philadelphia, and the Antiquarian Society of Worcester, Massachusetts. Antonio Peñafiel, Manuscritos de Texcoco, no pagination. 28. Peñafiel, “Observaciones preliminares,” in “Xochicalco por el Teniente Juan B. Togno” (no pagination). Also see Peñafiel, Monumentos del arte mexicano antiguo, vol. 2, and Eduard Seler, “Die Ruinen von Xochicalco,” Gesammelte Abhandlungen, vol. 2, 128–164. 29. “[E]l Castillo de la Roche Pont, construcciones, si bien es cierto, más elegantes, de mayor lujo, con imparcialidad inferiores en fuerza defensiva” (Togno, “Xochicalco,” 15). 30. For an interesting analysis of two of these works, see Lisa Nevárez, “‘My Reputación Precedes Me’: La Malinche and Palimpsests of Sacrifice, Scapegoating, and Mestizaje in Xicoténcatl and Los Mártires del Anáhuac.” 31. “[U]n nombre depreciativo”; “con indiferencia” (Eligio Ancona, La cruz y la espada, 1:117–118; as cited by Concha Meléndez, “La novela indianista en México,” 272). 32. Quoted in Bernal, History of Mexican Archaeology, 116. For a summary of Ramírez’s contributions to history and culture, see Torre Villar, “Dos historiadores de Durango.” 33. “Al cabo no figuramos en el mundo sino como un país de ruinas” (Sierra cited in Claude Dumas, Justo Sierra y el México de su tiempo, 1848–1912, 328). Also see Manuel González Navarro, La vida social, 684. 34. Gustavo G. Garza Merodio, “Technological Innovation and the Expansion of Mexico City, 1870–1920,” 112. 35. Cristina Puga, “Industry and Industrialization”; Fernando Rosenzweig, “El desarrollo económico de México de 1877 a 1911.” 36. Bradford Burns, The Poverty of Progress, 76, 144; Cockroft, Mexico, 89. 37. The terms “native” and “indigene” are used here to refer to indigenous peoples. During the Porfiriato neither term denotes a strictly racial classification. A description of the native peoples of Sonora, for example, stresses the tendency of the Yaquis and Mayos to maintain their independence from whites while noting that these indigenous groups occasionally intermarried with peoples of European descent. Ramón Corral,

342   ■  Notes to Pages 150–154 “Razas indígenas de Sonora: Sus últimas guerras, su estado actual,” in Obras históricas, 200, 202. 38. Evelyn Hu-Dehart, “Development and Rebellion: Pacification of the Yaqui in the Late Porfiriato,” 76. 39. See, for example, Norberto Valdez, Ethnicity, Class, and the Indigenous Struggle for Land in Guerrero, Mexico (New York: Routledge, 1998); and Neil Harvey, The Chiapas Rebellion: The Struggle for Land and Democracy (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998). My intention here is to exemplify, not to provide an exhaustive study of the Mexican state’s relations with native groups. 40. Ilona Katzew, New World Orders: Casta Painting and Colonial Latin America, exhibition catalog (New York: Americas Society Art Gallery, 1996), 32. For a report on indigenes from the north during the colonial era, see Andrés Pérez de Ribas, History of the Triumphs of Our Holy Faith amongst the Most Barbarous and Fierce Peoples of the New World. 41. Hu-Dehart, “Development and Rebellion,” 73–74. 42. Ibid., 84. 43. Some of these children were given to wealthy Sonoran families as servants. Ibid., 83. 44. Ibid., 82. 45. “Sin haber podido sembrar, por que la campaña no se los permitió, consumidos ya los ganados de una manera completa y sin poder proveerse de alimentos en ninguna parte, los indios se morían de hambre. Sin ropa para abrigarse, sin habitaciones, obligados siempre a huir y en medio de un invierno riguroso, sufrían horriblemente por el frío . . . La situación en que llegaban a presencia de las fuerzas eras conmovedora en extremo. Pálidos, demacrados, hambrientos y desnudos, parecían espectros que acababan de dejar la tumba. Los soldados y los jefes los veían con lástima, les daban de comer y era ya tal la costumbre de mal alimentarse, que muchos de aquellos infelices que devoraban con avidez cuanto les daban, morían enseguida de haber comido” (Ramón Corral, “Biografía de José María Leyva Cajeme,” in Obras históricas, 185–186). 46. “A la raza indígena . . . no se la debe ver aislada, sino como parte de una nación y en consecuencia ligados sus intereses a los del país a que pertenecen. El querer remediar a los indios tiene por objeto evitar los males que su situación ocasiona a México . . . Debe procurarse que los indios olviden sus costumbres y hasta su idioma mismo, si fuere posible. Solo de este modo perderán sus preocupaciones y formarán con los blancos una raza homogénea” (Francisco Pimentel, Memoria sobre las causas que han originado la situación actual de la raza indígena y medios para remediarla, 266). 47. Widdifield, Embodiment of the National, 93–105. 48. Ibid., 88. 49. Rodríguez Prampolini, “La figura del indio en la pintura del siglo XIX.” For a more recent discussion of this current, see Widdifield, Embodiment of the National, 105–111. 50. For a brief discussion of sixteenth-century representations of indigenes, see Chapter 2. 51. This literature is too voluminous to summarize here. For examples, see John

343   ■  Notes to Pages 154–156 Berger, Ways of Seeing; Linda Nochlin, Representing Women; Norman Bryson. Vision and Painting: The Logic of the Gaze; Elizabeth Edwards, ed., Anthropology and Photography 1860–1920; Salah Hassan and Iftikhar Dadi, eds., Unpacking Europe: Toward a Critical Reading; and Nicholas Mirzoeff, ed., The Visual Culture Reader (New York: Routledge, 2002). 52. Diana Wolfthal, Images of Rape: The “Heroic” Tradition and Its Alternatives. 53. Paul Virilio, Open Sky, translated by Julie Rose, 91, 95. 54. See, for example, excerpts from speeches by Justo Sierra and Enrique Creel in [no author], “Una excursión a las célebres pirámides de Teotihuacán,” El Imparcial, September 11, 1910, reproduced in Sonia Lombardo de Ruiz, ed., El pasado prehispánico en la cultura nacional (Memoria hemerográfica 1877–1911), 2:634. 55. Esther Pasztory, Teotihuacan: An Experiment in Living, 7. On the importance of Teotihuacan for the Aztecs, see Umberger, “Antiques, Revivals, and References to the Past.” 56. For an impressive compendium of representations of Teotihuacan, see Daniel Schávelzon, Planimetría arqueológica de Teotihuacán (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas, 1981). 57. [No author], “El monumento más grande del mundo,” El Imparcial, June 9, 1907, in Pasado prehispánico, edited by Lombardo de Ruiz, 2:361; “En las pirámides de Teotihuacan,” El Imparcial, October 9, 1907, in ibid., 388. 58. For a discussion of Don Carlos’s efforts, see Daniel Schávelzon, “La primera excavación arqueológica de América: Teotihuacan en 1675.” 59. The García Cubas plan is included in the commission’s report. See Ramón Almaraz, “Apuntes sobre las pirámides de San Juan Teotihuacan,” in Ramón Almaraz et al., Memoria y trabajos ejecutados por la Comisión Científica de Pachuca en el año 1864, 349–358. For the scientific importance of the commission for archaeology, see Daniel Schávelzon, “La Comisión Científica francesa a México (1864–1867) y el inicio de la arqueología en América,” Pacarina 3 (October 2003): 313–322, accessed September 26, 2009: http://www.danielschavelzon.com.ar/?p=15#more-15. 60. The first session would be held in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in May. “Congreso Internacional de Americanistas de 1910,” El Imparcial, October 8, 1909, reproduced in Pasado prehispánico, edited by Lombardo de Ruiz, 2:552. 61. Leopoldo Batres, “The Ruins of Xochicalco”; and Leopoldo Batres, Reparación y consolidación de las columnas en Mitla. 62. Leopoldo Batres, “Memoria en extracto de las exploraciones llevadas a cabo por mandato oficial en las ruinas de Teotihuacan, durante los años 1905 a 1911 y que fue sometida a la docta Sociedad Mexicana de Geografía y Estadística,” 257–258. 63. “Desde la cima de las dos pirámides hasta el último montículo había recias murallones de piedra que limitaban los linderos de los propietarios, pues aquellos monumentos fueron declarados bienes de comunidad y conforme a la ley del año 1860, repartidos a los vecinos de esos lugares. Más de 250 propietarios presentaron sus títulos de propiedad. ¡Como penetrar allí sin la propia expropiación! Puse en conocimiento de la Secretaría de Instrucción Pública aquel tropiezo y ésta, previas las formalidades legales, expropió los terrenos necesarios para formar la zona arqueológica, pagándolos a

344   ■  Notes to Pages 156–161 precio de oro para que no se perjudicaran los interesados. Una vez allanadas todas las dificultades procedí a quitar aquellos gruesos arcados para que quedaran libres de todo estorbo los monumentos que se iban a descubrir y consolidar” (ibid., 255). 64. Ibid., 258; “Un museo en San Juan Teotihuacan,” El Imparcial, May 31, 1908, in Pasado prehispánico, edited by Lombardo de Ruiz, 2, 2:437; Leopoldo Batres, “Se está dando la última mano a los gigantescos trabajos de Teotihuacan: Un memorando del Sr. Leopoldo Batres,” El Imparcial, October 20, 1908, in ibid., 2:449–452. 65. “Tengo la honra de manifestar a Ud. Que deberá reservarse una zona de 120 metros en derredor de cada monumento; bajo el concepto de que los dueños de los predios circunvecinos respecto de la servidumbre de paso quedarán sujetos a lo que las leyes disponen sobre el particular” (Coordinación Nacional de Argueología, Archivo Muerto de la Dirección General de Monumentos Prehispánicos, doc. no. 2774). Batres’s familiarity with Teotihuacan is evident in his reports of his previous excavations of the site. See Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacan: O la ciudad sagrada de los toltecas/Teotihuacan: Or the Sacred City of the Toltecs, 11–18. Later this text was reedited and expanded in Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacán: O la ciudad sagrada de los tolteca, 12. For a detailed account of Batres’s excavations of the Pyramid of the Sun, see Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacan: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres, 12–22. The inspector also published a picture album of the excavations. Leopoldo Batres, Exploraciones y consolidación de los monumentos arqueológicos de Teotihuacan. 66. “Hace cuatro meses que me honré con poner en sus respetables manos una carta; aquella y ésta llevan el mismo fin el que tenga Ud. La bondad de darme licencia de sembrar en mis terrenos o decirnos si se nos va a pagar porque de eso vivimos” (AGN, Instrucción Pública y Bellas Artes, Caja 152, Exp. 19, F 7, c#2). The letter is signed “Sebero Reyes” and is used consistently by the remitter in other documents. In the government documents the name appears as “Severo Reyes,” which is the officially recognized Spanish spelling. 67. “Tengo el honor de informar a Ud. acerca de la petición que hace el C. Severo Reyes para que se indemnice un terreno que asegura ser de su propiedad . . . “Esta oficina cree que después que el C. Severo Reyes acredite su propiedad presentando su título, no sea(n) [sic] admitidos como buenos los que se encuentren esparcidos en el terreno á que se refiere el C. Severo Reyes, por pertenecer a la Nación, desde la época de los españoles, cuyos derechos pasaron a la república después de la independencia, y sería sentar un precedente fatal el reconocer como de propiedad particular los monumentos que pertenecen a la Nación. “Como por motivo del estado anormal en que se encontró nuestra Patria por un largo periodo de años nadie se ocupaba de cuidar los monumentos, las autoridades locales las dividieron como terrenos de común repartimiento adjudicándoles en viles precios sin el menor derecho, puesto que la Nación era dueña de ellos” (ibid.). 68. Ibid. 69. “[S]e consideró así dicho valor y por ser la parcela pedregosa y arcilla arenosa y porque se dedica al cultivo del maíz dando como producción máxima 90 por 1. Se tomó además en consideración que la mayoría de su cultivo se reduce a nopales y a magueyes y además este era el valor del M2 en el año de 1906, fecha en que fue ocupado por la

345   ■  Notes to Pages 162–166 zona” (Archivo Muerto de la Dirección General de Monumentos Prehispánicos, doc. no. 2501 VIII-I [187.1 (725–740)–117]). 70. “La Sría. de Agricultura y Fomento, con fecha de 30 de agosto pasado determinó que no es posible hacer el pago de 3.846.55 en favor de los propietarios de los terrenos que han sido anexados a Teotihuacán porque la partida no. 8873 del presupuesto de egresos vigente está agotada . . . por lo que será necesario esperar que la H. Cámara de Diputados decrete la ampliación necesaria” (ibid.). 71. Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología, Archivo Muerto de la Dirección General de Monumentos Prehispánicos, Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología, 2497 VIII-1 [187.1(725-4)]-94. Other documents pertaining to land expropriation for Teotihuacan: 316 VIII-I [187.1(75-4)], 317 VIII-I [187.1(725-4)], 318 VIII-I [187.1(725-1)], 319 VIII-I [1871(7254)-114], 2495 VIII-I [187.1 (725-4)-115]. 72. Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología, Archivo Muerto de la Dirección General de Monumentos Prehispánicos, Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología, 2528 VIII-I [181(725-4)]. 73. Ibid. 74. “[C]on gran solemnidad y con asistencia de todos los Embajadores de las naciones amigas de México, en representación de sus respectivos gobiernos, del Cuerpo Diplomático, de los Ministros de Estado y de numerosísima concurrencia” (Batres, Memoria, 258). 75. “El Duque Loubat, á quien tanto deben las exploraciones americanas, me sugería insistentemente la idea de descubrir, eran sus palabras, de descubrir á Teotihuacán” (Justo Sierra, opening speech, Reseña de la Segunda Sesión del XVII Congreso Internacional de Americanistas [September 1910, Mexico City], 22). 76. Deborah Menaker, “Lorenzo Bartolini’s Demidoff Table,” 75; O. M. Dalton, “Reproduction of Nahua Manuscripts.” 77. Tellingly, while Loubat and Sierra had a good professional rapport, Batres’s relation with Loubat was fraught with tension. See “El Duque Loubat y Don Leopoldo Batres,” El Imparcial, December 18, 1910, in Pasado prehispánico, edited by Lombardo de Ruiz, 666–669. 78. Georges Bataille, “The Psychological Structure of Fascism,” 138, 140–146 (emphasis in the original). Bataille’s concept of heterogeneity is comparable to the psychoanalyst Julia Kristeva’s notion of the abject. I favor Bataille’s theorization here because of his considerations of industrial production. 79. Ibid., 142, 143. 80. Ibid., 37, 141. 81. Ibid., 147. 82. “[P]or estar expuesta al public y sin custodia alguna, no se pudo preservar de que la gente rústica y pueril la desperfeccionase, y matratase con piedras y otros instrumentos varias de sus figuras . . . por lo que antes que la matrataran más, o que se la diese otro destino como ya se pensaba, hice sacar, á mi vista copia exacta de ella”; “recordaran a los indios su antiguo gobierno y religión” (León y Gama, Descripción histórica, 3, 80). 83. Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón, Treatise on the Heathen Superstitions, 43–52. 84. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, Alboroto y Motín de México del 8 de Junio de 1692:

346   ■  Notes to Pages 166–168 Relación de Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora en una carta dirigida a Don Andrés de Pez, 58–65. Other accounts of the revolt omit mention of the women as the principal agitators. Antonio de Robles, Diario de sucesos notables, 1:254ff.; Ignacio Rubio Mañé, Introducción al estudio de los virreyes de Nueva España, 1535–1746, 2:62ff. 85. Sigüenza y Góngora, Alboroto y Motín de México, 56. 86. Ibid., 70; “los que más instaban en estas quejas eran los indios . . . Ellos eran como he dicho los de mayores quejas y desvergüenzas, siendo así que nunca experimentaron mejor año que el presente” (ibid., 54). 87. “[M]uchísimos cantarillos y ollitas que olían a pulque y mayor número de muñecos o figurillas de varro y de Españoles todas atravesadas con cuchillos y lansas que formaron del mismo varro con señales de sangre en los cuellos como degollados . . . ser prueba real de lo que en estremo nos aborrecen los indios y muestra de lo que desean con ansias a los españoles” (ibid., 56). 88. Francisco Monteverde, “Brujos y brujas de Teotihuacan (Historias y leyendas de los estados).” 89. Michael Taussig, Shamanism, Colonialism, and the Wild Man, 370–372. Also see Hertz, “A Contribution to the Study of the Collective Representation of Death,” 211. 90. Algo que jamás se pierde en la memoria, me abruma; la sangre de Moctezuma ni falta ni me remuerde. Pero ¿habrá quien no recuerde a solas con su conciencia el mal hecho a la inocencia, la infamia inmune y maldita? ¡Si tan solo Dios da o quita a su arbitrio la existencia! Busco por doquiera la luz pues la oscuridad me espanta, porque en ella se levanta la imagen de Guatemuz ¡No! no protege la cruz crueldades tan sin medida; no fui juez, fui un homicida, y ese cadáver sangriento lo cargo en el pensamiento y me acibara la vida. ¡Oh sombra, que das pavor! perdona mi acción impía bajo este árbol donde un día llorara tu matador . . . Me amedrenta ese rumor del viento en las secas ramas; parece que me reclamas

347   ■  Notes to Pages 168–171 tantos horrendos deslices, y no se si me maldices, o me absuelves, o me llamas. (Juan de Dios Peza, Leyendas históricas, tradicionales y fantásticas de las calles de la Ciudad de México, 104–105)

91. Hu-Dehart, “Development and Rebellion,” 92. 92. Ramón Corral, “Biografía,” in Obras históricas, 149. 93. “Sobre el montón de enormes piedras que formaban el mausoleo del guerrero indio, digno representante del valor indomable de sus antepasados los toltecas, ví al ocultarse al sol tras las gigantescas higueras silvestres, que al poniente de su casi ignorada tumba, se destacan soberbias e imponentes, como mudos testigos de aquella muerte trágica y aquel valor estéril, un moribundo rayo de luz venir á acariciar el sepulcro del héroe, en medio de la salvaje majestad de la montaña y de la misteriosa tristeza del invierno” (Fortunato Hernández, Las razas indígenas de Sonora y la Guerra Yaqui, 179 [emphasis added]). 94. “Nuestros heróicos soldados se agrupan en torno a hogeras, olvidando las fatigas de la jornada y despreciando el peligro de la noche. ¡Horrible inconsecuencia del destino! Mientras los hijos mimados de la Fortuna saborean en aristocráticos salones el espumoso Champagne de los festines, o se duermen en los mullidos lechos de sus palacios acariciados por los besos de la esposa y arrullados por las canciones de las niñeras que cuidan de sus hijos, acá en las espantosas soledades de la abrupta y siniestra montaña, un grupo de valientes e infortunados mexicanos, desnudos de vestido, escasos de alimento, rendidos de fatiga, y suspirando por los amados seres que abandonaron en sus humildes hogares, se duermen sobre los escarpados bordes de algún precipicio, tal vez pensando don las lagrimas en los ojos y la tristeza en el alma, que á esa hora sus hijos á quien nunca volverán a sentar sobre sus rodilla, lloran la ausencia de sus padres, faltos de pan, de fuego y de cariño” (ibid., 106). 95. This phrase has origins in texts that discuss or allude to Walter Benjamin’s notion of the optical unconscious, primarily Rosalind E. Krauss, The Optical Unconscious (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1993); Michael Taussig, Mimesis and Alterity: A Particular History of the Senses (New York: Routledge, 1993); Susan Buck-Morss, The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989). 96. “Dignas sin duda de prolijo estudio, é interesantes por mil títulos son las infortunadas razas americanas que hoy vagan por las selvas en un mundo que fue suyo; y parias errabundos, sin creencias, sin dioses, sin hogares, huyen buscando en los lejanos bosques un ignorado abrigo para su miseria y un refugio seguro para su libertad. Sólo de vez en cuando, se puede ver alguno de los indios pertenecientes á esas razas, cruzar indiferente y silencioso nuestras grandes ciudades, con la indolencia del que nada espera, y llevando en sus negros y melancólicos ojos todo el orgullo de su pasado de semidiós, todo el fastidio de su presente sin dicha y toda la tristeza de su porvenir de esclavo” (Fortunato Hernández, Las razas indígenas de Sonora y la Guerra Yaqui, iv). 97. Jacques Lacan, The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, 55–64, 105–119; Jacques Lacan, “The Function and Field of Speech and Language in Psychoanalysis,” in Écrits, 30–114, especially 41–50.

348   ■  Notes to Pages 171–174 98. Ned Lukacher, “Introduction,” in Jaques Derrida, Cinders, translated and edited by Ned Lukacher, 4. 99. Derrida, Cinders, 43. 100. Cited in Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present, 426. For an extensive discussion of responsibility in the reading of texts, see Thomas Keenan, Fables of Responsibility: Aberrations and Predicaments in Ethics and Politics (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997). 101. Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning, and the New International, 11, xix. 102. Derrida, Cinders, 43. 103. The government’s decision to allow the store to be built without prior public debate ignited impassioned protests, especially by educators and artists, who viewed the project as an egregious desecration of national patrimony. While some of the protesters predicted the imminent demise of small local businesses unable to compete with the megastore, supporters, many of them inhabitants from the community, hailed the Wal-Mart as part and parcel of Mexico’s modernization and welcomed the company’s pledge to create jobs for people of the region. Wal-Mart is already Mexico’s largest foreign employer, with revenue of 11 billion dollars per year. See James C. McKinley Jr., “No, the Conquistadores Are Not Back. It’s Just Wal-Mart,” New York Times, September 28, 2004, 4; James McKinley Jr. “World Briefing Americas: Mexico: Wal-Mart Opens Near Pyramids,” New York Times, November 6, 2004, 8. For an overview of the controversy including relevant press coverage, see “Reconfiguring the Archaeological Sensibility: Mediating Heritage at Teotihuacan Mexico,” accessed November 12, 2012: humanitieslab.stanford.edu/30/715. The event was vigorously debated in the mailing list of the Association for Latin American Art, of which no archive is publicly available.

chapter 5 1. See María Fernández, “Architecture: Nineteenth-Century.” A previous version of this essay was completed in 2000 for a volume issued in 2004: María Fernández, “Huellas del pasado: Revaluando el eclecticismo en la arquitectura mexicana del siglo XIX.” 2. The term “West” and its derivatives are used here as a cultural concept to refer to Western Europe and the United States and not as a precise geographical term. 3. Gülsum Baydar Nalbantoğlu and Wong Chon Thai, eds., Postcolonial Spaces, 7. 4. Gülsum Baydar Nalbantoğlu, “Limits of (In)Tolerance: The Carved Dwelling in the Architecture and Urban Discourse of Modern Turkey,” 89. 5. See Gilman, Difference and Pathology; McClintock, Imperial Leather. 6. Many scholars today reject the concept of hybridity on the grounds that it is ultimately based on a belief in purity (the original entities from which the so-called hybrid results). Despite its imperfections, this theoretical construct allowed questioning of established canons often based on presumed self-evident ideas of stylistic homogeneity. The notion of hybridity, along with related concepts such as “liminality” and “third space,” allowed scholars to see previously invisible fissures within canonical classifi-

349   ■  Notes to Pages 175–179 cations as well as to acknowledge glaring inconsistencies within the categories. This essay is indebted to the changes in vision that these concepts made possible. In recognition of that moment I have preserved the essay’s original argument. See Fernández, “Huellas del pasado.” 7. See Álvarez, Ruinas de Mitla y la arquitectura, 275; Salazar, Arquitectura y la arqueología; Katzman, Arquitectura del siglo XIX, 306; Ramón Vargas Salguero, Historia de la teoria de la arquitectura: El porfirismo; Rodríguez Prampolini, Crítica del arte en el siglo XIX. 8. Israel Katzman, La arquitectura contemporánea mexicana: Precedentes y desarrollo, 77. 9. For histories of modern architecture in Mexico, see Katzman, Arquitectura contemporánea; and González Gortázar, Arquitectura mexicana. 10. Fernández, “In the Image of the Other.” 11. See Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities; and Bhabha, Nation and Narration. For a summary of various theories, see María Fernández, “Nation, Identity, Representation,” in “Representation of National Identity,” 1–15. 12. Fernández, Arte del siglo XIX, 181; Fernández, “Image of the Other.” 13. Mier, México en la Exposición Universal Internacional, 226–227. 14. Manuel Gamio, Forjando patria, 17–19. 15. Fernández, Arte del siglo XIX. 16. Michael Johns, The City of Mexico in the Age of Díaz, 23. 17. Meyer Shapiro, “Style,” 278. In general this definition of style is tacitly accepted in the discipline and determines, even today, the teaching of art history at an introductory level. 18. James Ackerman, “A Theory of Style,” 227 19. E. H. Gombrich, “Style,” 359. 20. George Kubler, “Toward a Reductive Theory of Visual Style,” 123, 127. 21. Ibid., 119. 22. Shapiro, “Style,” 279. 23. Cited in Wohlleben, “Germany 1750–1830,” 172. The original text reads: “Der gute Geschmack, welcher sich mehr und mehr durch die Welt ausbreitet, hat sich angefangen zuerst unter dem griechischen Himmel zu bilden.” Johann Joachim Winckelmann, Gedanken über die Nachahmung der Griechischen Werke in der Malerei und Bildhauerkunst. 24. Wohlleben, “Germany 1750–1830,” 172–185. 25. Friedrich Georg Wilhelm Hegel, The Philosophy of History, 90, 91, 59, 139. 26. Nikolaus Pevsner, The Englishness of English Art: An Expanded and Annotated Version of the REITH LECTURES Broadcast in October and November 1955, 14. 27. Marvin Harris, The Rise of Anthropological Theory, 81, 86; McClintock Imperial Leather, 51–54; Stephen Jay Gould, The Mismeasure of Man, 48–49, 116–117. 28. These ideas were rapidly adopted in a variety of fields. In an article published in Popular Science in 1895, the prominent English psychologist James Sully asserted that savages and children shared aesthetic preferences such as delight in bright glistening things, strong contrast in color, feathers, and certain forms of movement but that one

350   ■  Notes to Pages 179–181 should not assume that they had equal sensibility: “On the other hand,” he added, “it is doubtful whether the savage attains to the sentiment of the child for the beauty of flowers.” Sully, cited in Gould, Mismeasure of Man, 117. 29. Shapiro, “Style,” 287–293. 30. See, for example, Albert Elsen, Purposes of Art, 35; and all editions to date of H. W. Janson, History of Art, first published as H. W. Janson with Dora Jane Janson, History of Art: A Survey of the Major Visual Arts from the Dawn of History to the Present Day (New York: Prentice Hall, 1962). 31. George Kubler characterized the survivals of pre-Hispanic art in the colonial period as modes of extinction rather than as the result of ongoing cultural interaction. Other scholars used the term “mestizo” to refer to the colonial art of Latin America, a term strongly critiqued especially by American scholars. George Kubler, “On the Colonial Extinction of the Motifs of Pre-Columbian Art,” in Studies in Ancient American and European Art, 66–74; George Kubler, “Indianism, Mestizaje, and Indigenismo as Classical, Medieval, and Modern Traditions in Latin America,” in ibid., 75–80. Other terms that denoted heterogeneity, such as “syncretism,” met a similar fate. Nikos Papastergiadis, The Turbulence of Migration: Globalization, Deterritorialization and Hybridity, 124–127. Carolyn Dean and Dana Liebsohn argue that theories of hybridity led scholars to focus on surface effects: visually apprehensible mixtures that obscure the processes of colonization. Dean and Liebsohn, “Hybridity and Its Discontents,” 13, 17, 21–23. For a critical discussion of various designations for cultural mixtures, see Charles Stewart, “Syncretism and Its Synonyms: Reflections on Cultural Mixture.” 32. See, for example, Walter Burkert, The Orientalizing Revolution, translated from German by Margaret E. Pinder and Walter Burkert (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992); Martin Bernal, Black Athena: The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization, 3 vols. (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1987–2006); Wolf, Europe and the People without History. The material on classical Greece generated the greatest amount of controversy, which is still ongoing. 33. Winckelmann, Gedanken; and Johann Joachim Winckelmann, Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums. 34. Antoine Quatremère de Quincy, cited in Demitri Porphyrios, Sources of Modern Eclecticism: Studies on Alvar Aalto, 13. 35. Bernd Evers and Christof Thoenes, A History of Architectural Theory from Vitruvius to the Present, 79, 121. Also see Chapter 2 in this text. 36. Quatremère de Quincy, cited in Porphyrios, Sources of Modern Eclecticism, 13. Architecture historians Robin Middleton and David Watkins describe the theoretical divisions in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century architecture as conditioned by two currents of thought: rationalism and the picturesque, which are compatible with “architecture as building” and “architecture as metalanguage” as discussed by Porphyrios. Robin Middleton and David Watkins, Neoclassical and 19th Century Architecture (New York: Abrams, 1980), 12ff. 37. Paul-Alan Johnson, The Theory of Architecture: Concepts, Themes, Practices, 407– 408.

351   ■  Notes to Pages 181–185 38. Cited in Shapiro, “Style,” 282. 39. Bhabha, “Of Mimicry and Man,” 126, 127. 40. José Piedra, “The Game of Arrival.” 41. Edward W. Said, Orientalism, 41; Edward W. Said, “Culture and Imperialism.” 42. See, for example, Julie Codell and Dianne Sacchko MacLeod, eds., Orientalism Transposed: The Impact of the Colonies on British Culture; Sarah Macready and F. H. Thompson, eds., Influences in Victorian Art and Architecture (London: Society of Antiquaries of London, 1985); Mark Crinson, Empire Building: Victorian Architecture and Orientalism. 43. See Terence Davis, Architecture of John Nash (London: Studio, 1960); Raymond Head, “Bagshot Park and Indian Crafts,” in Influences in Victorian Art and Architecture, edited by Sarah Macready and F. H. Thompson, 139–149. 44. Cited in Porphyrios, Sources of Modern Eclecticism, 14. 45. For example, in this period “visiting” the beliefs of other countries was frequently accompanied by intensive Christian missionary activity. Said remarked on the power of these beliefs to drive otherwise decent people to support colonial ventures. Said, “Culture and Imperialism,” 7. 46. Fernández, “Architecture: Nineteenth-Century,” 82. The relationship of neoclassical architecture and the British Empire was recently explored in the panel “An Imperial Vision: Neoclassical Architecture and Empire,” Liverpool, March 27–30, 2008, and in multiple studies of colonial India. See, for example, Thomas R. Metcalf, An Imperial Vision: Indian Architecture and Britain’s Raj (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989). More recently, Stacie Widdifield and Paul Barret organized a panel on neoclassical art and architecture in Latin America entitled “The Americanization of Neoclassicism,” 97th Annual Conference of the College Art Association, February 25–28, 2009. 47. See, for example, Evers and Thoenes, History of Architectural Theory, 77–78, 118– 119, 309–310, 323–325, although the authors also recognize and discuss eclecticism in the classical tradition. 48. Henri Russell Hitchcock and Phillip Johnson, The International Style, 34–35; Evers and Thoenes, History of Architectural Theory. 49. Pevsner, The Englishness of English Art, 14–16. Also see An Outline of European Architecture (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1948); and Pioneers of Modern Design (New York: Penguin, 1960). 50. Nikolaus Pevsner, “Modern Architecture and the Historian or the Return of Historicism,” 230. 51. Sigfried Gideon, Space, Time, and Architecture, xxiii. 52. David Watkins, Morality and Architecture: The Development of a Theme in Architectural History and Theory from the Gothic Revival to the Modern Movement, 109. 53. Russell Hitchcock and Johnson, International Style, 35; Homi K. Bhabha, “Conclusion: ‘Race,’ Time and the Revision of Modernity,” in Location of Culture, 236–256. 54. See Charles Jencks, The Language of Post-Modern Architecture (New York: Rizzoli, 1997). 55. Robert Venturi, Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture, 16.

352   ■  Notes to Pages 185–193 56. Walter C. Kidney, The Architecture of Choice: Eclecticism in America, 1880–1930, vii. 57. Kenneth Frampton, “Toward a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an Architecture of Resistance.” See also Alexander Tzonis and Liane Lefaivre, “The Grid and the Pathway: An Introduction to the Work of Dimitris and Susana Antonakakis.” 58. Frampton, “Toward a Critical Regionalism,” 21; Paul Ricoeur, “Universal Civilization and National Cultures.” 59. Frampton, “Toward a Critical Regionalism,” 28–29. 60. Tony Fry, “Art Byting the Dust—Some Considerations on Time, Economy, and Cultural Practices of Postmodernity,” 167. 61. Emilio Ambasz, The Architecture of Luis Barragán, 105–108. 62. The architecture historian Keith Eggener questions the association of Barragán’s work with critical regionalism on the basis of the international renown of the architect’s work as representative of Mexican identity, his privileged background, and the lack of evidence to attribute to him attitudes of resistance or opposition to modernism, capitalism, and the West. Keith L. Eggener, “Placing Resistance: A Critique of Critical Regionalism.” In my understanding, Frampton was less concerned with the architect’s intentions than with the sensual and evocative qualities of the architecture, which according to him performed critical functions. Eggener is correct in his association of Barragán’s architecture with elite values. For a similar critique of Barragán’s buildings, see María Fernández, “Architecture: Twentieth Century,” 96–97. 63. Foucault, Order of Things. See also Michel Foucault, “Of Other Spaces.” 64. Porphyrios, Sources of Modern Eclecticism, 2, 8. 65. Ibid., 3, 117. 66. Ibid., 46, 114. 67. Katzman, Arquitectura: Precedentes y desarrollo, 76. 68. Fernández, “In the Image of the Other.” 69. Frampton, “Toward a Critical Regionalism,” 20–21. 70. Mark Gelernter, Sources of Architectural Form: A Critical History of Western Design Theory, 185. 71. Alice T. Friedman, “Did England Have a Renaissance? Classical and Anticlassical Themes in Elizabethan Culture,” 95. 72. James Ackerman, The Architecture of Michelangelo; Harold Alan Meek, Guarino Guarini; Anthony Blunt, Borromini. 73. Kidney, The Architecture of Choice, 1, 3. 74. N. Katherine Hayles, How We Became Posthuman: Virtual Bodies in Cybernetics, Literature and Informatics, 17. 75. Jacques Hermant, cited in Arnold Lewis, An Early Encounter with Tomorrow: Europeans, Chicago’s Loop and the World’s Columbia Exposition, 186. Emphasis added. 76. Said, Orientalism, 38, 47–48, 97. 77. See Çelik, Displaying the Orient. 78. Chueca Goitia, Invariantes castizos de la arquitectura española: Invariantes en la arquitectura hispanoamericana, manifiesto de la Alhambra, 40–41. 79. See Hugh Honour and John Fleming’s description of Islamic art in The Visual Arts: A History, 313; and William Rubin’s discussion of the development of modern art

353   ■  Notes to Pages 193–195 in William Rubin, ed., Primitivism in 20th Century Art (2 vols.; (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1984), vol. 2, 13. 80. Bhabha, “Conclusion,” 236–256.

chapter 6 1. See González Navarro, Vida social; Joy Elizabeth Hayes, Radio Nation: Communication, Popular Culture, and Nationalism in Mexico, 1920–1950; Rubén Gallo, Mexican Modernity: The Avant-Garde and the Technological Revolution. 2. The performance artist Guillermo Gómez Peña has satirized the presumed incompatibility of Mexicans with technology. See his essay “The Virtual Barrio @The Other Frontier (or the Chicano Interneta),” in Clicking In: Hot Links to a Digital Culture, edited by Lynn Hershman Leeson (Seattle: Bay Press, 1996), 173–179. Available in more extensive form online, accessed December 12, 2012: www.pochanostra .com/antes/jazz_pocha2/mainpages/virtual.htm: “Chicano Interneta: The Search for Intelligent Life in Cyberspace” in Hopscotch: Cultural Review 2, no. 2 (2001): 80–91. Also see Guillermo Gómez Peña, Ethno-Techno: Writings on Performance, Activism and Pedagogy, edited by Elaine Peña (New York: Routledge 2005). 3. For a critique of the characterization of Latin American art, see Ramírez, “Beyond the Fantastic.” For examples of scholars who have discussed technology, please read the next three notes. 4. Katzman, Arquitectura del siglo XIX; and Arquitectura contemporánea mexicana; Enrique X de Anda Alanis, La arquitectura de la revolución mexicana; González Gortázar, Arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX. 5. Irene Herner de Larrea, “Diego Rivera: Paradise Lost in Rockefeller Center Revisited”; Terry Smith, “The Resistant Other: Diego Rivera in Detroit”; Jennifer Jolly, “David Alfaro Siqueiros, Josep Renau, the International Team of Plastic Artists and Their Mural for the Mexican Electricians’ Syndicate, Mexico City, 1939–1940”; María Fernández, “Estri-dentistas: Taking the Teeth Out of Futurism”; Stacie Widdifield, “The Calendar Stone: A Critical History.” The session sponsored by the Association for Latin American Art, “Sighting Technology in Modern and Contemporary Latin American Art,” which I chaired at the 96th Annual Conference of the College Art Association, Dallas, Texas, February 22, 2008, was among the first to investigate this topic. 6. Gallo, Mexican Modernity. 7. Appadurai envisions the global cultural economy as a complex and disjunctive whole animated by five scapes: ethnoscapes, mediascapes, financescapes, technoscapes, and ideoscapes. According to him, these scapes are the building blocks for the diverse imagined and historically situated worlds that are distributed around the globe. While Appadurai stresses the role of the imagination in the postelectronic era, I focus on the imaginings of an earlier period and center my discussion on literature and art. Arjun Appadurai, “Disjuncture and Difference in the Global Cultural Economy.” 8. For discussion of some of these issues, see Wolfgang Schivelbusch, The Railway Journey: The Industrialization and Perception of Time and Space (Berkeley: University of

354   ■  Notes to Pages 196–200 California Press, 1987); Friedrich Kittler, Gramophone, Film, Typewriter (Writing Science) (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999); Marvin, When Old Technologies Were New. European modernity and industrialization were far from homogeneous, even within a single country. For a discussion of some of these issues, see Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference. 9. Guy Debord, The Society of the Spectacle; Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation; Slavoj Žižek, The Plague of Fantasies; Paul Virilio, War and Cinema: The Logistics of Perception, translated by Patrick Camiller (London: Verso, 1989); Donna Haraway, “A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s”; Hayles, How We Became Posthuman. 10. Presciently the films Videodrome (1983) and eXistenZ (1999) by David Cronemberg addressed the possible effects of contemporary video and simulation technologies on human lives. 11. Nelson Osorio, ed., Manifiestos, proclamas y polémicas de la vanguardia literaria hispanoamericana, xxii; Raúl Leiva cited in Luis Leal, “Realidad y expresión en la literatura estridentista,” 74. For a survey of Mexican life and society in the modern era, see González Navarro, La vida social. 12. Douglas Kahn, “Radio Space,” 95. 13. Richard Kearney, The Poetics of Imagining, 4. 14. David Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910–1990, 29, 31. 15. See Andrés Molina Enríquez, Los grandes problemas nacionales; Gamio, Forjando patria; José Vasconcelos, La raza cósmica: Misión de la raza iberoamericana, Argentina y Brasil. 16. For an example of the latter position, see Federico Mariscal, La patria y la arquitectura nacional: Resúmenes de las conferencias dadas en la casa de la Universidad popular mexicana del 21 de octubre de 1913 al 29 de julio de 1914, por el arquitecto d. Federico E. Mariscal. 17. Franz Boas, Adolfo Best-Maugard, and Manuel Gamio, Escuela internacional de arqueología y etnología americanas. 18. See Leonard Folgarait, Mural Painting and Social Revolution in Mexico, 1920–1940: Art of the New Order; Diego Rivera: Art and Revolution. 19. For the role of history painting in nineteenth-century culture, see Widdifield, Embodiment of the National. 20. Fernández, “Estri-dentistas.” 21. Luis Mario Schneider, ed., El estridentismo: Antología, 5. 22. All these quotations are from Manuel Maples Arce, “Manifiesto estridentista número 1.” The sections of “Actual número 1” are referenced in roman numerals in parentheses in the main text. I translated all excerpts from estridentista texts from Spanish. 23. Luis Mario Schneider, ed., El estridentismo: México, 1921–27, 18. 24. The second manifesto was published in Puebla in 1923, the third one in Zacatecas in 1925, and the last one in Tamaulipas in 1926, on the occasion of the Third National Student Congress. For reprints of the manifestos and various writings by the estridentistas, see Schneider, Estridentismo: México.

355   ■  Notes to Pages 200–203 25. For a discussion of the role of the media in the development of estridentismo and Brazilian modernism, see Stefan Bacin, “Estridentismo mexicano y modernismo brasileño: Vasos comunicantes,” in El estridentismo: Memoria y valoración, 42. 26. “History of the Radio, Mexico.” 27. Maples Arce was appointed judge of the Judicial District of Xalapa and later secretary of government of the state. Germán List Arzúbide arrived both as private secretary to Maples Arce and as professor of the Escuela de Bachilleres de Xalapa. 28. Schneider, Estridentismo: México, 31. 29. Dawn Ades, Art in Latin America: The Modern Era, 1820–1980, 132–33; Vicky Unruh, Latin American Vanguards: The Art of Contentious Encounters, 15; Bacin, “Estridentismo mexicano y modernismo brasileño,” 35; Schneider, Estridentismo: México, 34; Xavier Villaurrutia, “Entremés: El estridentismo,” in La poesía de los jóvenes de México: Obras (2nd ed., Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1996), 827; cited in Maria Aparecida Da Silva, “Vida y muerte de las vanguardias poéticas: José Gorostiza.” 30. See Néstor García Canclini’s book Culturas híbridas: Estrategias para entrar y salir de la modernidad; and George Yúdice, Jean Franco, and Juan Flores, eds., On the Edge: the Crisis of Contemporary Latin American Culture. Multiple artists including Rubén Ortíz, Guillermo Gómez Peña, Maris Bustamante, Monica Meyer, Gabriel Orozco, and Pedro Meyer also have explored these issues. 31. Lynda Klich, “Revolution and Utopia: Estridentismo and the Visual Arts, 1921– 27,” 15, 321, 212, 32. Klich’s dissertation was released when this chapter was being revised. I am grateful to the author for her careful and detailed treatment of the movement. 32. Leiva cited in Luis Leal, “Realidad y expresión en la literatura estridentista.” 33. Schneider, Estridentismo: México, 19. 34. Leal, “Realidad y expresión en la literatura estridentista,” 78. 35. Klich, “Revolution and Utopia,” 289–292, 465, 498–499, 465. 36. Stephen H. Haber, Industry and Underdevelopment: The Industrialization of Mexico, 1890–1940, 134. 37. Luis Medina Peña, Hacia el nuevo estado: México 1920–1933, 108–110. 38. According to Haber, consumer goods industries did well until 1916 and declined from 1926 to 1930 during a severe economic depression. During this period, however, the production of cement and steel increased. Haber, Industry and Underdevelopment, 137–141, 156. 39. The estridentistas’ revitalization of literature involved the use of language in novel ways. Words are employed in unusual contexts, creating new meanings or nonsense. For instance, the word conmover is employed frequently by the estridentistas to denote both emotion and movement. In my English translations I have tried to conserve as much as possible of the estridentistas’ innovations. Thus the reader should expect peculiar sentences and word usage. The translations do not observe the original layout. 40. Later utopianisms manifested similar expectations. For instance, in the late 1980s and early 1990s multiple artists and intellectuals predicted that the Internet would ameliorate personal isolation, advance social equality, and enable world peace. For examples of these positions, see Second International Symposium on Electronic Art, Proceedings (Groningen, The Netherlands); Karl Gerbel, ed., Mythos Informa-

356   ■  Notes to Pages 203–209 tion—Welcome to the Wired World: Ars Electronica, 1995 (Vienna: Springer: 1995); and Esther Dyson, Release 2.0: A Design for Living in the Digital Age (New York: Broadway Books, 1997). 41. See Daina Augatitis and Dan Lander, eds., Radio Rethink: Art, Sound and Transmission; Douglas Kahn and Gregory Whitehead, eds., Wireless Imagination: Sound, Radio, and the Avant-Garde); Estridentismo: Un gesto irreversible; and List Arzúbide, Movimiento estridentista, 55, 77, 89. 42. Kyn Taniya [Luis Quintanilla], RADIO: Poema inalámbrico en trece mensajes, reprinted in Schneider, Estridentismo: México, 181. 43. Gallo, Mexican Modernity, 158–160. For European visions of radio, see John J. White, Literary Futurism: Aspects of the First Avant-Garde, 150–152; Gregory Whitehead, “Out of the Dark: Notes on the Nobodies of Radio Art,” in Wireless Imagination, edited by Kahn and Whitehead, 256–258; F. T. Marinetti and Pino Masnata, “La Radia” (1933), in ibid., 265–268. 44. White, Literary Futurism, 149 45. Arqueles Vela, El café de nadie: Novelas, reprinted in Estridentismo: México, edited by Schneider, 227. 46. The estridentistas’ depictions of cinema as a mediator of emotion are strikingly similar to the recent theorization by the group Retort of contemporary televisual and digital media as “perpetual emotion machines.” Retort: Ian Boal, T. J. Clark, Joseph Mathews, and Michael Watts, Afflicted Powers: Capital and Spectacle in a New Age of War (New York: Verso 2005), 21. 47. Arqueles Vela, “La Señorita Etcétera,” in Estridentismo: México, edited by Schneider, 95–96. 48. Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, Teoria e invenzione futurista, 57, cited in White, Literary Futurism, 302. 49. The epochal exhibition The Machine as Seen at the End of the Mechanical Age included works by many of these artists. See K. G. Pontus Hultén, The Machine as Seen at the End of the Mechanical Age. For a recent discussion on machine images in early modern American art, see Barbara Zabel, Assembling Art: The Machine and the American Avant-Garde (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2004). 50. List Arzúbide, Movimiento estridentista, 12. 51. “Manifiesto estridentista número 2,” in Manifiestos, edited by Osorio, 126. 52. For a commentary on the futurists’ cult of violence, see the chapter on primitivism in White, Literary Futurism, 288–258. 53. List Arzúbide, Movimiento estridentista, 47. 54. Kyn Taniya [Luis Quintanilla], “Avión,” in Estridentismo: México, edited by Schneider, 161. 55. This in fact is the subject of Néstor García Canclini’s important study Hybrid Cultures: Strategies for Entering and Living Modernity. 56. Tatiana Flores, “Estridentismo in Mexico City: Dialogues between Mexican Avant-Garde Art and Literature, 1921–1924,” 130. 57. For various positions on socially relevant art in Latin America, see Oriana Baddeley and Valerie Fraser, Drawing the Line: Art and Cultural Identity in Contempo-

357   ■  Notes to Pages 209–211 rary Latin America, 3; Dawn Ades, “Constructing Histories of Latin American Art,” in Charles W. Haxhausen, ed., The Two Art Histories: The Museum and the University (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), 32–44; and Marguerite Mayhall, “Modernist But Not Exceptional: The Debate over Modern Art and National Identity in 1950s Venezuela,” Latin American Perspectives 30, vol. 20, no. 10 (2005–1). 58. On Guillermo Gómez Peña, see note 2 above. The stereotype of the technologically inept Third World subject persists despite the ongoing contributions of nations such as India and Brazil to technological development. A recent example was the attribution of the release of an allegedly doctored photograph of Iran’s rocket tests in July 2008 in popular blogs to the Iranians’ inability to use the required tools, accessed December 12, 2012: http://www.psdisasters.com/?s=iran+missile+2008 and more recently http:// www.dailykos.com/story/2012/10/26/1150776/-Evidence-surfaces-suggesting-Iranian -missile-Photoshoppers-could-be-on-Romney-campaign-payroll#. 59. William Rubin, “Primitivism” in 20th Century Art: Affinity of the Tribal and the Modern (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1984); Susan Hiller, The Myth of Primitivism: Perspectives on Art (New York: Routledge, 1981); Robert Goldwater, Primitivism in Modern Art (New York: Wittenborn, 1966). Admittedly, primitivism permeated the work of the Italian futurists in different and primarily literary forms. For the Italian futurists, primitivism was neither archaism nor geographical exoticism focusing on specific locations such as Africa or Tahiti but rather a masculinist “state of mind.” See White, Literary Futurism, 298, 288–358, for more detailed discussion of this subject. 60. Flores, “Estridentismo,” 28. 61. See Folgarait, Mural Painting, 138ff. For examples of the work of a painter living in Mexico who was keenly engaged with technology and did not paint murals, see Janet Kaplan, Unexpected Journeys: The Life and Art of Remedios Varo (New York: Abbeville Press, 1988). See also Gallo, “Cameras,” Chapter 1 of Mexican Modernity, 30–65. 62. See Diego Rivera: A Retrospective; David Craven, Diego Rivera As Epic Modernist (New York G. K. Hall & Co., 1997), 125, 126, 139; and David Craven, Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910–1990, 128, 139. 63. Herner de Larrea, “Diego Rivera,” 250. 64. The image is reminiscent of works by Australian artist Stelarc, especially The Third Arm. More than a decade ago works such as The Third Arm generated heated debates concerning the integrity, usefulness, and potential of the human body as well as the artist’s social responsibility. Literary critic Brian Massumi responds to some of these critiques in Parables for the Virtual: Movement, Affect, Sensation, 131–132. 65. Irene Herner de Larrea, Diego Rivera’s Mural at the Rockefeller Center, 10, 31; Herner de Larrea, “Diego Rivera,” 240–241. Despite its novel approach to Rivera’s work, Herner de Larrea’s work appears to be little known in the United States. 66. Anita Brenner, “Diego Rivera: Fiery Crusader of the Paint Brush,” in Herner de Larrea, Diego Rivera’s Mural, article 5, 70–76. 67. Ibid.; and Anita Brenner, “Career of Rivera Marked by Strife,” in ibid., article 27, 100. 68. Brenner, “Fiery Crusader,” in Herner de Larrea, Diego River’s Mural, article 5, 70. 69. Herner de Larrea, “Diego Rivera,” 247, 242–243.

358   ■  Notes to Pages 211–216 70. Ibid., 250. 71. Herner de Larrea, Diego Rivera’s Mural, 42. 72. Herner de Larrea, “Diego Rivera,” 250. 73. Smith, “The Resistant Other,” 227, 221, 231. 74. Max Kozloff, “Orozco and Rivera: Mexico Fresco Painting and the Paradoxes of Nationalism,” 61–62. 75. Walter Benjamin, “Theses on the Philosophy of History,” 255. 76. Daniel Milo, “Toward an Experimental History of Gay Science,” 90, 91, 94, 97. 77. The film opened in Mexico in 1928, but Orozco did not see it until his visit to the United States in 1933. Mary K. Coffey, “‘Without Any of the Seductions of Art’: On Orozco’s Misogyny and Public Art in the Americas,” 102. Also see Mary K. Coffey, “José Clement Orozco’s Catharsis and the Politics of Female Allegory in 1930s Mexico,” accessed July 31, 2007: http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/new_centennial_review/ v004/4.2coffey.html#authbio. 78. Vela, “La Señorita Etcétera,” 230. 79. List Arzúbide, Movimiento estridentista, 68. 80. Craven, Diego Rivera, 139; Craven, Art and Revolution, 49. 81. See, for example, Irene Herner de Larrea, Siqueiros, del paraíso a la utopía; and the volume Releer a Siqueiros: Ensayos en su Centenario, especially the essays by César García Palomino, “Siqueiros, su fascinación por las imágines,” 83–93; Alejandro Castellanos, “La carne y la máquina,” 95–110; and Sergio Arturo Montero and Roberto Ramírez Vega, “Las técnicas de fábrica en la obra mural de David Alfaro Siqueiros: El caso del Polyforum Siqueiros,” 149–168; Leonard Folgarait, So Far from Heaven: David Alfaro Siqueiros’ The March of Humanity and Mexican Revolutionary Politics. 82. David Alfaro Siqueiros, “Three Appeals for a Modern Direction to the New Generation of American Painters and Sculptors,” in Dawn Ades, Art in Latin America: The Modern Era, 1820–1980, 323. Cuauhtemoc against the Myth (1944) and The Apotheosis of Cuauhtemoc (1950) both feature gigantic centaurs to signal the supernatural powers that indigenous peoples initially attributed to the horses of the Spanish invaders. The Torture of Cuauhtemoc (1951) shows the conquerors wearing full body armor, which makes them look somewhat robotic, but none of these murals include direct references to machines. 83. The Mexican artists Antonio Pujol and Luis Arenal; the Bolivian Roberto Berdecio; and the Spanish refugee artists Josep Renau, Miguel Prieto, and Antonio Rodríguez Luna constituted the team. 84. Jolly, “David Alfaro Siqueiros, Josep Renau, the International Team of Plastic Artists and Their Mural.” 85. Jennifer Jolly and Lawrence Hulburt regard the Siqueiros mural as concerned with international politics and the emergence of fascism. Folgarait interprets Renau’s changes as ultimately delivering an ambiguous political message exemplified by the revolutionary who holds the rifle but does not shoot. Jolly reads Renau’s mural as a prediction of the fall of capitalism imbued with revolutionary values. Jolly, “David Alfaro Siqueiros,” 172, 191; Lawrence Hulburt, “Siqueiros’ Portrait of the Bourgeoisie,” Art Forum (February 1977): 39–46; Folgarait, Mural Painting, 183–190.

359   ■  Notes to Pages 218–230 86. Folgarait, Mural Painting, 152. 87. Ibid., 173–175; Jolly, “David Alfaro Siqueiros,” Figure 1. 88. Haraway, “Manifesto for Cyborgs.” 89. Folgarait, Mural Painting, 190. 90. Haraway, “Manifesto for Cyborgs,” 72. 91. Folgarait, by contrast, recognizes a “double consciousness” in the mural; but for him this means a state of contradiction or irresolution that in his opinion leads to political paralysis. Forgarait, Mural Painting, 186, 189. 92. Osorio, Futurismo y la vanguardia literaria, 19, 51–55, 57–60. 93. See the appendix in List Arzúbide, Movimiento estridentista. 94. For a discussion of cyborgs and women in the underdeveloped world, see Haraway, “Manifesto for Cyborgs,” 93–96; Chela Sandoval, Methodology of the Oppressed (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000), 170–177; Coco Fusco, “At Your Service: Latin Women in the Information Network,” in The Bodies That Were Not Ours and Other Writings (New York: Routledge, 2001), 186–201; and the earlier book by Armand Mattelart: Transnationals and the Third World: The Struggle for Culture.

chapter 7 1. The word “Mexica” refers to the inhabitants of the city of Tenochtitlan. The word “Aztec” refers to the Nahuatl speakers of the Valley of Mexico from the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries. 2. Diego de Durán, Historia de las Indias de Nueva España e Islas de la Tierra Firme, 2:50; Fernando Alvarado Tezozomoc, Crónica mexicana, 31–34. 3. Hernán Cortés, Cartas de relación, 51. 4. For a historical discussion of this topic, see Benjamin Keen, The Aztec Image in Western Thought. 5. Durán, Historia general, 1:100. 6. For Marquina’s acknowledgments to the individuals mentioned, see 11–12. 7. Leonardo López Luján, The Offerings of the Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan, 51. 8. See, for example, Elizabeth Hill Boone, ed., Falsifications and Misreconstructions of Pre-Columbian Art: A Conference at Dumbarton Oaks, October 14th and 15th, 1978. For a discussion of reconstructions as representations, see María Fernández, “The Truth in Reconstruction and the Teatro,” Chapter 7 of “Representation of National Identity,” 205–237. 9. Mitchell, Colonising Egypt, 18–20. 10. Ignacio Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, 185, Plate 54 (in both editions). 11. Alejandro Villalobos Pérez, “Consideraciones sobre un plano reconstructivo del recinto sagrado de México Tenochtitlan.” 12. For a view of the 1999 reconstruction, see López Luján, Offerings, 47, Fig. 15. 13. Antonio Serrato-Combe, The Aztec Templo Mayor: A Visualization, 7, 36. 14. Ignacio Alcocer, Apuntes sobre la antigua Mexico-Tenochtitlán. 15. Paul Damaz, Art in Latin American Architecture, 23; Jorge Hardoy, Ciudades precolombinas: Plates 28–29; Paul Damaz, Urban Planning in Pre-Columbian America, 188,

360   ■  Notes to Pages 230–233 189, cover; Doris Heyden and Paul Gendrop, Pre-Columbian Architecture of Mesoamerica, Plate 292; William T. Sanders, Jeffrey R. Parsons, and Robert S. Santley, The Basin of Mexico, 156; Henri Stierlin, Living Architecture: Ancient Mexico, 183; Muriel Porter Weaver, The Aztecs, Maya and Their Predecessors, 247. 16. Stierlin, Living Architecture; Sanders, Parsons, and Santley, Basin of Mexico. 17. Hardoy, Ciudades, 193–195. 18. Archaeologist Leonardo López Luján includes a drawing by Serrato-Combe as well as an illustration of Marquina’s reconstruction. López Luján, Offerings, 61, 46. Serrato-Combe cites the reconstruction maps by Marquina and Villalobos among his sources in Aztec Templo Mayor, 6. 19. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 10. 20. Carmen de Antúnez, “Advertencia,” in ibid., 13. 21. Ibid., 15 (emphasis added). In this ritual a naked prisoner was tied to a stone platform and given four wooden balls to defend himself. He was then expected to fight armed opponents until he was killed. The sacrifice took place every year during the feast of Tlacaxipehualiztli, held in honor of the sun (Durán, Historia, 2:176–177, 187). 22. Katzman, Arquitectura del siglo XIX; Katzman, Arquitectura contemporánea mexicana. 23. María Fernández, telephone interview with Susana Marquina, 1981; María Fernández, “Ignacio Marquina’s Reconstruction of the Temple Precinct of Tenochtitlan: A Critical Study,” 56. Marquina’s daughter later published her recollections: Susana Marquina Bárcena, “Semblanza del arquitecto Ignacio Marquina Barredo,” 13–16. 24. Posthumous editions of this book were published in 1981 and 1990. 25. Obregón Santacilia, 50 años de arquitectura mexicana (1900–1950) (Mexico City: Editorial Patria, 1952); El monumento a la revolución, 37–38. 26. “Cuando llegamos por primera vez a los talleres, los alumnos de 5° año tenían como problema: ‘Entrada a un panteón,’ programa característico de la época, el cual unos lo hacían egipcio, con esfinges y todo; otros colonial y otros gótico. Los dibujos se restiraban todavía con obleas y se acuarelaba ‘a la aguada,’ se consultaba el ‘Intime Club,’ revista de francesa de arquitectural que hacía la veces de cuadernos de modas, y las ‘medallas de la Escuela de Bellas Artes de París,’ en las que aparecían proyectos de proporciones descabelladas, irrealizables pero presentados con gran habilidad de dibujo. Los temas para los exámenes profesionales eran un ‘chateaux d’eau’ o un castillo. En la clase de modelado se copiaban las guirnaldas de la Columna de la Independencia y los materiales de construcción se estudiaban contemplando sobre mesas llenas de polvo, trocillos de viguetas de fierro y tabique en estado de disgregación. “Otras materias se estudiaban en forma enciclopédica, sin faltar ni nombre ni fecha, éstas y la de Teoría de la Arquitectura, cuyos libros de texto eran el Guadet y el Cloquet, se impartían sin relación ninguna con el momento arquitectónico que estábamos viviendo y que tanto nos interesaba, del que tanto se necesitaba que se empaparan los arquitectos del país, por lo que fue necesario buscar nosotros mismos” (El monumento a la revolución, 38). 27. [No author], “Entrevista con el arquitecto Ignacio Marquina, el día 22 de Febrero de 1981,” 26.

361   ■  Notes to Pages 233–241 28. See Miguel León Portilla, “The Ethnohistorical Record for the Huey Teocalli of Tenochtitlan,” in Elizabeth Hill Boone, ed., The Templo Mayor (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1983), 71–95; and Doris Heyden, El Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan en la obra de Fray Diego de Durán, among others. 29. Alcocer, Apuntes, 20; Ángel García Cook and Raúl Arana, Rescate arqueológico del monolito Coyolxauhqui: Informe preliminar, Fig. 16. 30. Durán, Historia general, 2:122, 133, 171, 273ff. 31. Durán says that Tizoc proposed to build the temple but is unclear as to whether the construction began. Ibid., 311, 333; Heyden, Templo Mayor, 50. Sources that mention Tizoc as initiating the construction include the Anales de Cuauhtitlan, Anales tepanecas de Azcapotzalco, and Relaciones de Chimalpahin: see Miguel León Portilla, “Ethnohistorical Record,” 79. 32. Cortés, Cartas de relación, 52. 33. The documents of the first kind include Sahagún’s Florentine Codex and Codices Matritenses, the Codex Ramírez, the Crónica Mexicayotl, the Codex Ixtlilxochitl, and Durán’s Historia. Cortés and Bernal Díaz del Castillo belong to the second category, and Alamán, Ramírez, Orozco y Berra, and Alcocer to the third. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 17. 34. The Primeros memoriales consists of eighty-eight folios selected from the Codices Matritenses by the Mexican scholar Francisco del Paso y Troncoso. H. B. Nicholson, “Sahagún’s Primeros Memoriales, Tepepulco 1559–1561,” 218. 35. Manuel Toussaint, Federico Gómez de Orozco, and Justino Fernández, Planos de la Ciudad de México: Siglos XVI y XVII, 119–120, 95. 36. Ibid., 93. 37. Christopher Couch first made this observation in “The Plan of Tenochtitlan” (unpublished paper, 1978), 18–19. 38. Mundy states: “In the Nuremberg map, Tenochtitlan, with its prominent square temple precinct, is set in the center of a round lake, clearly contradicting the actual planimetry of the system of linked lakes, which looked something like a backward C . . . Cortés himself knew well that there was not just one lake but two, one salty and the other one sweet, separated by a chain of mountains and linked by a narrow canal.” Barbara Mundy, “Mapping the Aztec Capital: The 1524 Nuremberg Map of Tenochtitlan, Its Sources and Meanings,” 11–33 (quotation on 14). 39. L. N. D’Olivier and H. Cline, “Bernardino de Sahagún,” in Handbook of Middle American Indians, 13, 186. 40. Ellen T. Baird, The Drawings of Sahagún’s Primeros Memoriales: Structure and Style, 160. 41. Eduard Seler, “Die Ausgrabungen am Orten des Haupttempels in México,” reproduced with modifications in Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur Amerikanischer Sprachund Alterthumskunde, 2:771. 42. Seler, “Die Ausgrabungen,” 2:771–772 (quotation); Eduard Seler, “Las excavaciones en el sitio del Templo Mayor de México,” 237–238. 43. Seler, “Excavaciones,” 241; Walter Krickeberg, Las antiguas culturas mexicanas, 113–117, Fig. 46. 44. For a comprehensive map of the recent excavations, see the General

362   ■  Notes to Pages 241–245 Plan of the Templo Mayor Project, 2002, in López Luján, Offerings, 340-341; and La casa de las Águilas: Un ejemplo de la arquitectura religiosa de Tenochtitlan, 2:566–567. 45. For a discussion of these various interpretations, see Fray Bernardino de Sahagún, Primeros memoriales, 118–119. 46. Seler, “Excavaciones,” 241. 47. Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, ed., Trabajos arqueológicos en el centro de la ciudad de México, 221, 222; López Luján, Offerings, 340-341; and López Luján, Casa de las Águilas, 2:566-567. 48. Bertina Olmedo Vera, Los templos rojos del recinto sagrado de Tenochtitlan, 44–46, 50–53; López Luján, Offerings, 57–58; Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, “The Templo Mayor: The Great Temple of the Aztecs,” 53. 49. Olmedo Vera, Templos rojos, 271, 274–277. 50. Baird, Drawings, 28; Silvia Garza de González, “La arquitectura en los códices genealógicos,” 250–251. 51. Garza de González, “Architectura,” 249, 250. 52. Scholar Henry Nicholson suggested that Sahagún’s original plan of the precinct of Tenochtitlan was lost and that the existing scheme represents either the precinct of Tlatelolco, where many of Sahagún’s informants resided, or, alternatively, the precinct of Tepepulco. See Nicholson, “Sahagún’s Primeros Memoriales,” 219; and Sahagún, Primeros memoriales, 119. Recent excavations showed that the precinct at Tlatelolco lacks the large number of buildings that Sahagún listed. Francisco González Rul, Urbanismo y arquitectura en Tlatelolco. 53. Baird, Drawings, 132. 54. Fernández, “Representation of National Identity,” 205–237. 55. Leopoldo Batres, Exploraciones Arqueológicas en la Calle de las Escalerillas, año 1900, reprinted as “Exploraciones en las calles de las Escalerillas,” 61–62, 81–83. 56. Jesús Galindo y Villa, “Escalinata descubierta en el nuevo edificio de la Secretaría de Justicia e Instrucción Pública.” 57. According to Mexica histories, a dissenting faction of the Mexicas founded Tlatelolco in 1337; Tenayuca was occupied by the Chichimecas after the fall of Tula and abandoned during the rule of Quinatzin (1226–1299 CE), who moved the capital to Texcoco. This city subsequently formed part of the Triple Alliance, which constituted the beginnings of the Aztec Empire. Tula and Teotihuacan were both sites that the Aztecs associated with preceding Toltec civilizations, from which the Mexicas also claimed descent. The Mexicas conquered the cities of Teopanzolco, Malinalco, and Huastusco. 58. See Ignacio Marquina, Estudio arquitectónico comparativo de los monumentos arqueológicos de México. 59. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 11–15, 84. 60. Elizabeth Hill Boone, “Templo Mayor Research, 1521–1978,” 49–52. 61. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 107. 62. Matos Moctezuma, “Templo Mayor,” 49–55; Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, The Great Temple of the Aztecs: Treasures of Tenochtitlan, 64–83; Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, Una visita al Templo Mayor, 19–37.

363   ■  Notes to Pages 245–250 63. Umberger, “Antiques, Revivals, and References to the Past,” 67; Emily Umberger, “Events Commemorated by Date Plaques at the Templo Mayor: Further Thoughts on the Solar Metaphor,” 421, 423. 64. López Luján, Offerings, 54, 359–360. For a summary of these positions, see 52–54. 65. Diego de Durán, Book of the Gods and Rites and the Ancient Calendar, 77; Cortés, Cartas de relación, 107; Bernardino de Sahagún, Historia general de las cosas de Nueva España, 1:232–242. 66. Alcocer, Apuntes, 57, 85–86. 67. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 32; Matos Moctezuma, Trabajos archeológicos, 221. 68. Sonia Lombardo de Ruiz, Desarrollo urbano de México Tenochtitlan según las fuentes históricas, Plate XXIX. 69. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 36–37. 70. Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, 748, 149, 153, 884, Plate 272. Also see Karl Ruppert, The Mercado, Chichen Itza, Yucatan, Contributions to American Anthropology and History No. 43, Publication No. 546 (Washington, DC: Carnegie Institution of Washington, 1943), 223–260. 71. Lucas Alamán, Disertaciones sobre la historia de la república mexicana, 2:189–282; Gamio, Forjando patria, 127–131. 72. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 42–44; Durán, Book of the Gods, 72; Alvarado Tezozomoc, Crónica mexicana, chapter 70, 314. 73. Alamán, Disertaciones, 2:209. 74. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 43. 75. López Luján, Offerings, 47; Matos Moctezuma, Great Temple of the Aztecs, 67. Also see Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, “New Finds in the Great Temple”; and Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, ed., El Templo Mayor: Excavaciones y estudios, 67. 76. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 44. 77. Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, ed., and Víctor Rangel, draftsman, El Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlán: Planos, cortes y perspectivas; López Luján, Offerings, 50, 340–341. 78. López Luján, Offerings, 48. 79. López Luján, Casa de las Águilas, 1:37. 80. These measurements rely on the scale provided in the plan and to my knowledge remain stable. 81. López Luján, Casa de las Águilas, 1:52. Antonio Serrato-Combe provides the measurements of 83.5 meters along the east-west axis and 76.6 meters along the north-south axis based on the footprint of Stage VII of the temple but does not specify how he determines the footprint for this stage. Serrato-Combe, Aztec Templo Mayor, 76. 82. See Marquina, Templo Mayor, 55–65, especially 62. In his book Arquitectura prehispánica (176, 223) Marquina mentioned Santa Cecilia’s similarity to the neighboring pyramid of Tenayuca but did not illustrate it. In contrast, the Temple of Santa Cecilia was the main model for Serrato-Combe’s reconstruction of the depth proportions and height to base scale of the shrines above the Templo Mayor: Serrato-Combe, Aztec Templo Mayor, 30. 83. Eloise Quiñones Keber, “Topiltzin Quezalcoatl in Texts and Images,” 93, Figs. 1–6, 11–17.

364   ■  Notes to Pages 250–258 84. David Carrasco, Quetzalcoatl and the Irony of Empire: Myths and Prophecies in the Aztec Tradition, 145; H. B. Nicholson, Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl: The Once and Future Lord of the Toltecs, 259. 85. Carrasco, Quetzalcoatl and the Irony of Empire, 172; Nicholson, Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl, 259. 86. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 67–69. 87. Toribio Motolinía, Motolinía’s History of the Indians of New Spain, translated by Francis Borgia Steck, 137; Toribio Motolinía, Motolinía’s History of the Indians of New Spain, translated and edited by Elizabeth Andros Foster, 87. 88. E. H. D. Pollock, Round Structures of Aboriginal Middle America. 89. Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, 212; Heidi King, “Round Structures in Ancient Mexico,” 9. 90. Keber, “Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl,” 53; Carrasco, Quetzalcoatl, 198. Nicholson reconciles these views. Nicholson, Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl, 250. 91. José García Payón, La zona arqueológica de Tecaxic-Calixtlahuaca y los matlatzincas, 57; and José García Payón, “Síntesis de las investigaciones estratigráficas practicadas en Tecaxic-Calixtlahuaca.” 92. Jordi Gussinyer, “Una escultura de Ehecatl Ozomatli”; Doris Heyden, “Un adoratorio a Omacatl,” 22. 93. Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, 473, photo 214. 94. Novelo Roque Ceballos, “Cempoala,” photo 3. 95. Jordi Gussinyer, “Hallazgos en el metro”; Jordi Gussinyer, “Hallazgo de estructuras prehispánicas en el metro.” Also see Jordi Gussinyer, “La arquitectura prehispánica en los alrededores de la catedral,” in Constanza Vega Sosa, ed., El recinto sagrado de México Tenochtitlan: Excavaciones 1968–69 y 1975–76, 67–74. 96. Rubén Cabrera Castro, “Restos arquitectónicos del recinto sagrado en excavaciones del metro y de la recimentación de la catedral y sagrario,” in El recinto sagrado, edited by Vega Sosa, 60 and plans between 50 and 51. 97. Ibid., plan between 50 and 51; Matos Moctezuma, Great Temple of the Aztecs, 31; Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, Francisco Hinojosa, and J. Álvaro Barrera Rivera, “Excavaciones arqueológicas en la Catedral de México,” 14–15. 98. See, for example, Mesoamerican Sites and World-Views: Conference at Dumbarton Oaks, October 16 and 17, 1976, edited by Elizabeth P. Benson (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks 1981). 99. Durán, Book of the Gods, 110. 100. Francisco Cervantes de Salazar, Crónica de Nueva España, Manuscrito 2011 de la Biblioteca nacional de Madrid, letra de la mitad del siglo XVI, vol. 2, no. 4, Chapter 24. 101. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 65–67; Manuel Orozco y Berra, Memoria para el plano de la Ciudad de México, 173, 67. 102. Durán, Historia, 1:38, Codex Ramírez, Histoire de l’origine des indiens qui habitent la nouvelle Espagne selon leurs traditions, 158. 103. Durán, Book of the Gods, 111. 104. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 67, Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, 167–169. Augusto Molina Montes has forcefully critiqued the approach to reconstruction ex-

365   ■  Notes to Pages 258–262 emplified by Jorge Acosta’s reconstruction of Edifice B and the Palacio Quemado at Tula. Augusto Molina Montes, “Archaeological Buildings: Restoration or Misrepresentation,” especially 130–131. 105. Olmedo Vera, Templos rojos, 45–46; Matos Moctezuma, “Templo Mayor,” 53; López Luján, Offerings, 57–58. 106. Olmedo Vera, Templos rojos, 63; Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, Guía oficial: Templo Mayor, 107–114. 107. López Luján, Casa de las Águilas, 1:37, 52–54, 75. 108. Ibid., 272–293. 109. Ibid., 37–38. 110. Olmedo Vera, Templos rojos, 63; López Luján, Casa de las Águilas, 79, 37; López Luján, Offerings, 60; Diego Jiménez Badillo, “El rescate arqueológico [Palacio Nacional],” 99; Laura del Olmo Frese, “Conservación arqueológica en el edificio del antiguo arzobispado,” in Excavaciones del programa de arqueología urbana, 215–226; and Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, “Tezcatlipoca: Espejo que humea,” 27–41. 111. López Luján, Casa de las Águilas, 2:193, Fig. 67. 112. Durán, Book of the Gods, 177. 113. Ibid., 180. 114. Ibid., 187, 188. 115. Sahagún, Historia general, 1:232–242. 116. Durán, Book of the Gods, 187. 117. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 90. 118. Seler, “Excavaciones,” 243; Krickeberg, Antiguas culturas, 112. 119. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 85; Seler, “Excavaciones,” 242. 120. Vega Sosa, Recinto sagrado, plan between 50 and 51. 121. Constanza Vega Sosa, “El Templo del Sol: Su relación con el glifo chalchihuitl/ El templo de Ehecatl-Quetzalcoatl,” in ibid., 75–84. Pyramid profiles are specific ways of arranging the masses in a pyramidal structure. Scholars have argued that they have regional associations comparable to the Greek architectural orders. Talud-tablero is the pyramid profile associated with Teotihuacan. The talud is a sloping element supporting an overhanging panel. See Paul Gendrop, El talud tablero en la arquitectura mesoamericana (Mexico City: Centro de Investigaciones Arquitectónicas, Escuela Nacional de Arquitectura XLI de Americanistas, 1976); George Kubler, “Iconographic Aspects of Architectural Profiles at Teotihuacan and in Mesoamerica,” in The Iconography of Middle American Sculpture (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1973), 29–39. 122. Vega Sosa, “Templo del Sol,” 82. 123. See “General Plan” in López Luján, Offerings, 340-341; and López Luján, Casa de las Águilas, 2:566-567. 124. López Luján, Offerings, 60. 125. Durán, Book of the Gods, 314–318. 126. “[D]escendían del cu de Huitzüopochtli, uno vestido con los ornamentos del dios Páinal, y mataba cuatro de aquellos esclavos en el juego de pelota que estaba en el patio que llamaban Teotlachtli” (Sahagún, Historia general, 1:237, 128).

366   ■  Notes to Pages 263–270 127. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 77. 128. Matos Moctezuma et al., “Excavaciones arqueológicas,” 14–15, 17; Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, “Arqueología urbana en el centro de la ciudad de México”; Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, ed., Excavaciones del programa de arqueología urbana. 129. Marquina, Templo Mayor, 31. 130. Durán, Book of the Gods, 79. 131. Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, 887, 888. 132. Batres, “Exploraciones en las calles,” 80–81. 133. Ibid., 82–83; Batres, Archaeological Explorations in Escalerillas Street, 40. 134. Gussinyer, “Arquitectura prehispánica,” 70; Matos Moctezuma, Great Temple of the Aztecs, 78–81; López Luján, Offerings, 57. 135. García Payón, Zona arqueológica, 169. 136. Marquina, Arquitectura prehispánica, 775. 137. Cabrera Castro, “Restos arquitectónicos,” 60. 138. In 2007 the reconstruction was being remodeled again. 139. Donald D. Egbert, The Beaux-Arts Tradition in French Architecture, 99–102, 105– 109, 114, 213, 5, 115. 140. P. Lavedan and J. Hugueney, Histoire de l’urbanisme, 1:2. 141. See Philip P. Arnold, Eating Landscape: Aztec and European Occupation of Tlalocan; David Carrasco, ed., Aztec Ceremonial Landscapes; Anthony F. Aveni, Skywatchers of Ancient Mexico; Anthony F. Aveni, ed., Archaeoastronomy in Pre-Columbian America. 142. Egbert, Beaux-Arts Tradition, 68, 111. 143. Ibid., 68, 111. 144. Gamio, Forjando patria, 17–19. 145. “El transcurso del tiempo y el mejoramiento de la clase indígena, contribuirán a la fusión étnica de la población, pero también coadyuvará de manera eficaz, para el mismo objeto, la fusión cultural de ambas clases. Es, pues, indispensable laborar en este sentido. Para ello debe sistematizarse—hasta donde son posibles método y sistema en materia de arte—la producción artística del indio y del individuo de la clase media. Hay que acercar el criterio estético del primero hacia el arte de aspecto europeo e impulsar al segundo hacia el arte indígena. “Es indispensable que uno y otro conozcan los antecedentes artísticos del arte que consideran como fundamental y los del incorporado. Claro es que al individuo de la clase media, corresponde primero iniciarse en la técnica y el carácter del arte prehispánico y del indígena contemporáneo, puesto que hoy y por hoy tiene mucho más fácilidades [sic] que el indio. “Cuando la clase media y la indígena tengan el mismo criterio en materia de arte, estaremos culturalmente redimidos, existirá el arte nacional, que es una de las grandes bases del nacionalismo” (ibid., 66-67). 146. Ibid., 79, 94, Plates 3 and 5. 147. During the next three decades Gamio forged a monumental reputation within and outside Mexico. He was a founder of the National Department of Anthropology (1917) and held important positions, including director of the International School of Archaeology and Ethnology (1925), vice secretary of public education (1930–1932),

367   ■  Notes to Pages 271–280 director of the Social Institute of the National University (1938), and director of the Instituto Indigenista Interamericano (1940–1950). He authored at least thirty books on Mexico’s indigenous population and was a member of thirty-one scientific societies throughout the world (Enciclopedia de México, edited by José Rogelio Álvarez and Amado Tovilla Laguna [12 vols.; Mexico City: Enciclopedia de México, S.A., 1966– 1977], 5:219). 148. Alcocer, Apuntes, 5. 149. Obregón Santacilia, 50 años, 36, 38, 39; Manuel Amabilis, El pabellón de México en la exposición Iberoamericana de Sevilla, 35, 26. 150. Katzman, Arquitectura contemporánea, 30. Marquina initially won the competition for this building. But due to complaints by the other participants, the Mexican government held two additional competitions and finally gave the commission to Amabilis. Amabilis, Pabellón de México, 13. 151. María Fernández, telephone interview with Susana Marquina, 1981.

chapter 8 1. In contrast to those who view technology as creating specific social conditions, I regard technology as a facilitator. It does not engender social conditions, only sustains them and accelerates them. 2. Elizabeth A. Grosz, Architecture from the Outside: Essays on Virtual and Real Space, 12; Massumi, Parables for the Virtual, 30. 3. I acknowledge that this essay is limited by the exclusion of Lozano-Hemmer’s “Subsculptures and Shadow Boxes.” These works, including Wavefunction, Subsculpture 9 exhibited at the Venice Biennale 2007, were made for museum and gallery settings and for a select public. Thus the Relational Architectures are more appropriate to the investigation of technological art and political potential that I want to pursue here. The Relational Architectures also address concerns that are consistent in the whole of the artist’s career and are to this extent representative. 4. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, “Summary,” accessed July 21, 2007: http://www.lozano -hemmer.com/einfo.html. 5. Simon Nora and Alain Minc, L’Informatisation de la société: Rapport à M. le président de la République. 6. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer and José Luis Barrios, “Subsculptures: A Conversation between José Luis Barrios and Rafael Lozano-Hemmer,” in Subsculptures, 15, 18. 7. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, “Relational Architecture, General Concept,” Nettime, January 30, 1998. At that time Nettime was a closed, moderated electronic mailing list. The archives, accessed February 15, 2000, are now at http://www.nettime.org. 8. Although there is no evidence that this headdress belonged to Moctezuma, it is recognized to have been a symbol of political and religious power in ancient Mexico. Similar headdresses appear in Aztec monuments as part of the rulers’ ritual paraphernalia. 9. The tracker (Gesture and Media System, GAMS) and most of the software used in this piece were created and developed by the artist and his team. 10. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Will Bauer, and Susie Ramsay, Relational Architecture: 3

368   ■  Notes to Pages 281–287 Recent Pieces (video produced by the artists, 1998). All the documentary videos cited in this essay are now archived in Rafael Lozano-Hemmer’s website, accessed December 12, 2012: http://www.lozano-hemmer.com/. 11. Ibid. 12. The ideal of cultural purity has been fundamental to Western culture. The categories of race, gender, class, nation, and culture ultimately depend on ideas of purity. It is these ideas that poststructuralism and its related theoretical currents (such as postcolonial theory) attempted to destabilize. It is sobering to remember that Austria elected a right-wing government that argued for the preservation of a pure cultural identity two years after the exhibition of Displaced Emperors in Linz. 13. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, Alzado Vectorial: Arquitectura Relacional 4/Vectorial Elevation: Relational Architecture No. 4, 28. 14. Ibid., 57. 15. Ibid., 59. 16. For an earlier and more extensive discussion of Re:Positioning Fear, see María Fernández, “Iluminación Postcolonial/Postcoloniality in the Spotlight,” 138–144. 17. Ibid., 31; and artist’s project description, accessed February 1, 2002: http://www .alzado.net. 18. Gage, New Survey of the West Indies; Giovanni Francesco [Juan Francisco] Gemelli Careri, Las cosas más considerables vistas en la Nueva España; Johns, The City of Mexico, 13ff. 19. Frampton, “Toward a Critical Regionalism”; González Gortázar, Arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX. 20. See Ramírez, “Beyond the Fantastic,” reprinted in Beyond the Fantastic, 229–246. Attitudes toward Latin American and other developing regions in the art world have changed thanks to the efforts of many artists from these areas and monumental international exhibitions such as Documenta 11 in Kassel, Germany, 2002. 21. Lozano-Hemmer, Alzado, 41, 43. 22. Daniel Canogar, “Arquitecturas Espectrales/Spectral Architectures”; and Erkki Huhtamo, “Re:Posición de Alzado Vectorial/Re:Positioning Vectorial Elevation: Media Archaeological Considerations.” For sky art, see Frank Popper, Art of the Electronic Age. 23. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer and Relational Art Team, Vectorial Elevation, Relational Architecture No. 4 (video produced by the artists, 2000). 24. This is one of two definitions of the word retablo. Retablos are also large altarpieces made of wood, gilded and painted, and decorated with paintings and sculptures. The earliest Mexican retablos (in the second sense) date from the sixteenth century. 25. President Ernesto Zedillo, speech delivered during the presentation of The Year 2000: From the 20th Century to the Third Millennium Program, National Palace, Mexico City, April 13, 1999; excerpts, accessed July 31, 2007, at http://zedillo.presidencia .gob.mx/welcome/PAGES/library/sp_22dic99.html. 26. “La gran celebración realizada el 31 de diciembre pasado en el Zócalo de la ciudad de México tuvo como uno de sus principales objetivos el de ser una ocasión de unión entre los mexicanos y situar la imagen de México en el mundo y la del mundo en Méxi-

369   ■  Notes to Pages 287–296 co, en torno a este festejo que tendrá la característica única antes dada en otra fecha de la historia de congregar prácticamente a todos los pueblos del planeta” (Ernesto Zedillo, official description, Fin de Milenio Celebrations, accessed February 2, 2007: http://www.milenio.gob.mx). 27. Fernández, “In the Image of the Other”; Tenorio-Trillo, Mexico at the World Fairs. 28. Judith Amador, “Para el año 2000 un Zócalo arbolado, con postes luminosos y de resonancian,” accessed May 7, 2009: http://www.cnca.gob.mx/cnca/nuevo/diarias /010499/zocalo.html. 29. Fernando González Gortázar, “La renovación del Zócalo,” accessed May 7, 2009: http://www.jornada.unam.mx/1999/04/20/gortazar.html. 30. After this essay was completed, Vectorial Elevation was installed in Vancouver to celebrate the 2010 Winter Olympics. Participants were invited to design a light sculpture over English Bay over an area of 100,000 square meters. A web page is made for each participant, with photos documenting the person’s design. By January 3, 2010, the website had received 35,882,826 hits. 31. Lozano-Hemmer, Subsculptures, 15. 32. Surveillance is a fundamental issue for many artists working in digital media. For an excellent compendium of art and surveillance, see Thomas Y. Levin, Ursula Frohne, and Peter Weibel, eds., CTRL+SPACE: Rhetorics of Surveillance from Bentham to Big Brother (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002). 33. Lozano-Hemmer, Subsculptures, 11. 34. In her book Responsive Environments: Architecture, Art and Design (London: V and A Publications, 2006) Lucy Bullivant illustrates several artistic interventions to urban façades using interactive technologies. Also relevant are the proceedings of the first conference on urban screens held in Amsterdam in the fall of 2005 in First Monday, Special Issue 4 (2006): Pieter Boeder, Geert Lovink, Sabine Niederer, and Mirjam Struppek, eds., Urban Screens: Discovering the Potential of Outdoor Screens for Urban Society. 35. Lozano-Hemmer, Subsculptures, 18. 36. Amsterdam resident, in Body Movies: Relational Architecture 6 (videotape produced by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer 2001, courtesy of the artist). 37. Critical Art Ensemble, Electronic Civil Disobedience and Other Unpopular Ideas, 38. 38. Accessed March 3, 2000: http://xarch.tu-graz.ac.at/home/rafael/fear/. 39. Rafael Lozano-Hemmer and David Hill, eds., Under Scan: Rafael LozanoHemmer, 31, 30. 40. Gustavo Castillo, “Exculpa tribunal a Luis Echeverría,” La Jornada (March 27, 2009), accessed April 1, 2010: http://www.jornada.unam.mx/2009/03/27/index.php ?section=politica&article=017n1p; Carlos Aviles, “Exoneran a Echeverría de matanza del 68: Ordenan libertad absoluta para el ex-presidente: Un tribunal federal no halló elementos para juzgarlo de genocidio,” El Universal, March 27, 2009, accessed April 1, 2010: http://www.eluniversal.com.mx/notas/586925.html. 41. Carlos Monsiváis, “Echeverría, el inocente professional” (April 5, 2009), accessed March 30, 2010: http://loquediceelmonsi.blogspot.com/2009/04/echeverria-el -inocente-profesional.html.

370   ■  Notes to Pages 296–299 42. See Kate Doyle, “The Tlatelolco Massacre: U.S. Documents on Mexico and the Events of 1968,” accessed March 27, 2010: http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/ NSAEBB99/. 43. This effect is achieved via DMX. DMX refers to protocols for digital communication networks (DMX512 and the later DMX512A) frequently used to control theater lighting and for special effects. 44. My discussion focuses primarily on the initial public work. A description and video documentation of the work are available: accessed March 24, 2010: http://www .lozano-hemmer.com/english/projects/vozalta.htm. 45. Regis Durand, “The Disposition of the Voice,” 305. 46. The condition of synesthesia is understood as the ability to perceive one sense with another, such as when sounds are recognized as colors. Massumi, Parables for the Virtual. 47. http://www.lozano-hemmer.com/english/projects/vozalta.htm. 48. Haunch of Venison New York, Rafael Lozano-Hemmer—Transition States, September 10–October 24, 2009; Catherine Spaeth, “Political Nostalgia,” accessed April 1, 2010: http://www.artworldsalon.com/blog/2009/10/political-nostalgia/. 49. Spaeth, “Political Nostalgia.” 50. Durand, “Disposition of the Voice,” 302–303. 51. Keller Easterling, “Zone,” 89. A version of this essay appeared in Douglas Kelbaugh and Kit Frankel McCullough, eds., Writing Urbanism (New York: Routledge, 2008), 297–202. 52. This idea is indebted to Brian Massumi’s analysis of Stelarc’s work in Parables for the Virtual, 89–132. 53. Throughout the twentieth century various theorists including Marcel Mauss, Pierre Bourdieau, Paul Connerton, Iris Marion Young, Elizabeth Grosz, George Lakoff, and Mark Johnson have argued that humans learn with and through the body. See Marcel Mauss, “Techniques of the Body,” lecture presented at the meeting of the Société de Psychologie, May 17, 1934, and published in the Journal de Psychologie Normal et Pathologique (Paris, Année 32, 1935), 271–293; Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, 78–81, 93–94; Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember, 1, 4–5; Iris Marion Young, Throwing Like a Girl and Other Essays in Feminist Philosophy and Social Theory; Elizabeth A. Grosz, Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Feminism, 15–19, 23; and George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought, 5, 13. Recently others have examined the impact of bodily experience in digital media; see Simon Penny, “The Virtualization of Artistic Practice: Body Knowledge and the Engineering World View,” Art Journal (Fall 1997): 30–38; Massumi, Parables for the Virtual; and Mark Hansen, New Philosophy for New Media. 54. Arcángel Constantini, accessed December 14, 2012): http://www.arc-data.net; Ivan Abreu, accessed December 12, 2012: http://www.ivanabreu.net#works/artworks (Abreu won honorable mention at Ars Electronica 2012 for his work “Cross-Coordinates [MX-US],” accessed December 12, 2012: http://www.aec.at/prix/en/gewinner); Fran

371   ■  Notes to Pages 300–303 Ilich, accessed March 30, 2010: http://delete.tv; Minerva Cuevas, accessed December 12, 2012: http://www.irational.org/minerva/resume.html. 55. Accessed March 30, 2010: http://www.museotamayo.org/infomera/. For a recent biographical essay on Constantini, see Cynthia Villagómez Oviedo, “Arcángel Constantini, Artist in Continuous Loop,” accessed December 14, 2012: http://www .interiorgrafico.com/articulos//55-decima-segunda-ediction-septiembre-2012/452 -arcangel-constantini-artist-in-continuous-loop. 56. Baddeley and Fraser, Drawing the Line.

conclusion 1. The critical controversies in the reception of Documenta 11 despite the considerable influence of the show exemplify these attitudes. For a brief overview, see my “Documenta 11: A Critical Perspective,” in Nka Journal of Contemporary African Art 18 (Spring/Summer 2003): 48–55. The two-volume work Art since 1900, edited by Hal Foster, Rosalind Krauss, Yve-Alan Bois, and Benjamin Buchlow (New York: Thames and Hudson), is a good indicator of the representation of non-Western art in reputable contemporary histories of modernism.

THIS PAGE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

References

p r i m a ry a rc h i va l s o u rc e s Antiguo Archivo del Ayuntamiento de la Ciudad de México, Mexico City Actas de Cabildo Artesanos y Gremios Diversiones Públicas Festividades Archivo General de la Nación (AGN), Mexico City Actas Antiguas de Cabildo Secretaría de Fomento: Obras públicas Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología, Archivo Muerto de la Dirección General de Monumentos Prehispánicos, Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología, Mexico City Metropolitan Museum of Art, Division of Prints and Drawings Fêtes

primary and secondary published sources Ackerman, James. The Architecture of Michelangelo. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986. ———. “A Theory of Style.” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 20 (Spring 1962): 227–237. Acosta, José de. Historia natural y moral de las Indias. Book 1. Edited by Jane E. Mangan. Translated by Frances López Morillas. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002. Adame Goddard, Jorge. “El teatro de virtudes políticas de Sigüenza y Góngora: Una manifestación del pensamiento político novohispano.” Anuario Mexicano de la Historia del Derecho 2 (1990): 3–24. Ades, Dawn. Art in Latin America: The Modern Era, 1820–1980. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989. Águeda Villar, Mercedes. “El ideal de belleza en Mengs-Bayeu-Goya.” Archivo Español de Arte 217 (1982): 30–37. Aja, Marisol. “Juan O’Gorman.” In Apuntes para la historia y crítica de la arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX, 1900–1980, 22–23. Cuadernos de Arquitectura y Conservación del Patrimonio Artístico 2 (Secretaría de Educación Pública/Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1982): 9–48.

373

374   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Alamán, Lucas. Disertaciones sobre la historia de la república mexicana (1844). 3 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Jus, 1969. ———. “Entrada de un virrey en el reino de Nueva España, y toma de posesión del mando.” In Disertaciones sobre la historia de la república mexicana, vol. 3, 358–363. 3 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Jus, 1969. Alarcón, Hernando Ruiz de. Treatise on the Heathen Superstitions. Trans. and edited by J. Richard Andrews and Ross Hassig. Norman: University of Oklahoma, 1984. Alaves Pinelo, Alonso de. Astro mythologico politico que en la entrada del excelentissimo señor Don Lvis Henriquez de Guvzman, Conde de Alva de Aliste y de Villaflor, Caraujales, Membibre, Castro Caluon, y lugares de su jurisdiccion, alferez y alguacilmayor de la ciudad de Camora, alcayde perpetuo de las torres, y fortaleza della alcalde mayor de Sacas, y escriuano mayor de rentas de la dicha ciudad, Gentilhombre de la Camara de su Magestad, Virrey. Lugarteniente del Rey Nro. Señor Gouernador, y Capitan General de esta Nueua España, y presidente de la Real Audiencia, y Chancilleria della, &c. Consagro la ilvstrisima, nobilisima, y muy leal Ciudad de Mexico, netropoli del Imperio Occidental en el Arco Triunphal que erigio por tropheo á la imortalidad de su memoria. Mexico City: Juan Ruiz, 1650. Album de la Coronación de la Sma. Virgen de Guadalupe: Reseña del suceso mas notable acaecido en el nuevo mundo. Noticia histórica de la milagrosa aparición del Santuario de Guadalupe desde la Primera Ermita hasta la dedicación de la suntuosa basílica, culto tributado a la Santísima Virgen desde e siglo XVI hasta nuestros días. Guía histórico descriptiva de Guadalupe Hidalgo para uso de los peregrinos y de los viajeros. Mexico City: Imprenta El Tiempo, 1895–1896. Alcocer, Ignacio. Apuntes sobre la antigua México-Tenochtitlan. Instituto Panamericano de Geografía e Historia No. 14. Mexico City: Tacubaya, 1935. Almaraz, Ramón, et al. Memoria y trabajos ejecutados por la Comisión Científica de Pachuca en el año 1864. Mexico City: Andrade y Escalante, 1865. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. Obras históricas, publicadas y anotadas por Alfredo Chavero. Mexico City: Oficina Tipográfica de la Secretaría de Fomento, 1891–1892 . Alvarado Tezozomoc, Fernando. Crónica mexicana. Annotated by Manuel Orozco y Berra. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1975. Álvarez, Manuel Francisco. Dr. Cavallari y la carrera de ingeniero civil en México. Mexico City: A. Carranza y Comp., 1906. ———. Las ruinas de Mitla y la arquitectura. Mexico City: Talleres de la Escuela Nacional de Artes y Oficios para Hombres, 1900. Alzate, José Antonio de. “Descripción de las antigüedades de Xochicalco.” Gaceta de Literatura, suplemento (1781): 9–12. Amabilis, Manuel. El pabellón de México en la Exposición Iberoamericana de Sevilla. Mexico City: Talleres Gráficos de la Nación, 1929. Ambasz, Emilio. The Architecture of Luis Barragán. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1976. Anales de la Secretaría de Comunicaciones y Obras Públicas 24 (October 1907). Mexico City: Tipografía de la Dirección de Telégrafos, 1910.

375   ■  References Anawalt, Patricia. Indian Clothing before Cortés. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1981. Ancona, Eligio. La cruz y la espada: Novela histórica. Yucatán, Mexico: Leonardo Cervera, 1864. Anda Alanis, Enrique X de. La arquitectura de la revolución mexicana. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, 1990. Anders, Ferdinand, Maarten Jansen, and Luis Reyes García. Códice Ixtlilxochitl— Apuntaciones y pinturas de un historiador: Estudio de un documento colonial que trata del calendario naua. Graz, Austria: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt/Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1996. ———, eds. Códice Vaticano A3738. 2 vols. Graz, Austria: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt/Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1996. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities. London: Verso, 1983. Angulo Iñiguez, Diego, with Enrique Marco Dorta. Historia del arte hispanoamericano. 3 vols. Barcelona: Salvat, 1945. Appadurai, Arjun. “Disjuncture and Difference in the Global Cultural Economy.” In Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization, 27–47. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996. Appiah, Kwame Anthony. “Cosmopolitan Patriots.” In For Love of Country, edited by Joshua Cohen, 21–29. Boston: Beacon Press, 1996. Arbreu Gómez, Emilio. Bibliografía y biblioteca de Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. Mexico City: Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores, 1934. Arnheim, Rudolf. New Essays on the Psychology of Art. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986. Arnold, Philip P. Eating Landscape: Aztec and European Occupation of Tlalocan. Niwot: University Press of Colorado, 1999. Arquitectura de la época porfiriana. Cuadernos de Arquitectura y Conservación del Patrimonio Artístico 7 (1980). Arteaga, Esteban de. La belleza ideal. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1943. Augatitis, Daina, and Dan Lander, eds., Radio Rethink: Art, Sound and Transmission. Banff, Canada: Banff Centre, 1994. Aveni, Anthony F. ed. Archaeoastronomy in Pre-Columbian America. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1975. ———. Skywatchers of Ancient Mexico. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1980. Baciu, Stefan. “Estridentrismo mexicano y modernismo brasileño: Vasos comunicantes.” In El estridentismo: Memoria y valoración, 33–48. Mexico City: Universidad Veracruzana, Centro de Investigaciones Lingüístico-Literarias/Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1983. Baddeley, Oriana, and Valerie Fraser. Drawing the Line: Art and Cultural Identity in Contemporary Latin America. London: Verso, 1989. Báez Macías, Eduardo. “La Academia de San Carlos en la Nueva España como instrumento de cambio.” In Las academias de arte, 33–54. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Imprenta Universitaria, 1985.

376   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Bailey, Gauvin A. Art of Colonial Latin America. New York: Phaidon, 2005. Baird, Ellen T. The Drawings of Sahagún’s “Primeros Memoriales”: Structure and Style. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1993. Baird, Joseph A. “Eighteenth Century Retables of the Bajío, Mexico: The Querétaro Style.” Art Bulletin 35, no. 3 (September 1953): 195–216. ———. “The Ornamental Niche-Pilaster in the Hispanic World.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 15, no. 1 (March 1956): 5–11. ———. “Style in 18th Century Mexico.” Journal of Interamerican Studies 1, no. 3 (July 1959): 261–275. Bakewell, P. J. Silver Mining and Society in Colonial Mexico: Zacatecas, 1546–1700. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971. Balbuena, Bernardo de. Grandeza mexicana (1604). Reprint. University of Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 15, no. 3 (August 1930). Bárcena, Susana Marquina. “Semblanza del arquitecto Ignacio Marquina Barredo.” In Memorias: Ignacio Marquina, 13–16. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1994. Bargellini, Clara. “Originality and Invention in the Painting of New Spain.” In Painting a New World: Mexican Art and Life 1521–1821, edited by Donna Pierce, Rogelio Ruiz Gomar, and Clara Bargellini, 79–91. Exhibition catalog. Denver, CO: Denver Art Museum, 2004. ———. “Painting in Colonial Latin America.” In The Arts in Latin America, 1492–1820, organized by Joseph J. Rishel with Suzanne Stratton-Pruitt, 322–334. Exhibition catalog. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006. Bargellini, Clara, et al. Los retablos de la Ciudad de Mexico: Una guía. Mexico City: Asociación del Patrimonio Artístico Mexicano, A.C., 2005. Barnes, Susan J., and Walter S. Melion, eds. Cultural Differentiation and Cultural Identity in the Visual Arts. Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art, 1989. Barnitz, Jacqueline. Twentieth-Century Art of Latin America. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2001. Barrio Lorenzot, Francisco del. “Compendio de los libros capitulares de la muy noble, insigne y leal Ciudad de Mexico. Tomo primero comprende los doce primeros libros desde el año de 1524 hasta 1574. Hizolo el Lic D. Francisco Lorenzot, abogado de la Real Audiencia y contador de dicha novilisima Ciudad” (handwritten manuscript, Archivo del Antiguo Ayuntamiento de la Ciudad de México). In Actas antiguas de cabildo, books 32 and 33, 1640–1643. Mexico City: Imprenta de A. Carranza e Hijos, 1910. ———. Ordenanzas y gremios de la Nueva España. Mexico City: Dirección de Talleres Gráficos, 1921. Bataille, Georges. “The Psychological Structure of Fascism.” In Visions of Excess: Selected Writings, 1927–1939, edited by Alan Stoekl, translated by Allan Stoekl, Carl Lovitt, and Donald Leslie Jr., 137–160. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1985. Batres, Leopoldo. Archaeological Explorations in Escalerillas Street. Mexico City: Aguilar y Vera, 1902. ———. Exploraciones arqueológicas en la Calle de las Escalerillas, año 1900. Mexico

377   ■  References City: Inspección y Conservación de Monumentos Arqueológicos de la República Mexicana, 1902. Reprinted as “Exploraciones en las calles de las Escalerillas.” In Trabajos arqueológicos en el centro de la ciudad de México, edited by Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, 61–90. Mexico City: SEP [Secretaría de Educación Pública], Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1979. ———. Exploraciones y consolidación de los monumentos arqueológicos de Teotihuacán. Mexico City: Imprenta de Buznego y León, 1908. ———. “Memoria en extracto de las exploraciones llevadas a cabo por mandato oficial en las ruinas de Teotihuacan, durante los años 1905 a 1911 y que fue sometida a la docta Sociedad Mexicana de Geografía y Estadística.” Boletín de la Sociedad Mexicana de Geografía y Estadística, 5th series, 9, no. 1 (January–June 1919): 253–260. ———. Reparación y consolidación del edificio de las columnas en Mitla. Mexico City: Imprenta de Buznego y León, 1908. ———. “The Ruins of Xochicalco.” In Reseña de la segunda sesión del XVIII Congreso Internacional de Americanistas, September 1910, 406–410. Mexico City: Imprenta del Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Historia y Etnología, 1912. ———. Teotihuacan: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres, inspector general y conservador de los monumentos arqueológicos de la República Mexicana al XV Congreso Internacional de Americanistas que deberá reunirse en Québec el mes de septiembre de 1906, relativa á las exploraciones que por orden del gobierno mexicano y á sus expensas está llevando á cabo la inspección de monumentos arqueológicos en las pirámides de Teotihuacán. Mexico City: Imprenta de Fidencio S. Soria, 1906. ———. Teotihuacán: O la ciudad sagrada de los toltecas/Teotihuacan: Or the Sacred City of the Toltecs. Mexico City: Talleres de la Escuela de Artes y Oficios, 1889. ———. Teotihuacán: O la ciudad sagrada de los tolteca. Mexico City: Imprenta de Hull, 1906. Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. Translated by Sheila Faria Glaser. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994. Bazant, Jan. A Concise History of Mexico from Hidalgo to Cárdenas, 1805–1940. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977. Beltrán, Fray Lauro López. La protohistoria guadalupana. Mexico City: Editorial Jus, 1966. Benedict, Warren, J. “An Introductory Survey of Secular Writings in the European Tradition on Colonial Middle America, 1503–1818.” In Guide to Ethnohistorical Sources: Part Two, vol. 13 of Handbook of Middle American Indians, edited by Robert Wauchope, 42–137. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1973. Benjamin, Walter. “The Task of the Translator.” In Illuminations, edited by Hanna Arendt, translated by Harry Zohn, 69–82. New York: Schocken Books, 1968. ———. “Theses on the Philosophy of History.” In Illuminations, edited by Hannah Arendt, translated by Harry Zohn, 253–264. New York: Schocken Books, 1968. Bentley, Jerry. Old World Encounters: Cross-Cultural Contacts and Exchanges in PreModern Times. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. Bérchez, Joaquín. Arquitectura mexicana de los siglos XVII y XVIII. Mexico City: Grupo Azabache, 1992.

378   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Berdan, Frances, et al., eds. Aztec Imperial Strategies. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1996. Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. New York: Penguin Books, 1977. Bernal, Ignacio. History of Mexican Archaeology. London: Thames and Hudson, 1980. Best Maugard, Adolfo. Método de dibujo: Tradición, resurgimiento y evolución del arte mexicano. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación, 1923. Bhabha, Homi K. The Location of Culture (1994). New York: Routledge, 2004. ———, ed. Nation and Narration. New York: Routledge, 1990. ———. “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse.” October 28 (Spring 1984): 125–133. ———. “Unsatisfied: Notes on Vernacular Cosmopolitanism.” In Text and Nation: Cross-Disciplinary Essays on Cultural and National Identities, edited by Laura García Moreno and Peter C. Pfeiffer, 191–207. Columbia, SC: Camden House, 1996. Bieniecki, Zdzislaw. “Quelques remarques sur la composition architecturale des arcs de triomphe à la Renaissance.” In Les fêtes de la Renaissance, vol. 3, edited by Jean Jaquot and Elle Konigson, 201–210. Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1975. Bierhorst, John, trans. Cantares Mexicanos: Songs of the Aztecs. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1985. Bigot, Eugene, ed. L’Architecture à l’Exposition Universelle de 1889: Principales de construction du Champ-de-Mars de l’Esplanade des Invalides. Paris: Librarie de l’Architecture et des Arts Industriels, 1889. Blunt, Anthony. Borromini. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979. Boari, Adamo. “Apuntes sobre el proyecto del Teatro Nacional: Ante proyecto” (August 15, 1902) and “Proyecto” (n.d.). Reprinted in Appendix 3 of La construcción del Palacio de Bellas Artes: Documentos para la historia de la arquitectura en México, edited by Juan Urquiaga, Víctor Jiménez, and Alejandrina Escudero, 325–330. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1984. ———. La construzione di un teatro. Rome: Danesi-Arti Fotomecaniche, 1918. Reprinted in Appendix 10 of La construcción del Palacio de Bellas Artes: Documentos para la historia de la arquitectura en México, edited by Juan Urquiaga, Víctor Jiménez, and Alejandrina Escudero, translated by Víctor Jiménez, 343–346. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1984. ———. “Informe preliminar sobre el proyecto para la construcción del Teatro Nacional de México” (April 2, 1902). Reprinted in Appendix 2 of La construcción del Palacio de Bellas Artes: Documentos para la historia de la arquitectura en México, edited by Juan Urquiaga, Víctor Jiménez, and Alejandrina Escudero, 315–324. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1984. Boas, Franz, Adolfo Best-Maugard, and Manuel Gamio. Escuela internacional de arqueología y etnología americanas. Mexico City: Imprenta del Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Historia y Etnografía, 1921. Bocanegra, Mathías de. Teatro gerarchico de la luz, pyra Christiano polytica del govierno que la muy leal muy iluvstre imperial Ciudad de Mexico erigió en la Real Portada que

379   ■  References dedicó al Exellmo. señor D. Garcia Sarmiento de Sotomayor y Lvna, Conde de Salvatierra, Marques de Sobrofo, Señor de las Villas de las Hachas, de la Franquera, y Tierra de San Martín, Gentilhombre de la Camara de su Magestad, Cauallero de la Orden de Santiago, Comendador e la Villa de los Santos de Maimona. &c. en sv Felíz venida por virrey governador y capitan general de esta nueua España. Mexico City: Imprenta de Juan Ruiz, 1642. Bonet Correa, Antonio. La arquitectura de la época porfiriana en México. Murcia: Publicaciones de la Universidad de Murcia, 1966. ———. “La fiesta barroca como práctica del poder.” In El arte efímero en el mundo hispano, 45–78. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1983. Bonet Correa, Antonio, and Francisco de la Maza. La arquitectura de la época porfiriana. Cuadernos de Arquitectura y Conservación del Patrimonio Artístico 7 (January 1980). Boone, Elizabeth Hill, ed. Falsifications and Misreconstructions of Pre-Columbian Art: A Conference at Dumbarton Oaks, October 14th and 15th, 1978, organized by Elizabeth P. Benson. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982. ———. Incarnations of the Aztec Supernatural: The Image of Huitzilopochtli in Mexico and Europe. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1989. ———, ed., Painted Books and Indigenous Knowledge in Mesoamerica: Manuscript Studies in Honor of Mary Elizabeth Smith. New Orleans: Middle American Research Institute, 2005. ———. Stories in Red and Black: Pictorial Codices of the Aztecs and Mixtecs. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000. ———. “Templo Mayor Research, 1521–1978.” In The Aztec Templo Mayor: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 8th and 9th October 1983, edited by Elizabeth Hill Boone, 5–70. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks 1983. Borah, Woodrow. New Spain’s Century of Depression. Iberoamericana No. 35. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1951. ———. Silk Raising in Colonial Mexico. Iberoamericana No. 20. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1943. Bottineau, Yves. L’Art de cour dans L’Espagne de Philippe V, 1700–1746. PhD dissertation, Université de Paris, 1960. Paris: Féret et Fils, 1960. Bourdieau, Pierre. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977. Bramón, Francisco. Auto del triunfo de la Virgen y gozo mexicano (Mexico, 1620). Edited by Augustín Yáñez. Mexico City: Imprenta Universitaria, 1945. Brasseur de Bourbourg, C. E. Histoire des nations civilisées du Mexique et d’Amérique Centrale durant les siècles antérieurs à Christophe Colomb. 4 vols. Paris: Arthus Bertrand, 1857–1859. Braudel, Fernand. Civilization and Capitalism, 15th–18th Century. Vol. 1. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992. Breckenridge, Carol A. Sheldon Pollock, Homi K. Bhabha, and Dipech Chakrabarty, eds. Cosmopolitanism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002. Brenner, Anita. “Career of Rivera Marked by Strife.” New York Times, May 14, 1933.

380   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Reprinted in Diego Rivera’s Mural at the Rockefeller Center, by Irene Herner De Larrea, 100. Mexico City: EDICUPES, 1990. ———. “Diego Rivera: Fiery Crusader of the Paint Brush.” New York Times, April 2, 1933. Reprinted in Diego Rivera’s Mural at the Rockefeller Center, by Irene Herner De Larrea, 70–76. Mexico City: EDICUPES, 1990. Bricker, Victoria. The Indian Christ, the Indian King: the Historical Substrata of Maya Myth and Ritual. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981. Brienen, Rebecca P., and Margaret A. Jackson, eds. Invasion and Transformation: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the Conquest of Mexico. Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2008. Brown, Jonathan. “Enemies of Flattery: Velázquez Portrait of Philip IV.” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 18, no. 1 (Summer 1986): 137–154. Bryant, William G., ed. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora: Seis obras. Bilbao: Talleres de Artes Gráficas Grijelmo S.A., 1984. Bryson, Norman. Vision and Painting: The Logic of the Gaze. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983. Burke, Marcus. “A Mexican Artistic Consciousness.” In Mexico. Splendors of Thirty Centuries, 321–356. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1990. Burkhart, Louise M. Holy Wednesday: A Nahua Drama from Early Colonial Mexico. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996. Burns, Bradford. The Poverty of Progress. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980. Buschiazzo, Mario. “Exotic Influences in American Colonial Art.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 5 (1945–1946): 20–28. Buxó, José Pascual. Arco y certámen de la poesía mexicana colonial. Mexico City: Cuadernos de la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras, Universidad Veracruzana, 1921. ———. Arco y certámen de la poesía mexicana colonial (siglo XVII). Universidad Veracruzana, Cuadernos de la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras No. 2. Xalapa: Universidad Veracruzana, 1959. ———. “El Triunfo Parténico: Jeroglífico barroco.” In Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora: Homenaje 1700–2000 II, coordinated by Alicia Mayer, 79–95. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 2002. Cabrera y Quintero, Cayetano. Escudo de Armas de Mexico escrito por el presbítero Cayetano de Cabrera y Quintero para conmemorar el final de la funesta epidemia de matlazáhual que asoló a la Nueva España entre 1736 y 1738: Edición facsimilar con un escudo histórico y una cronología de Víctor M. Ruiz Naufal. Reprint. Mexico City: Instituto Mexicano del Seguro Social, 1981. Calhoun, Craig. “The Class Consciousness of Frequent Travelers: Toward a Critique of Actually Existing Cosmopolitanism.” In Conceiving Cosmopolitanism: Theory, Context and Practice, edited by Steven Vertovec and Robin Cohen, 86–109. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Callas, Peter. “Some Liminal Aspects of the Technology Trade.” Mediamatic 5 (Fall 1990): 106–115. Cañeque, Alejandro. The King’s Living Image: The Culture and Politics of Viceregal Power in Colonial Mexico. New York: Routledge, 2004.

381   ■  References Canogar, Daniel. “Arquitecturas Espectrales/Spectral Architectures.” In Alzado Vectorial: Arquitectura Relacional No. 4/Vectorial Elevation: Relational Architecture No. 4, by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, 77–95. Mexico City: Dirección General de Publicaciones de CONACULTA [Consejo Nacional Para la Cultura y las Artes] y Ediciones San Jorge, 2001. Carrasco, David, ed. Aztec Ceremonial Landscapes. Niwot: University Press of Colorado, 1999. ———. Quezalcoatl and the Irony of Empire: Myths and Prophecies in the Aztec Tradition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982. Carrera, Magali. Imagining Identity in New Spain: Race, Lineage, and the Colonial Body in Portraiture and in Casta Paintings. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2003. Carrera Stampa, Manuel. Los gremios mexicanos: La organización gremial en Nueva España. Mexico City: Ibero Americana de Publicaciones, 1954. Carrillo y Gariel, Abelardo. Autógrafos de pintores coloniales. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Imprenta Universitaria, 1953. ———. Datos sobre la Academia de San Carlos de Nueva España. Mexico City: Ediciones Cárdenas, 1939. Carrillo y Pérez, Ignacio. Pensil Americano Florido en el rigor del invierno, la imagen de María Santísima de Guadalupe, aparecida en la Corte de la Septentrional América México. Mexico City: D. Mariano Joseph de Zúñiga y Ontiveros, 1797. Cartari, Vincenzo. Vere e nove imagini degli dei delli antichi (Padua, 1615). Reprint. New York: Garland Publishing, 1979. Casado Navarro, Arturo. Gerardo Murillo: El Dr. Atl. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1984. Casanova, Rosa. “Lo indígena en la conformación de la nacionalidad mexicana, 1860– 1876.” Cuadernos de Arquitectura Mesoamericana 9 (January 1987): 7–10. Casasola, Gustavo. Seis siglos de historia gráfica de México 1325–1900. 5 vols. Mexico City: Ediciones Gustavo Casasola, Mexico, 1962. Castedo, Leopoldo. A History of Latin American Art and Architecture from Pre-Columbian Times to Present. Translated by Phyllis Freeman. New York: Praeger, 1969. Castelló Yturbide, Teresa, and Marita del Río Redo. Biombos mexicanos. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1970. Castro, Rubén Cabrera. “Restos arquitectónicos del recinto sagrado en excavaciones del metro y de la recimentación de la catedral y sagrario.” In El recinto sagrado de México Tenochtitlan: Excavaciones 1968–69 y 1975–76, edited by Constanza Vega Sosa, 55–66. Mexico City: SEP [Secretaría de Educación Pública], Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1979. Catalogue officiel de L’Exposition de la République Mexicaine, Paris. Paris: Imprimerie Génerale Lahure, 1889. Cavo, Andrés. Los tres siglos de México durante el gobierno español hasta la entrada del ejército trigarante. Mexico City: Luis Abadiano y Valdés, 1836. Ceballos, Novelo Roque. “Cempoala.” In Estado actual de los principales edificios arqueológicos de México: Contribución de México al XXIII Congreso de Americanistas, 43–62.

382   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública/Talleres Gráficos de la Nación, 1928. Centro Cultural de Arte Contemporáneo. Imágenes guadalupanas: Cuatro siglos. Exhibition catalog. Mexico City: Centro Cultural Arte Contemporáneo/Fundación Televisa, 1987. Certeau, Michel de. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989. ———. The Writing of History. Translated by Tom Conley. New York: Columbia University Press, 1988. Cervantes de Salazar, Francisco. Crónica de Nueva España, Manuscrito 2011 de la Biblioteca nacional de Madrid, letra de la mitad del siglo XVI. 3 vols. Madrid: Hauser y Menet, 1914–1936. ———. Túmulo imperial de la gran ciudad de México (Mexico City: Antonio de Espinoza, 1560). Edited by Justino Fernández and Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Alcancía, 1939. Chabrowe, Barbara. “Baroque Temporary Structures Built for the Austrian Habsburgs.” PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 1970. Chakrabarty, Dipesh. Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000. Chavero, Alfredo. Historia antigua y de la conquista. Vol. 1. México a través de los siglos. Edited by D. Vicente Riva Palacio. Barcelona, Spain: Ballesca Editores, 1886. Cheah, Pheng, and Bruce Robbins, eds. Cosmopolitics: Thinking and Feeling beyond the Nation. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998. Checa, Jorge. “El divino Narciso y la redención del lenguaje.” Nueva Revista de Filología Hispánica 38, no. 1 (1990): 197–217. Checa Cremades, Fernando. Carlos V y la imagen del héroe en el renacimiento. Madrid: Taurus, 1987. Chernela, Janet M. “Righting History in the Northwestern Amazon: Myth, Structure and History in Arapaço Narrative.” In Rethinking History and Myth: Indigenous South American Perspectives on the Past, edited by Jonathan D. Hill, 35–49. Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1988. Chiappeli, Fredi. First Images of America. 2 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976. Chueca Goitia, Fernando. Invariantes castizos de la arquitectura española: Invariantes en la arquitectura hispanoamericana, manifiesto de la Alhambra. Madrid: Editorial Dossat, 1979. Cisneros, Fray Luis de. Historia de el principio y origen progresos y venidas a México y milagros de la Santa Imagen de nuestra Señora de los Remedios, estramuros de México (Mexico City, 1621). Reprint. Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 14 (1946): 65–80. Clifford, James. Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997. Cockroft, James D. Mexico: Class Formation, Capital Accumulation, and the State. New York: Monthly Review Press, 1983.

383   ■  References Codell, Julie, and Dianne Sacchko MacLeod, eds. Orientalism Transposed: The Impact of the Colonies on British Culture. Brookfield, VT: Ashgate, 1998. Codex Ramírez. Histoire de l’origine des indiens qui habitent la nouvelle Espagne selon leurs traditions. Publié par D. Charnay. Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1903. Coffey, Mary K. “‘Without Any of the Seductions of Art’: On Orozco’s Misogyny and Public Art in the Americas.” Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 83 (2003): 105–119. Cohen, Robin, and Steven Vertovec, eds. Conceiving Cosmopolitanism: Theory, Context and Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Connelly, Frances. “The Origins and Development of Primitivism in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century European Art and Aesthetics.” PhD dissertation, University of Pittsburgh, 1987. Connerton, Paul. How Societies Remember. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Corbató, Hermenegildo. “La emergencia de la idea de nacionalidad en el México colonial.” Revista Iberoamericana 6 (1943): 377–392. Corral, Ramón. Obras históricas. Hermosillo, Sonora: Biblioteca Sonorense de Geografía e Historia, 1959. Cortés, Hernán. Cartas de relación. 3rd ed. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1967. Cortés Rocha, Xavier. “La arquitectura en México entre 1888 y 1994.” In Seis años de arquitectura en México, 1988–1994, edited by Mario Melgar Adalid and José Rogelio Álvarez Noguera, 23–30. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1994. Cosío Villegas, Daniel, ed. Historia moderna de México. 9 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Hermes 1955–1972. ———. La vida política exterior: Segunda parte. Vol. 6 of Historia moderna de México. Edited by Daniel Cosío Villegas. 9 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Hermes, 1955–1972. Couch, Christopher N. C. “Style and Ideology in the Durán Illustrations: An Interpretative Study of Three Early Colonial Mexican Manuscripts.” PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 1987. Craven, David. Art and Revolution in Latin America, 1910–1990. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2002. ———. Diego Rivera as Epic Modernist. New York: G. K. Hall and Company, 1997. Crinson, Mark. Empire Building: Victorian Architecture and Orientalism. London: Routledge, 1996. Critical Art Ensemble. Electronic Civil Disobedience and Other Unpopular Ideas. Brooklyn, NY: Autonomedia, 1996. Crowford, Margaret. “The World in a Shopping Mall.” In Variations on a Theme Park, edited by Michael Sorkin, 3–30. New York: Noonday Press, 1992. Cruz, Sor Juana Inés de la. “Loa para el auto sacramental de ‘El Divino Narciso.’” In Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: Obras completas, vol. 3 (Autos y loas), edited by Alfonso Méndez Plancarte, 3–21. 3 vols. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1976. ———. Neptvno alegorico, oceano de colores, simvlacro politico qve erigio la mvy esclare-

384   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture cida, sacra, y avugsta iglesia metropolitana de Mexico: en las lvcidas alegoricas ideas de vn arco triumphal, que confagró obsequiosa y dedicó amante á la feliz entrada de el Exmo. Señor Don Thomas, Antonio Lorenço, Manuel de la Cerda, Manrique de Lara, Enriquez, Afan de Ribera, Portocarrero y Cardenas: Conde de Paredes, Marqués de la Laguna, de la Orden y Cavalleria de Alcantara Comendador de la Moraleja, del Consejo, y Camara de Indias, y Junta de Guerra, virrey y governador, y capitan general de esta Nueva España, y presidente de la Real Audiencia. Mexico City: Juan de Ribera en le Empedradillo, 1680. Reprint. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, 1962. Cuadriello, Jaime. Las glorias de la república de Tlaxcala: O la conciencia como imagen sublime. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de Mexico, 2004. ———. “Los jeroglíficos de la Nueva España.” In Juegos de ingenio y agudeza: La pintura emblemática de la Nueva España, 84–113. Exhibition catalog. Mexico City: D. R. Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 1994 ———. “Moctezuma.” In The Arts in Latin America 1492–1820, organized by Joseph J. Rishel with Suzanne Stratton-Pruitt, 377. Exhibition catalog. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006. ———. “Moctezuma a través de los siglos.” In El imperio sublevado: Monarquía y naciones en España e Hispanoamérica, edited by Víctor Mínguez and Manuel Chust, 95–122. Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2004. ———. “El origen del reino y la configuración de su empresa: Episodios y alegorías de triunfo y fundación.” In El origen del reino de la Nueva España, 1680–1730, vol. 1 of Los pinceles de la historia, 30–107. 4 vols. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1999. ———. “Tierra de prodigios: La ventura como destino.” In El origen del reino de la Nueva España, 1680–1730, vol. 1 of Los pinceles de la historia, 180–228. 4 vols. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1999. Cuadriello, Jaime, et al. Zodíaco Mariano: 250 años de la declaración pontificia de María de Guadalupe como patrona de México. Exhibition catalog. Mexico City: Museo de la Basílica de Guadalupe, 2004. Curcio-Nagy, Linda A. The Great Festivals of Colonial Mexico City: Performing Power and Identity. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2004. Dabbs, J. A. “The Indian Policy of the Second Empire.” In Essays in Mexican History, edited by T. E. Cotner, 113–126. Austin: Institute of Latin American Studies, 1958. Dalton, O. M. “Reproduction of Nahua Manuscripts.” Man 2 (1902): 73–75. Damaz, Paul. Art in Latin American Architecture. New York: Reinhold, 1963. Da Silva, Maria Aparecida. “Vida y muerte de las vanguardias poéticas: José Gorostiza.” Accessed March 23, 2009. http://www.ucm.es/info/especulo/numero15/gorostiz .html. Davidson, David M. “Negro Slave Control and Resistance in Colonial Mexico, 1519– 1650.” Hispanic American Historical Review 46 (1966): 235–253. Dean, Carolyn, and Dana Liebsohn. “Hybridity and Its Discontents: Considering Visual Culture in Colonial Spanish America.” Colonial Latin American Review 12, no. 1 (2003): 5–35.

385   ■  References Deans-Smith, Susan. “Creating the Colonial Subject: Casta Paintings, Collectors, and Critics in Eighteenth-Century Mexico and Spain.” Colonial Latin American Review 14, no. 2 (December 2005): 169–204. Debord, Guy. The Society of the Spectacle. Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith. New York: Zone Books, 1994. Decorme, Gerardo. La obra de los jesuitas mexicanos durante la época colonial, 1572–1767. Mexico City: Editorial Robredo, 1941. De la Peña Peralta, Alonso, and Pedro Fernández. Pan mystico, numen symbolico, symulachro político que en la fabrica del arco triumphal que erigio el amor y la obligación en las aras de su debido rendimiento la ilustrissima imperial Metropolitana Iglesia de Mexico al felicíssimo recivimiento y plausible ingreso del ilustrismo y Revermo. Señor M.D. Fr. Payo Enriquez de Ribera. Mexico City: Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1670. Deleuze, Gilles. Cinema 1: The Movement-Time Image. Translated by Hugh Tomlinson and Barbara Habberjam. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1986. ———. Cinema 2: The Time Image. Translated by Hugh Tomlinson and Robert Galetta. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989. ———. Difference and Repetition (1968). Translated by Paul Patton. New York: Columbia University Press, 1994. ———. The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque. Translated by Tom Conley. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993. Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Translated by Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987. ———. “What Is a Minor Literature?” In Marginalization and Contemporary Cultures, edited by Russell Ferguson, Martha Gever, Trinh T. Minh-ha, and Cornel West, 59–70. New York: Museum of Contemporary Art, 1990. Derrida, Jacques. Cinders. Translated and edited by Ned Lukacher. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991. ———. Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning, and the New International. New York: Routledge, 1994. ———. The Truth in Painting. Translated by Geoff Bennington and Ian McLeod. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. ———. Writing and Difference. Translated by Alan Bass. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978. Descripción y explicación de la fábrica y empresas del suntuoso arco con que la ilustrísima, nobilísima y la muy leal Ciudad de México, cabeza del occidental imperio, erigió a la feliz entrada y gozoso recibimiento del Excmo. Sr. Don Diego López Pacheco, Marqués de Villena, Duque de Escalona, virrey. Mexico City: Juan Ruiz, 1640. Díaz del Castillo, Bernal. Historia verdadera de la conquista de la Nueva España. Mexico City: Espasa-Calpe Mexicana, 1950. Diccionario Porrúa de historia, biografía y geografía de México, 4th ed. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa. Diego Rivera: Art and Revolution. Exhibition catalog. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes/Landucci Editores, 1999.

386   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Diego Rivera: A Retrospective. Exhibition catalog. New York: Founders Society Detroit Institute of Arts in Association with W. W. Norton and Company, 1986. Dodds, George, and Robert Tavernor. Body and Building: Essays on the Changing Relation of Body and Architecture. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002. Donnell, Sidney. Feminizing the Enemy: Imperial Spain, Transvestite Drama, and the Crisis of Masculinity. London: Associated University Presses, 2003. Dujovne, Marta. Las pinturas con incrustaciones de nácar. Mexico City: Universidad Autónoma de México, 1984. Dumas, Claude. Justo Sierra y el México de su tiempo, 1848–1912. Translated from the French by Carlos Ortega. Mexico City: UNAM, 1992. Durán, Diego de. Book of the Gods and Rites and the Ancient Calendar. Translated and edited by Fernando Horcasitas and Doris Heyden. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1971. ———. Historia de las Indias de Nueva España e Islas de la Tierra Firme. 2 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1967. ———. The History of the Indies of New Spain. Translated by Doris Heyden. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1994. Durand, Regis. “The Disposition of the Voice.” In Mimesis, Masochism, and Mime: The Politics of Theatricality in Contemporary French Thought, edited by Timothy Murray, 301–310. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000. Eagleton, Terry, Fredric Jameson, and Edward W. Said. Nationalism, Colonialism, and Literature. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1990. Earle, Rebecca. “Luxury, Clothing and Race in Colonial Spanish America.” In Luxury in the Eighteenth Century: Debates, Desires and Delectable Goods, edited by Maxine Berg and Elizabeth Eger, 219–227. New York: Palgrave, 2003. Early, James. Colonial Architecture of Mexico. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1994. Easterling, Keller. “Zone.” In Urban Transformation, edited by Ilka Ruby and Andreas Ruby, 74–89. Berlin: Ruby Press, 2008. Eco, Umberto. The Open Work. Translated by Anna Concogni. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989. Edwards, Elizabeth, ed. Anthropology and Photography 1860–1920. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1992. Egbert, Donald D. The Beaux Arts Tradition in French Architecture. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980. Eggener, Keith L. “Placing Resistance: A Critique of Critical Regionalism.” Journal of Architectural Education 55, no. 4 (May 2002): 228–237. Eguiarte Sakar, María Estela. “Consideraciones para un análisis de la presencia prehispánica en la cultura del porfiriato.” Cuadernos de Arquitectura Mesoamericana 9 (January 1987): 11–16. Eisler, William, “Celestial Harmonies and Habsburg Rule: Levels of Meaning in a Triumphal Arch for Philip II in Antwerp, 1549.” In Theatrical Spectacle and Spectacular Theatre, vol. 2 of “All the World’s a Stage . . .”: Art and Pageantry in the Renaissance and

387   ■  References Baroque, edited by Barbara Wisch and Susan Scott Mucshower, 332–356. Papers in Art History, vol. 6. University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 1990. Elogio panegírico y aclamación festiva, diseño trivnfal y pompa laudatoria de Ulises verdadero consagrada al Excmo. Sr. Don Francisco Fernández de la Cueva, Duque de Albuquerque, Marqués de Cadereita . . . virrey, gobernador y capitán general de esta Nueva España y presidente de su Real Chancilleria. La mvy leal y la mvy ilustre imperial Ciudad de México, como a su defensor en la gverra y como a sv conservador en la paz. Mexico City: Hipólito Rivera, 1653 Elsen, Albert. Purposes of Art. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1972. “Entrevista con el arquitecto Ignacio Marquina, el día 22 de febrero de 1981.” In Testimonios vivos: Veinte arquitectos, Cuadernos de Arquitectura y Conservación del Patrimonio Artístico, Documentos, no. 15–16 (May–June 1981): 25–30. Esphera de Apolo, y teatro del sol, exemplar de prelados, en la svntvosa fabrica, y portada trivnfal, que la muy augusta, y esclarecida iglesia metropolitana de Mexico, erigio, en festivos aplavsos a la venida del ilvstrisisimo señor Don Marcelo Lopez de Ancona, meritissimo colegial mayor del colegio de san ildefonso de alcala, dignissimo prior de rocesvalles, y arzobispo de Mexico. Mexico City: La Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1653. Espinosa, Miguel de, et al. “Reformas y adiciones a las Ordenanzas de Arquitectura propuestas por los arquitectos Miguel de Espinosa, Miguel Custodio Durán, José Eduardo de Herrera, Manuel Álvarez, Lorenzo Rodríguez, José de Roa, Bernardo de Orduña, José González e Ildefonso de Iniesta Bejarano, a través de su apoderado Manuel de la Marcha, el 25 de abril de 1746.” Reprinted in Martha Fernández, Arquitectura y gobierno virreinal: Los maestros mayores de la ciudad de México siglo XVII, 393–395. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. El estridentismo: Un gesto irreversible. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, Instituto de Bellas Artes: Museo Nacional de la Estampa, 1998. Estridentismo: Memoria y valoración. Mexico City: Universidad Veracruzana: Centro de Investigaciones Lingsto Literarias/Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1983. Evers, Bernd, and Christof Thoenes. A History of Architectural Theory from Vitruvius to the Present. Berlin: Kunstbibliothek Der Staatlichen Museen Zu Berlin, 2003. L’Exposition de 1889: Guide illustrée. Paris: Delaure, 1889. Fabian, Johannes. Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object. New York: Columbia University Press, 1983. Fagiolo Dell’Arco, Mauricio, and Silvia Carandini. L’Effimero barocco. 2 vols. Rome: Buizone Editore, 1977. Fane, Diana, ed. Converging Cultures: Art and Identity in Spanish America. Exhibition catalog. New York: Brooklyn Museum/Harry N. Abrams, 1996. Fanon, Franz. The Wretched of the Earth. New York: Grove Press, 1963. Favrot Peterson, Jeanette. The Paradise Murals of Malinalco. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1993. Ferguson, George. Signs and Symbols in Christian Art. London: Oxford University Press, 1961. Fernández, Justino. El arte del siglo XIX en México. Mexico City: Imprenta Universitaria, 1967.

388   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Fernández, María. “Architecture: Nineteenth-Century.” In Encyclopeœdia of Mexico: History, Society and Culture, edited by Michael S. Werner, 78–89. Chicago: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1997. ———. “Architecture: Twentieth Century.” In Encyclopedia of Mexico: History, Society and Culture, edited by Michael S. Werner., vol. 1, 89–101. Chicago: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1997. ———. “Estri-dentistas: Taking the Teeth Out of Futurism.” In At a Distance: Precursors to Art and Activism on the Internet, edited by Annmarie Chandler and Norie Neumark, 343–371. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2005. ———. “La función social de las ruinas en el siglo XIX en México.” Estudios: Revista de Investigaciones Literarias y Culturales (Departamento de Lenguas y Literatura, Universidad Simón Bolivar, Venezuela) 11 (1998): 119–130. ———. “Huellas del pasado: Revaluando el eclecticismo en la arquitectura mexicana del siglo XIX.” In Hacia otra historia del arte en México: La amplitud del modernismo y la modernidad (1861–1920), edited by Stacie Widdifield, 221–247. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 2004. ———. “Ignacio Marquina’s Reconstruction of the temple Precinct of Tenochtitlan: A Critical Study.” Master’s thesis, Columbia University, 1982. ———. “Iluminación Postcolonial/Postcoloniality in the Spotlight.” In Alzado Vectorial: Arquitectura Relacional No. 4/Vectorial Elevation: Relational Architecture No. 4, edited by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, 138–144. Mexico City: Dirección General de Publicaciones de CONACULTA [Consejo Nacional Para la Cultura y las Artes] y Ediciones San Jorge, 2001. ———. “Images of Natives in Seventeenth-Century Mexico.” Paper presented at the Inter-American Institute for Advanced Studies in Cultural History, Conference on Cultural Transmission and Transformation in the Ibero-American World, 1200– 1800, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, October 21, 1995. ———. “In the Image of the Other: A Call for Re-evaluation of National Identity.” Center (Center for the Study of American Architecture, School of Architecture, University of Texas at Austin) (Summer 1992): 44–58. Reprinted in Design Book Review (MIT Press) 32/33 (Spring/Summer 1994): 50–55. ———. “Popular Culture as a Source for Historical Themes in the Art of SeventeenthCentury Mexico.” Lecture delivered at Brown University, February 8, 1996. ———. “The Representation of National Identity in Mexican Architecture: Two Case Studies (1680 and 1889).” PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 1993. Fernández, Martha. Arquitectura y gobierno virreinal: Los maestros mayores de la ciudad de México, siglo XVII. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. ———. “El Neóstilo y las primeras manifestaciones de la ilustración en Nueva España.” Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 64 (1993): 31–45. ———. “Tipologías del retablo novohispano (una aproximación).” In Retablos: Su restauración, estudio y conservación: 8° Coloquio del Seminario de Estudio del Patrimonio

389   ■  References Artístico: Conservación, restauración y defensa, edited by Martha Fernández, 35–57. Mexico City: UNAM, 2003. Fernández Offorio, Pedro. Ivpiter Benevolo, astro ethico politico, idea symbolica de principes qve en la svmpvosa fabrica de vn arco trivmphal dedica obseqviosa, y consagra festiva la illvstrisima Iglesia Metropolitana de Mexico. Al Exmo. Señor D. Juan de la Cerda, y Leyba, Conde de Baños, Marqves de Leyba Yla Adrada, virrey, gobernador, y capitan general desta nveva españa, y presidente de sv real chancilleria. Mexico City: La Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1660. Flores, Tatiana. “Estridentismo in Mexico City: Dialogues between Mexican AvantGarde Art and Literature, 1921–1924.” PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 2003. Florescano, Enrique. “The Creation of the Museo Nacional de Antropología of Mexico and Its Scientific, Educational, and Political Purposes.” In Collecting the Pre-Columbian Past, 81–103. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1993. Florescano, Enrique, and Isabel Gil Sánchez. “La época de las reformas borbónicas y el crecimiento económico, 1750–1808.” In Historia general de México, 472–589. Mexico City: El Colegio de México, 1984. Folgarait, Leonard. Mural Painting and Social Revolution in Mexico, 1920–1940: Art of the New Order. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. ———. So Far from Heaven: David Alfaro Siqueiros’ The March of Humanity and Mexican Revolutionary Politics. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: Pantheon Books, 1977. ———. Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. Translated by Richard Howard. New York, Vintage Books, 1973. ———. “Of Other Spaces.” Diacritics 16, no. 1 (Spring 1986): 22–27. ———. The Order of Things. Edited by R. D. Laing. Translated by A. M. Sheridan. New York: Vintage Books, 1973. Frampton, Kenneth. “Toward a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an Architecture of Resistance.” In The Anti-Aesthetic, edited by Hal Foster, 16–30. Port Townsend, WA: Bay Press, 1983. Friedman, Alice T. “Did England Have a Renaissance? Classical and Anticlassical Themes in Elizabethan Culture.” In Cultural Differentiation and Cultural Identity in the Visual Arts, 95–111. Studies in the History of Art No. 27. Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art, 1989. Fry, Tony. “Art Byting the Dust—Some Considerations on Time, Economy, and Cultural Practices of Postmodernity.” In Culture, Technology, and Creativity, edited by Philip Hayward, 163–173. London: John Libbey, 1990. Gage, Thomas. A New Survey of the West Indies, 1648: The English-American. New York: Robert M. McBride, 1929. Galindo y Villa, Jesús. “Escalinata descubierta en el nuevo edificio de la Secretaría de Justicia e Instrucción Pública.” In Trabajos arqueológicos en el centro de la ciudad de México, edited by Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, 91–94. Mexico: SEP [Secretaría de Educación Pública], Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1979.

390   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Gallo, Rubén. Mexican Modernity: The Avant-Garde and the Technological Revolution. London: MIT Press, 2005. Gamio, Manuel. Forjando patria. Mexico City: Porrúa hermanos, 1916. Garay, Graciela de. La obra de Carlos Obregón Santacilia. Cuadernos de Arquitectura y Conservación del Patrimonio Artístico 6. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, November 1979. García, Pablo. “Saldos del creollismo: El Teatro de virtudes políticas de Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora a la luz de la historiografía de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl.” Colonial Latin American Review 18, no. 2 (August 2009): 219–235. García Barragán, Elsa. “Escultura y arquitectura neoindígena.” In La polémica del arte nacional en México, 1850–1910, compiled by Daniel Schávelzon, 181–183. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1988. García Canclini, Néstor. Culturas híbridas: Estrategias para entrar y salir de la modernidad. Mexico City: Grijalbo/Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 1990. ———. Hybrid Cultures: Strategies for Entering and Living Modernity. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1995. García Cook, Ángel, and Raúl Arana. Rescate arqueológico del monolito Coyolxauhqui: Informe preliminar. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1978. García Icazbalceta, Joaquín. Francisco Terrazas y otros poetas del siglo XVI. Madrid: Ediciones José Porrúa Turanzas, 1962. García Payón, José. “Síntesis de las investigaciones estratigráficas practicadas en Tecaxic-Calixtlahuaca.” Revista Mexicana de Estudios Antropológicos 14, no. 2 (1956– 1957): 157–159. ———. La zona arqueológica de Tecaxic-Calixtlahuaca y los matlatzincas. Mexico City: Dept. 3e Monumentos, 1936. García Quintana, Josefina. Cuauhtemoc en el siglo XIX. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1977. García Sainz, María Concepción. Las castas mexicanas: Un género pictórico americano. Mexico City: Olivetti, 1989. Garza de González, Silvia. “La arquitectura en los códices genealógicos.” In Las representaciones de arquitectura en la arqueología de América, edited by Daniel Schávelzon, 241–258. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de Mexico, 1982. Garza Merodio, Gustavo G. “Technological Innovation and the Expansion of Mexico City, 1870–1920.” Journal of Latin American Geography 5, no. 2 (2006): 109–126. Gelernter, Mark. Sources of Architectural Form: A Critical History of Western Design Theory. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995. Gemelli Careri, Giovanni Francesco [Juan Francisco]. Las cosas más considerables vistas en la Nueva España. Translated by José María Agreda y Sánchez. Mexico City: Ediciones Xochitl, 1946. ———. Viaje a la Nueva España. Translated by José María Agreda y Sánchez. Mexico City: Libro-Mex, 1955. Gerlero, Elena Isabel E. de. “School of San José de los Naturales, Mass of Saint Gregory, 1939.” In Painting a New World: Mexican Art and Life, 1521–1821, edited by Donna

391   ■  References Pierce, Rogelio Ruiz Gomar, and Clara Bargellini, 100–101. Denver: Denver Art Museum, 2004. Germer, Stefan. “In Search of a Beholder: On the Relation between Art, Audiences, and Social Spheres in Post-Thermidor France.” Art Bulletin (March 1992): 19–36. Gibson, Charles. The Aztecs under Spanish Rule. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1964. Gibson, Charles, and John Glass. “A Census of Middle American Prose Manuscripts in the Native Historical Tradition.” In Guide to Ethnohistorical Sources. Part Four, vol. 15 of Handbook of Middle American Indians, edited by Robert Wauchope, 322–400. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1975. Gideon, Sigfried. Space, Time, and Architecture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1977. Gilman, Sander. Difference and Pathology: Stereotypes of Sexuality, Race and Madness. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1985. Ginzburg, Carlo. “Clues: Morelli, Freud, and Sherlock Holmes.” In The Sign of Three, edited by Umberto Eco and Thomas Sebeok. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1988. Glass, John. “A Census of Native Middle American Pictorial Manuscripts.” In Guide to Ethnohistorical Sources: Part Three, vol. 14 of Handbook of Middle American Indians, edited by Robert Wauchope, 81–252. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1975. Glass, John B., Charles Gibson, and H. B. Nicholson, eds. Handbook of Middle American Indians, vol. 13. Guide to Ethnohistorical Sources. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1973. Glusberg, Jorge. Seis arquitectos mexicanos. Buenos Aires: Ediciones de Arte Gaglianone, 1984. Gombrich, E. H. Art and Illusion. London: Phaidon Press, 1977. ———. The Image and the Eye. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1982. ———. “Style.” In International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, vol. 15. 19 vols. New York: Macmillan Company and Free Press, 1968. Gonzalbo, Pablo Escalante. “Pintar la historia tras la crisis de la conquista.” In El origen del reino de la Nueva España, 1680–1730, vol. 1 of Los pinceles de la historia, 24–49. 4 vols. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1999. González Galván, Manuel. “Modalidades del barroco mexicano.” Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas 30 (Mexico City, 1961): 39–68. ———. Trazo, proporción y símbolo en el Arte Virreinal. Mexico City: UNAM, 2006. González Gortázar, Fernando, ed. La arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 1994. González Navarro, Manuel. La vida social. Vol. 4 of Historia moderna de México, edited by Daniel Cosío Villegas. 9 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Hermes, 1955–1972. González Pozo, Alberto. “¿Quién defiende a la ciudad y sus monumentos?” Excélsior, March 13, 1994; and “Macroproyecto del D.F.: ¿Quién responde por el incremento de la vulnerabilidad sísmica?” Excélsior, July 14, 1994. González Rul, Francisco. Urbanismo y arquitectura en Tlatelolco. Serie Antropología Social. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1998.

392   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Gould, Stephen Jay. The Mismeasure of Man. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 1981. Greer, Margaret Rich. The Play of Power: Mythological Court Dramas of Calderón de la Barca. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991. Grizzard, Mary. Spanish Colonial Art and Architecture of Mexico and the Southwest. New York: Lantham, 1986. Groenewegen-Frankfort, H. A., and Bernard Ashmole. Art of the Ancient World. New York: Harry H. Abrams, 1977. Grosz, Elizabeth A. Architecture from the Outside: Essays on Virtual and Real Space. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001. ———. Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Feminism. St. Leonards, Australia: Allen and Unwin, 1994. Gruzinski, Serge. La colonización de lo imaginario: Sociedades indígenas y occidentalización en el México español: Siglos XVI–XVIII. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1991. ———. The Mestizo Mind: The Intellectual Dynamics of Colonization and Globalization. Translated by Deke Dusinberre. New York: Routledge, 2002. Guevara, Juan de. Felicísima entrada y recibimiento que esta muy noble y muy leal Ciudad de México hizo al Excmo. Sr. Don Francisco Fernández de la Cueva, Duque de Albuquerque, virrey. Mexico City: Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1653. Gussinyer, Jordi. “La arquitectura prehispánica en los alrededores de la catedral.” In El recinto sagrado de México Tenochtitlan: Excavaciones 1968–69 y 1975–76, edited by Constanza Vega Sosa and Joaquín García-Bárcena, 67–75. Mexico City: SEP [Secretaría de Educación Pública], Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1979. ———. “Una escultura de Ehecatl Ozomatli.” Boletín INAH 37 (1969): 29–31. ———. “Hallazgo de estructuras prehispánicas en el metro.” Boletín INAH [Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia] 34 (1969): 15–18. ———. “Hallazgos en el metro.” Boletín INAH 36 (1969): 33–37. Gutiérrez de Medina, Cristóbal. Viage de tierra y mar feliz por mar y tierra, que hizo el Excellentissimo señor Marqvez de Villena mi señor, yendo por virrey y capitan general de la Nueua España en la flota que embio su magestad este año de milseisientos y quarenta, siendo General della Roque Centenoy Ordoñez: su Almirante Iuan de Campos. Dirigido a Don Ioseph Lopez Pacheco, conde Santisteuan de Gormaz mi señor. Con Licencia del Excelentissimo Senor Virrey desta Nueva España. Mexico City: Imprenta de Juan Ruyz, 1640. Reprinted as Viaje del Marqués de Villena. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1947. Haber, Stephen H. Industry and Underdevelopment: The Industrialization of Mexico, 1890–1940. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995, Habermas, Jurgen. “On Social Identity.” Telos 19 (Spring 1974): 91–103. Haidt, Rebecca. Embodying Enlightenment: Knowing the Body in Eighteenth-Century Spanish Literature and Culture. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998. Hall, Stuart. “Old and New Identities, Old and New Ethnicities.” In Culture, Globalization, and the World System, edited by Anthony King. Department of Art and Art

393   ■  References History, Current Debates in Art History, 3. Binghamton: University of New York at Binghamton, 1991. Hannerz, Ulf. “Cosmopolitanism.” In A Companion to the Anthropology of Politics, edited by David Nugent and Joan Vincent, 69–85. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing 2004. Hanrahan, Thomas. “El tocotín, expresión de identidad.” Revista Iberoamericana (January–March 1970): 51–60. ———. “Two New Dramas of Seventeenth-Century Mexico.” In La Compañía de Jesús en México 1572–1972, edited by Manuel Pérez Alonso, 223–240. Mexico City: Editorial Jus, 1975. Hansen, Mark. New Philosophy for New Media. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2004. Haraway, Donna. “A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s.” Socialist Review 15:2, no. 80 (March–April 1985): 65–107. ———. “The Promises of Monsters: A Regenerative Politics for Inappropriate/d Others.” In Cultural Studies, edited by Laurence Grossberg, Cary Nelson, and Paula A. Treichler, 295–337. New York: Routledge, 1992. ———. Simians, Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. New York: Routledge, 1990. Hardoy, Jorge. Ciudades pre-colombinas. Buenos Aires: Ediciones Infinito, 1964. ———. Urban Planning in Pre-Columbian America. New York: Braziller, 1973. Harris, Marvin. The Rise of Anthropological Theory. New York: Columbia University Press, 1968. Hart, Vaughan. “On Inigo Jones and the Stuart Legal Body: Justice and Equality . . . and Proportions Appertaining.” In Body and Building: Essays on the Changing Relation of Body and Architecture, edited by George Dodds and Robert Tavernor, 138–149. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002. Hassan, Salah, and Iftikhar Dadi, eds. Unpacking Europe: Toward a Critical Reading. Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen/NAi Publishers, 2001. Hayes, Joy Elizabeth. Radio Nation: Communication, Popular Culture, and Nationalism in Mexico, 1920–1950. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2000. Hayles, N. Katherine. How We Became Posthuman: Virtual Bodies in Cybernetics, Literature and Informatics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999. Hegel, Friedrich Georg Wilhelm. The Philosophy of History. Translated by J. Sibree. New York: Dover Publications, 1956. Heikamp, Detlef. Mexico and the Medici. Florence: Editrice Edam, 1972. Henkel, Arthur, and Albrecht Schone (for the Gottinger Akademie der Wissenschaften). Emblemata: Handbuch zur Sinnbildkunst der XVI und XVII. Jahrhunderts. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1976. Hernández, Fortunato. Las razas indígenas de Sonora y la Guerra Yaqui. Mexico City: Talleres de la Casa Editorial J. de Elizalde, 1902. Herner de Larrea, Irene. “Diego Rivera: Paradise Lost in Rockefeller Center: Revisited.” In Diego Rivera: Art and Revolution, 235–259. Exhibition catalog. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes/Landucci Editores, 1999.

394   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture ———. Diego Rivera’s Mural at the Rockefeller Center. Mexico City: EDICUPES, 1990. ———. Siqueiros, del paraíso a la utopía. Mexico City: CONACULTA, 2004. Hertz, Robert. “A Contribution to the Study of the Collective Representation of Death.” In Death, Mourning and Burial: A Cross-Cultural Reader, edited by Antonius M. Robben, 197–212. Malden, MA.: Blackwell, 2005. Heyden, Doris. “Un adoratorio a Omalacatl.” Boletín INAH [Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia] 42 (1970): 21–23. ———. El Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan en la obra de Fray Diego de Durán. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 2000. Heyden, Doris, and Paul Gendrop. Pre-Columbian Architecture of Mesoamerica. New York: Abrams, 1973. Heyer, Paul. Mexican Architecture: The Work of Abraham Zabludowsky and Teodoro González de León. New York: Walker and Company, 1978. “History of the Radio, Mexico.” Revista Mexicana de Comunicación. Fundación Manuel Buendía. Accessed October 30, 2009. http://www.cem.itesm.mx/dacs/buendia/ seminario/mejia1.html. Hoffman, Roald, and Pierre Laszlo. “Representation in Chemistry.” Angewandte Chemie (January 1991): 1–16. Honour, Hugh. The New Golden Land. New York: Pantheon Books, 1975. Honour, Hugh, and John Fleming. The Visual Arts: A History. New York: Abrams, 1991. Hu-Dehart, Evelyn. “Development and Rebellion: Pacification of the Yaqui in the Late Porfiriato.” Hispanic-American Historical Review (February 1974): 72–93. Huhtamo, Erkki. “Re:Posición de Alzado Vectorial/Repositioning Vectorial Elevation: Media Archaeological Considerations.” In Alzado Vectorial: Arquitectura Relacional No. 4/Vectorial Elevation: Relational Architecture No. 4, by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, 99–113. Mexico City: Dirección General de Publicaciones de CONACULTA [Consejo Nacional Para la Cultura y las Artes] y Ediciones San Jorge, 2001. Hulburt, Lawrence. “Siqueiros’ Portrait of the Bourgeoisie.” Art Forum (February 1977): 39–46. Hultén, K. G. Pontus. The Machine as Seen at the End of the Mechanical Age. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1968. Israel, J. I. Race, Class, and Politics in Colonial Mexico (1610–1670). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975. Jameson, Fredric, and Masao Miyoshi, eds. The Cultures of Globalization. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998. Jiménez Badillo, Diego. “El rescate arqueológico [Palacio Nacional].” In Excavaciones del programa de arqueología urbana, edited by Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, 87–108. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 2003. Johns, Michael. The City of Mexico in the Age of Díaz. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1997. Johnson, Paul-Alan. The Theory of Architecture: Concepts, Themes, Practices. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1994. Jolly, Jennifer. “David Alfaro Siqueiros, Josep Renau, the International Team of Plastic

395   ■  References Artists and Their Mural for the Mexican Electricians Syndicate, Mexico City, 1939– 1940.” PhD dissertation, Northwestern University, 2002. Jones, Jennifer M. Sexing La Mode: Gender, Fashion and Commercial Culture in Old Regime France. New York: Berg, 2004. Kahn, Douglas. “Radio Space.” In Radio Rethink: Art, Sound and Transmission, edited by Daina Augatitis and Dan Lander, 95–114. Banff, Alberta: Walter Phillips Gallery, 1994. Kahn, Douglas, and Gregory Whitehead, eds. Wireless Imagination: Sound, Radio, and the Avant-Garde. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992. Kamen, Henry. Philip V of Spain: The King Who Reigned Twice. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001. ———. Spain in the Later Seventeenth Century, 1665–1700. New York: Longman, 1980. Kant, Immanuel. “Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch.” In Kant’s Political Writings, edited by Maurice Cowling, E. Kedourie, G. R. Elton, J. R. Pole, and Walter Ullmann, 93–130. London: Cambridge University Press, 1970. Kasl, Ronda, and Suzanne L. Stratton, eds. Painting in Spain in the Age of Enlightenment: Goya and His Contemporaries. Exhibition catalog. Indianapolis: Indianapolis Museum of Art/New York: Spanish Institute, 1997. Katz, Friedrich. The Secret War in Mexico. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983. Katzew, Ilona. Casta Painting: Images of Race in Eighteenth-Century Mexico. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004. ———. New World Orders: Casta Painting and Colonial Latin America. Exhibition catalog. New York: Americas Society Art Gallery, 1996. ———. “That This Should Be Published and Again in the Age of the Enlightenment: Eighteenth-Century Debates about the Indian Body in Colonial Mexico.” In Race and Classification: The Case of Mexican America, edited by Ilona Katzew and Susan Deans-Smith, 73–118. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009. Katzew, Ilona, and Susan Deans-Smith, eds. Race and Classification: The Case of Mexican America. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009. Katzman, Israel. La arquitectura contemporánea mexicana: Precedentes y desarrollo. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1963. ———. Arquitectura del siglo XIX en México (1973). 2nd ed. Mexico City: Editorial Trillas, S.A. de C.V., 1993. Kearney, Richard. The Poetics of Imagining. London: Harper-Collins Academic, 1991. Keber, Eloise Quiñones. “Topiltzin Quezalcoatl in Texts and Images.” Master’s thesis, Columbia University, New York, 1980. Keen, Benjamin. The Aztec Image in Western Thought. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1971. Kessen, William, Andrew Ortony, and Fergus Craik. Memory, Thoughts, and Emotions: Essays in Honor of George Mandler. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erbaum Associates, 1991. Kidney, Walter C. The Architecture of Choice: Eclecticism in America, 1880–1930. New York: Braziller, 1974. King, Heidi. “Round Structures in Ancient Mexico.” Unpublished paper, 1979.

396   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Kingsborough, Edward. Antiquities of Mexico. 9 vols. London: R Havell, H. G. Bohn, 1831–1848. Klein, Cecelia F., and Emily Umberger. “Aztec Art and Economic Expansion.” In Latin American Horizons: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 11th and 12th October, 1986, edited by Don Stephen Rice, 295–236. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1993. Klich, Lynda. “Revolution and Utopia: Estridentismo and the Visual Arts, 1921–27.” PhD dissertation, New York University, Institute of Fine Arts, 2008. Kozloff, Max. “Orozco and Rivera: Mexico Fresco Painting and the Paradoxes of Nationalism.” In Latin American Artists of the Twentieth Century, edited by Waldo Rasmussen, 60–71. New York: Museum of Modern Art/Distributed by Harry N. Abrams, 1992. Krickeberg, Walter. Las antiguas culturas mexicanas. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1961. Kubler, George. Esthetic Recognition of Ancient Amerindian Art. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991. ———. Mexican Architecture of the Sixteenth Century. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948. ———. Portuguese Plain Architecture. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 1972. ———. Studies in Ancient American and European Art: The Collected Essays of George Kubler. Edited by Thomas Ford Reese. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985. ———. “Toward a Reductive Theory of Visual Style.” In A Concept of Style, edited by Berel Lang, 119–127. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1979. Kubler, George, and Martín Soria. Art and Architecture in Spain and Portugal and Their American Dominions, 1500–1800. Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1959. Kügelgen, Helga von. “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, su Teatro de Virtudes Políticas que constituyen a un príncipe y la estructuración emblemática de unos tableros en el Arco de Triunfo.” In Juegos de ingenio y agudeza: La pintura emblemática de la Nueva España. Exhibition catalog. Mexico City: D. R. Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 1994. ———. “La línea prehispánica: Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora y su Teatro de virtudes políticas que constituyen a un príncipe.” In Pensamiento europeo y cultura colonial, edited by Karl Kohut and Sonia V. Rose, 205–237. Madrid: Iberoamericana, 1997. Kuroyama, Shigehisa. The Expressiveness of the Body and the Divergence of Greek and Chinese Medicine. New York: Zone Books, 1999. Lacan, Jacques. Écrits. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 1977. ———. The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis. Edited by Jacques-Alain Miller, translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 1981. Lafaye, Jacques. Quetzalcoatl and Guadalupe. Translated by Benjamin Keen. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974. Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought. New York: Basic Books, 1999. Landa, Manuel de. A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History. New York: Swerve Editions, 2000.

397   ■  References Langagne, Eduardo. “Mexican Architecture: A Survey of Past Influences in Present Design.” Center 7 (1992): 59–69. Latour, Bruno. We Have Never Been Modern. Translated by Catherine Porter. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993. Lavedan, P., and J. Hugueney. Histoire de l’urbanisme. 3 vols. Paris: H. Laurens, 1959– 1966. Leal, Luis. “Realidad y expresión en la literatura estridentista.” In Estridentismo: Memoria y valoración, 62–79. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1983. Lemoine, Ernesto. “Estética y política en el pensamiento de Carlos María de Bustamante.” Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 10, no. 40 (1971): 51–69. Leonard, Irving A. Baroque Times in Old Mexico. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1959. ———. Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora. California University Publications in History, vol. 18. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1929. ———. Ensayo bibliográfico de Sigüenza y Góngora. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1925. ———. “A Mexican Máscara of the Seventeenth Century.” Revista de Estudios Hispánicos 2, no. 1 (1929): 157–158. León Portilla, Miguel. “Fray Juan de Zumárraga y las lenguas indígenas en México.” In La utopía mexicana del siglo XVI: Lo bello, lo verdadero, lo bueno, 41–65. Mexico City: Grupo Azabache, 1992. León y Gama, Antonio de. Descripción histórica y cronológica de las dos piedras. Mexico City: Imprenta del Ciudadano Alejandro Valdés, 1832. Lewis, Arnold. An Early Encounter with Tomorrow: Europeans, Chicago’s Loop and the World’s Columbia Exposition. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1997. List Arzúbide, Germán. El movimiento estridentista. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, Dirección General de Publicaciones y Medios, 1986. Lockhardt, James. The Nahuas after the Conquest. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992. Lombardo de Ruiz, Sonia. Desarrollo urbano de México Tenochtitlan según las fuentes históricas. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1973. ———, ed. El pasado prehispánico en la cultura nacional (Memoria hemerográfica 1877– 1911). 2 vols. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1994. López Cámara, Francisco. “La conciencia criolla en Sor Juana y Sigüenza.” Historia Mexicana 3 (January–March 1957): 350–73. López Guzmán, Rafael, et al. Arquitectura y carpintería mudéjar en Nueva España. Mexico City: Grupo Azabache, 1992. López Luján, Leonardo. La casa de las Águilas: Un ejemplo de la arquitectura religiosa de Tenochtitlan. 2 vols. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes/ Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2006. ———. The Offerings of the Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan. Translated by Bernard R. Ortíz de Montellano and Thelma Ortíz de Montellano. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2005.

398   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture López Rangel, Rafael. Diego Rivera y la arquitectura mexicana. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, Dirección General de Publicaciones y Medios, 1986. López Torrijos, Rosa. “Grabados y dibujos para la entrada en Madrid de María Luisa de Orléans (1680).” Archivo Español del Arte 231 (1988): 239–250. Lozano-Hemmer, Rafael. Alzado Vectorial: Arquitectura Relacional No. 4/Vectorial Elevation: Relational Architecture No. 4. Mexico City: Dirección General de Publicaciones de CONACULTA [Consejo Nacional Para la Cultura y las Artes] y Ediciones San Jorge, 2001. Lozano-Hemmer, Rafael, and José Luis Barrios. “Subsculptures: A Conversation between José Luis Barrios and Rafael Lozano-Hemmer.” In Subsculptures, 1–27. Exhibition catalog. Geneva: Galerie Guy Bärtschi, 2006. Lozano-Hemmer, Rafael, and David Hill, eds. Under Scan: Rafael Lozano-Hemmer. Nottingham, UK: Eastern Midlands Development Agency and Antimodular, 2007. Luks, Ilmar. Tipología de la escultura decorativa hispánica en la arquitectura mexicana: Siglo XVIII. Caracas: Centro de Investigaciones Históricas y Estéticas, Facultad de Arquitectura y Urbanismo, Universidad Central de Venezuela, 1980. Luna, Juan J. “Mengs en la corte de Madrid: Notas y documentos.” Anales del Instituto de Estudios Madrileños 17 (1980): 321–338. Majluf, Natalia. “‘Ce N’est Pas le Pérou,’ or, the Failure of Authenticity: Marginal Cosmopolitans at the Paris Universal Exhibition of 1855.” Critical Inquiry 23, no. 4 (Summer 1997): 868–893. ———, ed. Los cuadros de mestizaje del virrey Amat y la representación etnográfica en el Perú colonial. Exhibition catalog. Lima: Museo de Arte de Lima, 2000. Mañé, Ignacio Rubio. “Viaje de los virreyes de Nueva España a su destino, llegada y recepción.” In Introducción al estudio de los virreyes de Nueva España, 1535–1746, vol. 1, 15–197. 4 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1955. “Manifiesto estridentista número 2.” In Manifiestos, proclamas y polémicas de la vanguardia literaria hispanoamericana, edited by Nelson Osorio, 125–126. Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1988. Manrique, Jorge Alberto. “La estampa como fuente del arte en la Nueva España.” Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 50, no. 1 (1982): 55–60. ———. “El futuro radiante: La ciudad universitaria.” In La arquitectura mexicana del siglo XX, edited by Fernando González Gortázar, 125–147. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 1994. ———. “‘El Neóstilo’: La última carta del barroco mexicano.” Historia Mexicana 20 (1970–1971): 335–367. Maples Arce, Manuel. “Manifiesto estridentista número 1.” In Manifiestos, proclamas y polémicas de la vanguardia literaria hispanoamericana, edited by Nelson Osorio, 101–107. Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1988. Mariategui, Carlos. Seven Interpretive Essays on Peruvian Reality. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1971. Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso. Teoria e invenzione futurista. Edited by Luciano De Maria. Milan: A. Mondadori, 1968.

399   ■  References Mariscal, Federico. La patria y la arquitectura nacional: Resúmenes de las conferencias dadas en la casa de la Universidad popular mexicana del 21 de octubre de 1913 al 29 de julio de 1914, por el arquitecto d. Federico E. Mariscal. Mexico City: Imprenta Stephan y Torres, 1915. Marquina, Ignacio. Arquitectura prehispánica. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia/Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1951 and 1964. ———. Estudio arquitectónico comparativo de los monumentos arqueológicos de México. Contribución de México al XXIII Congreso de Americanistas, Secretaría de Educación Pública. Mexico City: Talleres Gráficos de la Nación, 1928. ———. El Templo Mayor de México. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1960. Marte catholico, astro politico, planeta de heroes y ascendiente de principes, qve en las lvcidas sombras de vna triumphal portada offrece, representa, dedica la siempre esclarecida, sacra, augusta Iglesia Metropolitana, al Excmo. Sr. don Francisco Fernandez de la Cueva, Dvque de Albvqverqve, Marqves de Caydereta y Cuellar, Conde de Ledesma y de Huelma &c. Comendador de la Orden de Santiago. Gentilhombre de la Camara de su Magestad, capitan general en propiedad de las Galeras de España, y presidente de su Real Chancilleria, & c. Mexico City: Por la Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1653. Martin, John Rupert. The Decorations for the Pompa Introitus Ferdinandi: Part 7 of Corpus Rubenianum. Edited by Ludwig Burchard. New York: Phaidon, 1972. Martin, Leslie J., and E. Sarmiento. “Masks and Monuments of the Spanish Baroque: Churriguera’s Catafalque for the Funeral of Maria Luisa de Orléans, 1689.” Architectural Review (May 1933): 193–197. Martínez, María Elena. “The Language, Genealogy and Class of ‘Race’ in Colonial Mexico.” In Race and Classification: The Case of Mexican America, edited by Ilona Katzew and Susan Deans-Smith, 25–42. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009. Marvin, Carolyn. When Old Technologies Were New: Thinking about Electric Communication in the Nineteenth Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Massumi, Brian. Parables for the Virtual: Movement, Affect, Sensation. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002. Matos Moctezuma, Eduardo. “Arqueología urbana en el centro de la ciudad de México.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 22: 133–143. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1992. ———. Excavaciones del programa de arqueología urbana. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 2003. ———. The Great Temple of the Aztecs: Treasures of Tenochtitlan. London: Thames and Hudson, 1988. ———. Guía oficial: Templo Mayor. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia/Salvat Mexicana de Ediciones, 1984. ———. “New Finds in the Great Temple.” National Geographic 158, no. 6 (1980): 766–775. ———, ed. El Templo Mayor: Excavaciones y estudios. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1982.

400   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture ———. “Tezcatlipoca: Espejo que humea.” In El antiguo palacio del arzobispado, 27–41. Mexico City: SHCP (Secretaría de Hacienda y Crédito Público), 1997. ———, ed. Trabajos arqueológicos en el centro de la ciudad de México. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1979. ———. Una visita al Templo Mayor. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1981. Matos Moctezuma, Eduardo, Francisco Hinojosa, and J. Álvaro Barrera Rivera. “Excavaciones arqueológicas en la Catedral de México.” Arqueología Mexicana 6, no. 31 (May–June 1998): 12–19. Matos Moctezuma Eduardo, and Víctor Rangel. El Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlán: Planos, cortes y perspectives. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1982 [dated December 1981]. Matos Moctezuma, Eduardo, and Felipe Solís Olgín, organizers. Aztecs. Exhibition catalog. London: Royal Academy of Arts, 2002. Mattelart, Armand. Networking the World, 1794–2000. Translated by Liz CareyLibbrecht and James A. Cohen. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000. ———. Transnationals and the Third World: The Struggle for Culture. Translated by David Buxton. Amherst, MA: Bergin and Garvey Publishers, 1983. Mayer, Mónica. “El Zócalo: Intervenciones efímeras.” In Alzado Vectorial: Arquitectura Relacional No. 4/Vectorial Elevation: Relational Architecture No. 4, by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer, 223–240. Mexico City: Dirección General de Publicaciones de CONACULTA [Consejo Nacional Para la Cultura y las Artes] y Ediciones San Jorge, 2001. Maza, Francisco de la. El Churrigueresco en la ciudad de México. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1969. ———. La mitología clásica en el arte colonial de México. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1968. ———. Las piras funerarias en la historia y en el arte de México: Grabados, litografías y documentos del siglo XVI al XIX. Mexico City: Imprenta Universitaria, 1946. McAndrew, John. Open-Air Churches of Sixteenth-Century Mexico: Atrios, Posas, Chapels, and Other Studies. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1965. McClintock, Anne. Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Conquest. London: Routledge, 1995. Medina, Alonso de. Espejo de príncipes católicos y governadores políticos. Erigiole en el arco triunfal la santa iglesia cathedral metropolitan de México a la entrada del Excmo. Sr. Don García Sarmiento de Sotomayor, Conde de Salvatierra, virrey; en el cual van copiadas sus virtudes, heroicos hechos y prudencial gobierno. Mexico City: Francisco Robredo, 1642. Medina, Fr. Baltasar de. Chronica de la santa provincia de San Diego de México de religiosos descalzos de N.S.P.S. Francisco en la Nueva España: Vidas de ilustres y venerables varones que la han edificado con excelentes virtudes. Mexico City: Juan de Ribera, 1682. Medina Peña, Luis. Hacia el nuevo estado: México 1920–1933. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económico, 1994. Meek, Harold Alan. Guarino Guarini. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988.

401   ■  References Meléndez, Concha, “La novela indianista en México.” In La polémica del arte nacional en México, 1850–1910, compiled by Daniel Schávelzon, 267–281. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económico, 1988. Melgar Adalid, Mario, and José Rogelio Álvarez Noguera, eds., Seis años de arquitectura en México, 1988–1994. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1994. Memorandum acerca de la solemne inauguración del monumento erigido en honor de Cuauhtemoc en la calzada de la Reforma de la Ciudad de México. Mexico City: Imprenta de J. F. Jens, 1887. Menaker, Deborah. “Lorenzo Bartolini’s Demidoff Table.” Metropolitan Museum Journal 17 (1982): 75–86. Méndez Plancarte, Alfonso. Poetas novohispanos. 3 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1942–1945. ———. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: Obras completas, vol. 3, Autos y loas, edited by Alfonso Méndez Plancarte, vii–xcviii. 3 vols. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1976. Mengs, Anton Raphael. The Works of Anthony Raphael Mengs: First Painter to His Catholic Majesty Charles III. Translated from the Italian. Published by the Chevr. Don Joseph Nicholas d’Azara. 2 vols. Vol. 1. London [1796]. Mercer, Kobena, ed. Cosmopolitan Modernisms. London: Institute of International Visual Arts, in IVA/Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2005. Mesa, José de, and Teresa Gisbert. Historia de la pintura cuzqueña. 2 vols. Lima: Fundación Augusto Wiese: Banco Wiese, 1982. Metropolitan Museum of Art. Mexico: Splendors of Thirty Centuries. Exhibition catalog. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1990. Mexico City. “Anotaciones que propuso el corregidor de la ciudad de México, Gregorio Francisco Bermúdez Pimentel, a las reformas de las ordenanzas de arquitectura, 17 de agosto de 1746.” Reprinted in Martha Fernández, Arquitectura y gobierno virreinal: Los maestros mayores de la ciudad de México, siglo XVII, 297–299. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. ———. “Anotaciones que propuso el fiscal de Su Majestad, Juan Andaluz, a las reformas de las ordenanzas de arquitectura, 11 de noviembre de 1749.” Reprinted in Martha Fernández, Arquitectura y gobierno virreinal: Los maestros mayores de la ciudad de México, siglo XVII, 301–304. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. Mier, Sebastián B. de. México en la Exposición Universal Internacional de París, 1900. Paris: Impr. de J. Dumolin, 1901. Mier, Servando Teresa de. “Notas ilustrativas.” In Obras completas IV: La Formación de un republicano, edited by Jaime E. Rodríguez, 81–107. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1988. Mignolo, Walter D. The Idea of Latin America. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005. ———. Local Histories/Global Designs: Coloniality, Subaltern Knowledges and Border Thinking. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000. ———. “The Many Faces of Cosmo-polis: Border Thinking and Critical Cosmopolitanism.” In Cosmopolitanism, edited by Carol A. Breckenridge, Sheldon Pollock,

402   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Homi K. Bhabha, and Dipesh Chakrabarty, 157–187. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002. Milbrath, Susan. “Representations of Caribbean and Latin American Indians in Sixteenth-Century European Art.” Archiv für Völkerkunde, 45 (1991): 1–38. Miller, Hillis. Illustration. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992. Milo, Daniel. “Toward an Experimental History or Gay Science.” Translated by David Case. Strategies 4/5 (1991): 87–126. Ministerio de Fomento. Boletín semestral de la estadística de la república mexicana. Mexico City: Oficina Tipográfica de la Secretaría de Fomento, 1888. Mitchell, Timothy. Colonising Egypt. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988. Moffit, John F. “El Sagrario Metropolitano, Wendel Dietterlin, and the Estípite: Observations on Mannerism, and Neo Plateresque Architectural Style in 18th-Century Mexican Ecclesiastical Facades.” Boletín del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología (BSAA) 50 (1984): 325–348. Molina Enríquez, Andrés. Los grandes problemas nacionales. Mexico City: Imprenta de A. Carranza e Hijos, 1909. Molina Montes, Augusto. “Archaeological Buildings: Restoration or Misrepresentation.” In Falsifications and Misreconstructions of Pre-Columbian Art: A Conference at Dumbarton Oaks, October 14th and 15th, 1978, edited by Elizabeth H. Boone, 125–141. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982. ———. “Una visión de Xochicalco en el siglo XIX.” Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 62 (1991): 53–68. Montes de Oca, Francisco. Las tres primeras ermitas guadalupanas del Tepeyac: Algunas conjeturas acerca de las ruinas arqueológicas del siglo XVI encontradas en la sacristia de la Parroquia Archipresbitral de Santa María de Guadalupe. Mexico City: Biblioteca Boturin, 1937. Monteverde, Francisco. “Brujos y brujas de Teotihuacan (Historias y leyendas de los estados).” Zig-Zag, year 3 (1922): 42–43. Reprinted in La cultura popular vista por las élites, 119–123. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1989. Montiel Bonilla, Alejandro. El Teatro de virtudes de Sigüenza y Góngora: ¿Pilar del nacionalismo o texto cortesano del siglo XVII? Puebla, Mexico: Secretaría de Cultura/ Gobierno del Estado de Puebla, 1999. More, Anna. “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora y el Archivo Criollo en la Nueva España.” In Centro y periferia, edited by Claudia Parodi and Jimena Rodríguez, 71-78. Madrid: Iberoamericana 2011. ———. “La Patria Criolla como jeroglífico secularizado en el Teatro de Virtudes.” In Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora: Homenaje 1700–2000 II, coordinated by Alicia Mayer, 47–77. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 2002. Morelos, José María. Textos por la independencia. Mexico City: Centro de Documentación Política, 1977. Moreno, Roberto, ed. José Antonio de Alzate: Memorias y ensayos. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. Moreno Villa, José. La escultura colonial mexicana. Mexico City: Colegio de México, 1942.

403   ■  References Mosquera, Gerardo, ed. Beyond the Fantastic: Contemporary Art Criticism from Latin America. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995. ———. “Infinite Islands regarding Art, Globalization and Cultures: Part I.” Art Nexus 29 (1998): 64–67. Motolinía, Toribio. Motolinía’s History of the Indians of New Spain. Translated and edited by Elizabeth Andros Foster. Berkeley: Cortés Society Bancroft Library, 1950. ———. Motolinía’s History of the Indians of New Spain. Translated by Francis Borgia Steck. Washington, DC: Academy of Franciscan History/William Byrd Press, 1951. Mundy, Barbara. The Mapping of New Spain: Indigenous Cartography and the Maps of the Relaciones Geográficas. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1996. ———. “Mapping the Aztec Capital: The 1524 Nuremberg Map of Tenochtitlan, Its Sources and Meanings.” Imago Mundi 50 (1998): 11–33. Nalbantoğlu, Gülsum Baydar. “Limits of (In)Tolerance: The Carved Dwelling in the Architecture and Urban Discourse of Modern Turkey.” In Postcolonial Spaces, edited by Gülsum Baydar Nalbantoğlu and Wong Chon Thai, 89–100. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1997. Nalbantoğlu, Gülsum Baydar, and Wong Chon Thai, eds. Postcolonial Spaces. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1997. Neumeyer, Alfred. “The Indian Contribution to Architectural Decoration in Spanish Colonial America.” Art Bulletin 30 (1947): 104–121. Neuvillate, Alfonso. “El art nouveau en México.” Cuadernos de Arquitectura y Conservación del Patrimonio Artístico 12 (November 1980) (entire issue). Nevárez, Lisa. “‘My Reputación Precedes Me’: La Malinche and Palimpsests of Sacrifice, Scapegoating, and Mestizaje in Xicoténcatl and Los Mártires del Anáhuac.” Decimonónica 1, no. 1 (Fall 2004): 67–85. Nicholson, H. B. “Sahagún’s Primeros Memoriales, Tepepulco 1559–1561.” In Guide to Ethnohistorical Sources: Part Two, vol. 13 of Handbook of Middle American Indians, 207–218. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1973. ———. Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl: The Once and Future Lord of the Toltecs. Boulder: University of Colorado Press, 2001. Nochlin, Linda. Representing Women. London: Thames and Hudson, 1999. Noelle, Louise. Agustín Hernández, arquitectura y pensamiento. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1986. Nora, Simon, and Alain Minc. L’Informatisation de la société: Rapport à M. le président de la République. Paris: La Documentation Française, 1978. Norton, Anne. Reflections on Political Identity. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1988. Norton, Frank, ed. Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Historical Register of the Centennial Exposition, 1876. New York: Frank Leslie’s Publishing House, 1876. Nussbaum, Martha C. “Patriotism and Cosmopolitanism.” In For Love of Country, edited by Joshua Cohen, 2–20. Boston: Beacon Press, 1996. Obregón Santacilia, Carlos. El monumento a la revolución, simbolismo e historia. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1960.

404   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture O’Gorman, Edmundo. Reflexiones sobre la distribución urbana colonial de la Ciudad de México. Mexico City: Editorial Cultura, 1938. O’Gorman, Juan. La palabra de Juan O’Gorman. Mexico City: UNAM, 1983. Olmedo Vera, Bertina. Los templos rojos del recinto sagrado de Tenochtitlan. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Serie Arqueología, 2002. Olmo Frese, Laura del. “Conservación arqueológica en el edificio del antiguo arzobispado.” In Excavaciones del programa de arqueología urbana, 215–226. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 2003. Orozco y Berra, Manuel. Memoria para el plano de la ciudad de México. Mexico City: Imp. Santiago White, 1867. ———. Noticia histórica de la conjuración del Marqués del Valle: Años 1565–1568. Mexico City: Editorial Universal, Tipografía de R. Rafael, 1853. Orso, Steven. Art and Death at the Spanish Habsburg Court. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1989. Osorio, Nelson. El futurismo y la vanguardia literaria en América Latina. Cuadernos. Caracas: Centro de Estudios Rómulo Gallegos, 1982. ———, ed. Manifiestos, proclamas y polémicas de la vanguardia literaria hispanoamericana. Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1988. Pagden, Anthony. “Fabricating Identity in Spanish America.” History Today 42 (May 1992): 44–49. ———. “Identity Formation in Spanish America.” In Colonial Identity in the Atlantic World, edited by Nicholas Canny and Anthony Pagden, 51–94. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987. ———. Spanish Imperialism and the Political Imagination. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990. Palacio de Bellas Artes, México. Mexico City: Aeroméxico, 1993. Papastergiadis, Nikos. The Turbulence of Migration: Globalization, Deterritorialization and Hybridity. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2000. Parodi, Claudia. “Fiestas Palaciegas: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz y el Neptuno Alegórico, Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora y el Teatro de Virtudes Políticas.” In Centro y periferia, edited by Claudia Parodi and Jimena Rodríguez, 29-44. Madrid: Iberoamericana, 2011. Pasztory, Esther. “El arte mexica y la conquista española.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 17 (1984): 101–124. ———. Aztec Art. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1984. ———. “Identity and Difference: The Uses and Meanings of Ethnic Styles.” In Cultural Differentiation and Cultural Identity in the Visual Arts, edited by Susan J. Barnes and Walter S. Melion, 15–40. Studies in the History of Art No. 27. Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art, 1989. ———. “Still Invisible.” res 19/20 (1990–1991): 105–137. ———. Teotihuacan: An Experiment in Living. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997. Paz, Octavio. “Ritos políticos de la Nueva España.” Vuelta 35 (October 1979): 4–10.

405   ■  References ———. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz o las trampas de la fe. Barcelona: Editorial Seix Barral, 1982. Pelzel, Thomas. Anton Raphael Mengs and Neoclassicism. New York: Garland Publishing Company, 1979. Peñafiel, Antonio. Manuscritos de Texcoco. Mexico City: Editorial Innovación, 1979. ———. Monumentos del arte mexicano antiguo: Ornamentación, mitología, tributos y monumentos. 3 vols. Berlin: Asher, 1890. Perea Quintanilla, Miguel de, and Diego de Ribera. Historica imagen de proezas emblematico ejemplar de virtudes del original Perseo: Prevenido en oraculos mythologicos y descifrando en colores poeticos que a los congratulatorios fastos, y aparato celebre, dispuso para la felice entrada, y recibimiento del Exmo. Sr. don Pedro Colon de Portugal y Castro, Almirante de las Indias, adelantado mayor de ellas, Dvque de Veragua, y de la Vega, Marqves de Xamayca, Conde de Gelves, Cavallero del Insigne Orden del Toisson de Oro, Gentil-Hombre de la Camara de su Magestad, capitan general de la Armada Real, y Exercito del Mar Oceano, virrey, governador, y capitan general desta Nueva España, y presidente de la Real Audiencia, que en ella refide, &c. La Santa Iglesia Metropolitana de Mexico, y consagró á su Excellencia en publico argumento de fu amor; y aqui lo dedica como á objeto singular deste assumpto. Mexico City: Por la Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1673. Pérez Alonso, Manuel, ed. La compañía de Jesús en México: Cuatro siglos de labor cultural (1572–1972). Mexico City: Editorial Jus, 1975. Pérez de Ribas, Andrés. History of the Triumphs of Our Holy Faith amongst the Most Barbarous and Fierce Peoples of the New World. Translated by Daniel T. Reff, Maureen Ahern, and Richard K. Danford. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1999. Pérez de Salazar, Francisco. Biografía de D. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, seguida de varios documentos inéditos. Mexico City: Antigua Impr. de Murguía, 1928. ———, ed. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora: Obras. Mexico City: Sociedad de Bibliófilos Mexicanos, 1928. ———. Historia de la pintura en Puebla. Vol. 13 of Estudios y fuentes del arte en México. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas/Imprenta Universitaria, 1963. Pevsner, Nikolaus. The Englishness of English Art: An Expanded and Annotated Version of the REITH LECTURES Broadcast in October and November 1955. London: Architectural Press, 1955. ———. “Modern Architecture and the Historian or the Return of Historicism.” RIBA (Royal Institute of British Architects) Journal (April 1961): 230–240. Peza, Juan de Dios. Leyendas históricas, tradicionales y fantásticas de las calles de la Ciudad de México. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1988. Phelan, John. The Ceremonial and Political Roles of Cities in Colonial Spanish America. Center for Latin American Studies, Center Discussion Paper No. 41. Milwaukee: University of Wisconsin, 1972. ———. “Neo Aztecism in the Eighteenth Century and the Genesis of Mexican Nationalism.” In Culture and History: Essays in Honor of Paul Radin, 761–770. New York: Columbia University Press, 1960.

406   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Piedra, José. “The Game of Arrival.” Diacritics (Spring 1989): 111–138. Pierce, Donna, Rogelio Ruiz Gomar, and Clara Bargellini, eds. Painting a New World: Mexican Art and Life, 1521–1821. Exhibition catalog. Denver: Denver Art Museum, 2004. Pimentel, Francisco. Memoria sobre las causas que han originado la situación actual de la raza indígena y medios para remediarla. Mexico City: Impresa de Andrade y Escalante, 1864. Pohl, John. The Politics of Symbolism in the Mixtec Codices. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University, 1994. Pollock, E. H. D. Round Structures of Aboriginal Middle America. Washington, DC: Carnegie Institution, 1936. Pollock, Sheldon. “Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in History.” In Cosmopolitanism, edited by Carol A. Breckenridge, Sheldon Pollock, Homi K. Bhabha, and Dipesh Chakrabarty, 15–53. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002. Polt, John H. R. “Anton Raphael Mengs in Spanish Literature.” Biblioteca Virtual Miguel de Cervantes 2004. Accessed December 12, 2012. http://www.bib .cervantesvirtual.com/servlet/SirveObras/12715843118056070754624/index.htm. Originally published in Homenaje a Don Luis Monguió, edited by Jordi Aladró Font, 351–374. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 1997. Ponz, Antonio. Viaje de España: En que se da noticia de las cosas mas apreciables, y dignas de saberse que hay en ella. 18 vols. Madrid: Joaquín Ibarra, Impresor de Camara S.M., 1776–1794. Popper, Frank. Art of the Electronic Age. London: Thames and Hudson, 1997/Ars Electronica, 1982. Porphyrios, Demitri. Sources of Modern Eclecticism: Studies on Alvar Aalto. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1982. Portada alegórica, espejo político qve la avgusta y muy exclarecida yglesia metropolitana de Mexico dedicó al Exmo. Sr. Don Lvis Henríquez de Guzmán, Conde de Alva de Liste Mexico City: Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1650. Post, Robert C., ed. 1876: A Centennial Exhibition. Washington, DC: National Museum of History and Technology, Smithsonian Institution, 1976. Powell, T. G. “Mexican Intellectuals and the Indian Question.” Hispanic American Historical Review (February 1968): 19–66. La presencia prehispánica en la arquitectura moderna 1. Cuadernos de Arquitectura Mesoamericana 9 (January 1987): whole issue. Puga, Cristina. “Industry and Industrialization.” In Encyclopedia of Mexico: History, Society and Culture, edited by Michael S. Werner, 1:698–702. 2 vols. Chicago: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1997. Raat, William D. El positivismo durante el porfiriato. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1975. Rajchman, John. “Foucault’s Art of Seeing.” In Philosophical Events of the ’80s, 69–102. New York: Columbia University Press, 1991. Ramírez, Mari Carmen. “Beyond the Fantastic: Framing Identity in U.S. Exhibitions of Latin American Art.” Art Journal 51, no. 4 (Winter 1992): 60–68. Reprinted

407   ■  References in Beyond the Fantastic: Contemporary Art Criticism from Latin America, edited by Gerardo Mosquera, 229–246. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995. Ramírez de Vargas, Alonso. Elogio panegírico, festivo aplavso, iris politico, y diseño trivnfal de Eneas verdadero conque la muy noble y leal Ciudad de Mexico, recibió al Exmo. Señor D. Antonio Sebastian de Toledo y Salazar: Marques de Manzera, Señor de las cinco Uillas, y dela del Marmol: Cavallero de la Orden de Alcantara: Administrador perpetuo de Puerto Llano: del Consejo de Guerra: Virrey, governador, y capitan general de esta Nueva España, y presidente de su Real Chancilleria, &c. Mexico City: La Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1664. “Real Disposición para desterrar las deformidades arquitectónicas de los edificios” (1777). Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 8, no. 31 (1962): 144–146. Reprinted in Francisco de la Maza: Obras escogidas, 507–510. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1992. “Reformas y adiciones a las Ordenanzas de Arquitectura propuestas por los arquitectos Miguel de Espinosa, Miguel Custodio Durán, José Eduardo de Herrera, Manuel Álvarez, Lorenzo Rodríguez, José de Roa, Bernardo de Ordoña, José González e Ildefonso de Iniesta Bejarano, a través de su apoderado Manuel de la Marcha, el 25 de abril de 1746.” In Martha Fernández, Arquitectura y gobierno virreinal: Los maestros mayores de la Ciudad de México siglo XVII, 293–295. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. Releer a Siqueiros: Ensayos en su Centenario. Mexico City: CONACULTA, 2000. Reseña de la segunda sesión del XVII Congreso Internacional de Americanistas, sept. 1910, México. Mexico City: Imprenta del Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Historia y Etnología, 1912. Reyes, Vicente. “El monumento a Cuauhtemoc.” In La polémica del arte nacional en México, 1850–1910, compiled by Daniel Schávelzon, 115–124. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1988. Reyes Valerio, Constantino. Arte indiocristiano: Escultura del siglo XVI en México. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1978. Ribera Cambas, Manuel. Los gobernantes de México. Mexico City: Imprenta de J. M. Aguilar Ortiz, 1872–1873. Ricoeur, Paul. “Universal Civilization and National Cultures.” In History and Truth, translated by Charles A. Kelbley, 274–284. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1965. Rieff Anawalt, Patricia. Indian Clothing before Cortés: Mesoamerican Costumes from the Codices. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1981. Rincón, Antonio de. Arte mexicana. Mexico City: Tipografía de la Secretaría de Fomento, 1885. Ripa, Cesare. Iconologia (Rome, 1603). Reprint: New York: Garland Publishing, 1976. ———. Iconologie. Translated by Jean Baudouin (Paris, 1644). Reprint. New York: Garland Publishing, 1976. Rishel, Joseph J., with Suzanne Stratton-Pruitt. The Arts in Latin America, 1492–1820. Exhibition catalog. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006.

408   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Ritvo, Harriet. The Platypus and the Mermaid and Other Figments of the Classifying Imagination. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997. Riva Palacio, Vicente. México a través de los siglos. Barcelona: Espasa y Compañía, 1888–1889. 3 vols. Reprint. Mexico City: Editorial Cumbre, 1970. Robles, Antonio de. Diario de sucesos notables. Edited by Antonio Castro Leal. 3 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1946. Robles García, Nelly, Alfredo J. Moreira Quirós, and Marcelo L. Magadán. “Notas sobre el neoprehispánico en el arte y la ornamentación arquitectónica en México.” Cuadernos de Arquitectura Mesoamericana 9 (January 1987): 21–26. Rodríguez-Alegría, Enrique R. “Food, Eating and Objects of Power: Class Stratification and Ceramic Production and Consumption in Colonial Mexico.” PhD dissertation, University of Chicago, 2002. Rodríguez G. de Cevallos, Alfonso. Los Churriguera. Madrid: Instituto Diego Velázquez del Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1971. Rodríguez Prampolini, Ida. La crítica del arte en el siglo XIX. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, 1964. ———. “La figura del indio en la pintura del siglo XIX: Fondo ideológico.” In La polémica del arte nacional en México, 1850–1910, compiled by Daniel Schávelzon, 202– 217. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1988. ———. Juan O’Gorman, arquitecto y pintor. Mexico City: UNAM, 1982. Roemer- und Pelizaeus-Museum. Glanz und Untergang des Alten Mexiko. Meiz am Rhein: Verlag Philip von Zabern, 1986. Roettgen, Steffi. Anton Raphael Mengs, 1728–1779, and His British Patrons. London: Zwemmer, 1993. Rojas Garcidueñas, José, ed. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora: Obras históricas. 2nd ed. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1960. ———. “Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora y el primer ejemplo de arte neoprehispánico en América (1680).” In La polémica del arte nacional en México, 1850–1910, compiled by Daniel Schávelzon, 47–52. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1988. Romero de Terrenos, Manuel. “El virrey de Alburquerque y las bellas artes.” Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 19 (1951): 91–100. Rosenzweig, Fernando. “El desarrollo económico de México de 1877 a 1911.” El Trimestre Económico 32, no. 127 (1965): 405–454. Ross, Kathleen. The Baroque Narrative of Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora: A New World Paradise. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Rossiello, Leonardo. “Estrategias argumentativas en Libra astronómica y filosófica, de Sigüenza y Góngora.” Literatura Mexicana 15, no. 2 (2004), 83–96. Rubial, Antonio, and María Teresa Suárez Molina. “La construcción de una iglesia indiana: Las imágines de su edad dorada.” In El origen del reino de la Nueva España, 1680–1730, vol. 1 of Los pinceles de la historia, 142–179. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1999. Rubial García, Antonio. Santa María Tonatzintla: Un pueblo, un templo. Mexico City: Universidad Iberoamericana, 1991.

409   ■  References Rubio Mañé, Ignacio. Introducción al estudio de los virreyes de Nueva España, 1535–1746. 4 vols. Publicación del Instituto de Historia de la Universidad Autónoma de México. Mexico City: Ediciones Selectas, 1955. Russeau, Claudia. “The Pageant of the Muses at the Medici Wedding of 1539 and the Decoration of the Salone dei Cinquecento.” In Theatrical Spectacle and Spectacular Theatre, vol. 2 of “All the World’s a Stage . . .”: Art and Pageantry in the Renaissance and Baroque, edited by Barbara Wisch and Susan Scott Mushower, 416–457. Papers in Art History, vol. 6. University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 1990. Russell Hitchcock, Henri, and Phillip Johnson. The International Style: Architecture since 1922 (1932). New York: W. W. Norton, 1997. Russo, Alessandra, “Plumes of Sacrifice: Transformation in Sixteenth-Century Mexican Feather Art,” res 42 (Autumn 2002): 225–250. Rykwert, Joseph. The Dancing Column: On Order in Architecture. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996. Sáenz de Miera Santos, Carmen. “Entrada triunfal de la reina Mariana de Austria en Madrid el día 15 de Noviembre de 1649.” Anales del Instituto de Estudios Madrileños 23: (1986): 167–174. Sahagún, Bernardino de. Historia general de las cosas de Nueva España. Edited by Ángel María Garibay. 4 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1956. ———. Primeros memoriales. Paleography of Nahuatl text and translation by Thelma D. Sullivan. Completed and revised with additions by H. B. Nicholson, Arthur J. O. Anderson, Charles E. Dibble, Eloise Quiñones Keber, and Wayne Ruwet. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997. Said, Edward W. “Culture and Imperialism.” Reprint of lecture delivered at New York University, February 10, 1993. Design Book Review, 29/30 (Summer–Fall 1993): 6–13. ———. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books, 1978. ———. “Representing the Colonized: Anthropology’s Interlocutors.” Critical Inquiry (Winter 1989): 205–225. Saladino García, Alberto. Dos científicos de la ilustración en Hispanoamérica: J. A. Alzate and F. J. de Caldas. Mexico City: Centro Coordinador y Difusor de Estudios Latinoamericanos, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México: Universidad Autónoma del Estado de México, 1990. Salazar, Luis. La arquitectura y la arqueología: Memoria presentada por el ingeniero Luis Salazar al Congreso de Americanistas en su sesión verificada en México en 1895. Mexico City: Oficina de la Tipografía de Fomento, 1898. Sánchez, Jesús. “Reseña histórica del Museo Nacional de México.” Anales del Museo Nacional de México 1 (1877): no pagination. Sánchez Albornoz, Nicolás. The Population of Latin America. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974. Sánchez Cano, David. “Dances for the Royal Festivities in Madrid in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries.” Dance Research 23, no. 2 (October 2005): 123–152. Sánchez Pérez, Aquilino. La literatura emblemática española: Siglos XVI y XVII. Colección Temas No. 2. Madrid: Sociedad General Española de Librería, 1977.

410   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Sanders, William T., Jeffrey R. Parsons, and Robert S. Santley. The Basin of Mexico. New York: Academic Press, 1979. Sandoval, Pablo de Jesús, and José Ordóñez. La Catedral Metropolitana de México. Mexico City: Imprenta BARRIE, 1943. Sartor, Mario. Arquitectura y urbanismo en Nueva España: Siglo XVI. Mexico City: Grupo Azabache, 1992. Schávelzon, Daniel., comp. La polémica del arte nacional en México, 1850–1910. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económico, 1988. ———. “La primera excavación arqueológica de América: Teotihuacan en 1675.” Anales de Antropología 20, no. 1 (1983): 121–124. Schneider, Jane. “Peacocks and Penguins: The Political Economy of European Cloth and Colors.” American Ethnologist 5, no. 3 (1978): 413–447. Schneider, Luis Mario, ed. El estridentismo: Antología. Cuadernos de Humanidades 23. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1983. ———, ed. El estridentismo: México, 1921–27. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. Schreffler, Michael. The Art of Allegiance: Visual Culture and Imperial Power in Baroque New Spain. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007. ———. “Their Cortés and Our Cortés: Spanish Colonialism and Aztec Representation.” Art Bulletin 91, no. 4 (December 2009): 407–425. Schroeder, Susan. “Jesuits, Nahuas, and the Good Death Society in Mexico City, 1710– 1767.” Hispanic American Historical Review 80, no. 1 (February 2000): 43–76. Sebastián López, Santiago. José de Mesa Figueroa, and Teresa Gisbert de Mesa, eds. Arte Iberoamericano desde la colonización a la independencia: Primera parte. Vols. 28 and 29 of Summa Artis: Historia general del arte. Madrid: Espasa Calpe, 1992. Seler, Eduard. “Die Ausgrabungen am Orten des Haupttempels in México.” In Mitteilungen der Anthropologischen Gesellschaft Wien (1900): 113–137. Reproduced with modifications in Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur Amerikanischer Sprach und Alterthumskunde, vol. 2 (1904), 762–912. 5 vols. Berlin: Asher, 1902–1923. ———. “Las excavaciones en el sitio del Templo Mayor de México.” Anales del Museo Nacional de México 5, no. 7 (1901): 235–260. ———. Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur Amerikanischer Sprach und Altertumskunde. 5 vols. Berlin: Asher (vols. 1–2) and Behrend (vols. 3–5), 1902–1923. Sennett, Richard. Flesh and Stone: The Body in Western Civilization. New York: W. W. Norton, 1996. Serrato-Combe, Antonio. The Aztec Templo Mayor: A Visualization. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 2001. Shapiro, Meyer. “Style.” In Anthropology Today, edited by Sol Tax, 278–303. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962. Sierra, Justo. Reseña de la Segunda Sesión del XVII Congreso Internacional de Americanistas. Mexico City: Imprenta del Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Historia y Etnología, 1912. Sigaut, Nelly. José Juárez: Recursos y discursos del arte de pintar. Mexico City: Museo Nacional de Arte, 2002.

411   ■  References Sigüenza y Góngora, Carlos de. Alboroto y Motín de México del 8 de junio de 1692: Relación de Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora en una carta dirigida a Don Andrés de Pez. Edited by Irving Leonard. Mexico City: Talleres Gráficos del Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Historia y Etnografía, 1932. ———. Glorias de Querétaro en la Nueva Congregación Eclesiástica de María Santíssima de Guadalupe, con que se ilustra: y en sumptuoso Templo, que dedicó a su obsequio D. Juan Cavallero, y Ocio, Presbytero, Comisario de Corte del Tribunal del Santo Oficio de la Suprema y General Inquisicion. Mexico City: La Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1680. ———. Libra astronomica y philosophica que D. Carlos de Siguenza y Góngora, cosmographo, y mathematico regio en la Academia Mexicana examina no solo lo que á fu manifiesto philosophico contra los cometas opuso el R.P. Eusebio Francisco Kino de la Compañia de Jesus sino lo que el mismo R.P. opinó, y pretendio haber demostrado en su exposicion astronomica del cometa del año de 1681. Sacala á la luz D. Sebastian de Gvzman Cordova y fator, veedor, provedor, Juez oficial de la Real Hacienda de su magestad en la Caxa desta corte. Mexico City: Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1691. ———. Obras, ed. Francisco Pérez de Salazar. Mexico City: Sociedad de Bibliófilos Mexicanos, 1928. ———. Obras históricas. Ed. José Rojas Garcidueñas. 2nd ed. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1960. ———. Parayso occidental, plantado y cultivado por la liberal benéfica mano de los muy católicos, y poderosos reyes de España Nuestros Señores en su magnifico Real Convento de Jesús Maria de México: De cuya fundación y progresos, y de las prodigiosas maravillas, y virtudes con que exaltando olor suave de perfección, florecieron exemplaríssimas en su clausura la V. M. Marina de la Cruz y otras exemplaríssimas religiosas. Da noticia en este volumen Don Carlos de Siguenza y Góngora, presbytero mexicano. (Pegasxo) con licencia de los superiores. Mexico City: Juan de Ribera, 1694. ———. Primavera indiana: Poema sacro-histórico de María Santíssima de Guadalupe, copiada de Flores. Mexico City: Por la Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1668. ———. Seis obras. Ed. William G. Bryant. Bilbao: Talleres de Artes Gráficas Grijelmo S.A., 1984. ———. Teatro de virtvdes politicas qve constituyen un principe: Advertidas en los Monarchas antiguos del Mexicano Imperio, con cuyas efigies se hermofeó el arco triuvmphal, que la muy noble, muy leal, imperial Ciudad de Mexico erigiò para el digno recibimiento en ella del Excelentissimo Señor Virrey Conde de Paredes, Marqves de la Laguvna, &c. ideòlo entonces, y ahora describe D. Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora catedratico propietario de mathematicas en la Real Universidad. Mexico City: Por la Viuda de Bernardo Calderón, 1680. Reprinted in Documentos para la historia de México, vol. 1, ser. 3. Mexico City: Imprenta de Vicente García Torres, 1856. In Obras, edited by Francisco Pérez de Salazar, 1–148. Mexico City: Sociedad de Bibliófilos Mexicanos, 1928. In Obras históricas, ed. José Rojas Garcidueñas, 225–361. 2nd ed. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa, 1960. In Seis obras, edited by William G. Bryant, 165–240. Bilbao: Talleres de Artes Gráficas Grijelmo S.A., 1984. ———. Triunfo Parthénico que en Glorias de Maria Santissima inmaculadamente concebida, celebró la pontificia, imperial, y Regia Academia Mexicana el bienio, que como su

412   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture rector la governó el Doctor Don Juan de Narváez, tesorero general de la Santa Crvzada en el Arcobispado de México, y al presente Catedrático de firma de Sagrada Escritura. Mexico City: Juan de Ribera, 1683. Simonin. Tratado elemental de los cortes de cantería o arte de la montea. Madrid: Imprenta de la Viuda de José García, 1795. Sims, Lowery Stokes. “The Post-Modern Modernism of Wifredo Lam.” In Cosmopolitan Modernisms, edited by Kobena Mercer, 86–101. London: Institute of International Visual Arts, in IVA/Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2005. Smith, Terry. “The Resistant Other: Diego Rivera in Detroit.” In Making the Modern, 199–246. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. Sorkin, Michael, ed. Variations on a Theme Park. New York: New York: Noonday Press, 1992. Soto Cava, Victoria. “Los catafalcos madrileños en el siglo XVIII: Originalidad hispana y modelos italianos.” In Barocco mediterraneo: Sicilia, Lecce, Sardegna, Spagna, edited by Maria Luisa Madonna and Lucia Trigilia, 477–491. Rome: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, Libreria dello Stato, 1992. ———. “La configuración de un modelo: Los catafalcos madrileños durante el reinado de Felipe V.” In Espacio, tiempo, y forma, 169–195. Serie VII, Historia del Arte, 2. Madrid: Revista de la Facultad de Geografía e Historia, 1989. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” In Colonial Discourse and Post-Colonial Theory: A Reader, 66–111. New York: Columbia University Press, 1994. ———. A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. ———. “French Feminism in an International Frame.” In In Other Worlds: Essays in Cultural Politics, 134–153. New York: Routledge, 1987. Stanton, Travis W., and Aline Magnoni, eds. Ruins of the Past: The Use and Perception of Abandoned Structures in the Maya Lowlands. Boulder: University of Colorado Press, 2008. Stewart, Charles. “Syncretism and Its Synonyms: Reflections on Cultural Mixture.” Diacritics 29, no. 3 (Autumn 1999): 40–62. Stierlin, Henri. Living Architecture: Ancient Mexico. London: MacDonald, 1968. Strozier, Robert. Foucault, Subjectivity and Identity. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 2002. Taniya, Kyn [Luis Quintanilla]. Avión: 1917—Poemas—1923. Mexico City: Editorial Cultura, 1923. Reprinted In El estridentismo: Mexico 1921–1927, edited by Luis Mario Schneider, 103–161. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. ———. RADIO: Poema inalámbrico en trece mensajes. Mexico City: Editorial Cultura, 1924. Reprinted in El estridentismo: México 1921–1927, edited by Luis Mario Schneider, 179–188. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. Taussig, Michael. Shamanism, Colonialism, and the Wild Man. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. Tavernor, Robert. “Contemplating Perfection through Piero’s Eyes.” In Body and

413   ■  References Building: Essays on the Changing Relation of Body and Architecture, edited by George Dodds and Robert Tavernor, 78–93. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002. “Le Temple Mexicain.” L’Exposition de Paris de 1889. Journal Hebdomaire 32 (September 4, 1889): 252, 254. Tenorio-Trillo, Mauricio. Mexico at the World Fairs: Crafting a Modern Nation. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Terraciano, Kevin. “Three Texts in One: Book XII of the Florentine Codex.” Ethnohistory 57, no. 1 (Winter 2010): 51–72. Togno, Juan B. “Xochicalco por el Teniente Juan B. Togno, Ingeniero del Ministerio de Guerra, 1892.” In Colección de documentos para la historia mexicana, published by Dr. Antonio Peñafiel, vol. 6, 1–29. 6 vols. Mexico City: Oficina Tipográfica de la Secretaría de Fomento, 1901. Tomlinson, Janis. From El Greco to Goya: Painting in Spain, 1561–1828. New York: Abrams, 1997. ———. “Painters and Patrons at the Court of Madrid, 1701–1828.” In Painting in Spain in the Age of Enlightenment: Goya and His Contemporaries, edited by Ronda Kasl and Suzanne L. Stratton, 13–25. Exhibition catalog. Indianapolis: Indianapolis Museum of Art/New York: Spanish Institute, 1997. Torales Pacheco, María Cristina. Ilustrados en la Nueva España: Los socios de la Real Sociedad Bascongada de los Amigos del País. Mexico City: Universidad Iberoamericana, 2001. Torgovnick, Marianna. Gone Primitive. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. Torquemada, Fray Juan de. Monarquía indiana. 3rd ed. Mexico City: Editorial Salvador Chávez Hayhoe, 1943. Torre Villar, Ernesto de la. “Dos historiadores de Durango: José Ramírez y José Ignacio Gallegos.” Historia Mexicana 24, no. 3 (January–March 1975): 403–441. Toussaint, Manuel. Colonial Art in Mexico. Edited and translated by Elizabeth Wilder Weissman. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1967. ———. Pintura colonial en México. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, 1990. Toussaint, Manuel, Federico Gómez de Orozco, and Justino Fernández. Planos de la ciudad de Mexico: Siglos XVI y XVII. Congreso Internacional de Planificación y de la Habitación. Mexico City: Editorial Cultura, 1938. Tovar de Teresa, Francisco. “Arquitectura efímera y fiestas reales.” Artes de Mexico 1 (Fall 1988): 34–47. Tovar y de Teresa, Rafael. “Adamo Boari and the Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City.” In Palacio de Bellas Artes, México, 15–19. Milan: Franco Maria Ricci/Mexico City: Aeroméxico, 1993. ———. Impresos mexicanos relativos al arte de los siglos XVI y XVII, vol. 1 of Bibliografía novohispana de arte. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1988. Turner, Victor. Process, Performance, and Pilgrimage. New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company, 1979. ———. The Ritual Process. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company, 1969. Tzonis, Alexander, and Liane Lefaivre. “The Grid and the Pathway: An Introduction

414   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture to the Work of Dimitris and Susana Antonakakis.” Architecture in Greece 15 (1981): 164–178. Umberger, Emily. “Antiques, Revivals, and References to the Past in Aztec Art.” res 13 (Spring 1987): 62–105. ———. “Events Commemorated by Date Plaques at the Templo Mayor: Further Thoughts on the Solar Metaphor.” In The Aztec Templo Mayor: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 8th and 9th October 1983, edited by Elizabeth Hill Boone, 411–447. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks 1983. ———. “The Monarquía Indiana in Seventeenth-Century New Spain.” In Converging Cultures: Art and Identity in Spanish America, 46–58. New York: Brooklyn Museum/ Harry N. Abrams 1996. United Nations. 1995 International Trade Statistics Yearbook/Annuaire Statistique du Commerce International. 2 vols. New York: United Nations/Nations Unies. Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas. Las academias de arte. Estudios de Arte y Estética No. 18. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. ———. La dispersión del manierismo. Estudios de Arte y Estética No. 15. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1980. Unruh, Vicky. Latin American Vanguards: The Art of Contentious Encounters. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Uribe, Eloisa. “Lo indígena en la conformación de la nacionalidad mexicana 1830–1850: El indio viejo frente al indio nuevo.” Cuadernos de Arquitectura Mesoamericana 9 (January 1987): 3–6. Urquiaga, Juan, Víctor Jiménez, and Alejandrina Escudero, eds. La construcción del Palacio de Bellas Artes: Documentos para la historia de la arquitectura en México. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1984. Van der Veer, Peter. “Colonial Cosmopolitanisms.” In Conceiving Cosmopolitanism: Theory, Context and Practice, edited by Steven Vertovec and Robin Cohen, 165–179. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Varey, John E., and A. M. Salazar. “Calderón and the Royal Entry of 1649.” Hispanic Review 34, no. 1 (1966): 1–26. Vargas Salguero, Ramón. Historia de la teoría de la arquitectura: El porfirismo. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1989. Vasconcelos, José. La raza cósmica: Misión de la raza iberoamericana, Argentina y Brasil. Mexico City: Espasa-Calpe Mexicana, 1948. Vega Sosa, Constanza, ed. El recinto sagrado de México Tenochtitlan: Excavaciones 1968–69 y 1975–76. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública (SEP) e Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1979. Vela, Arqueles. El café de nadie: Novelas. Jalapa, Veracruz: Ediciones Horizonte, 1926. Reprinted in El estridentismo: México 1921–1927, edited by Luis Mario Schneider, 213–235. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. ———. “La Señorita Etcétera.” In El estridentismo: México, 1921–27, edited by Luis

415   ■  References Mario Schneider, 83–102. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985. Velazco, Salvador. “La imaginación historiográfica de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl: Etnicidades emergentes y espacios de enunciación.” Colonial Latin American Review 7, no. 1 (1998): 33–58. Velázquez Cárdenas y León, Joaquín. Arcos de triunfo. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1978. Venturi, Robert. Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture. 2nd ed. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1977. Venturi, Robert, Denise Scott Brown, and Steven Izenour. Learning from Las Vegas. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1977. Vera Tassis y Villarroel, Juan de. Noticias historiales de la enfermedad, muerte y exequias de la esclarecida reyna de las Españas, Doña María Luisa de Orléans, Borbón, Stuart y Austria, Nuestra Señora, Digníssima Consorte del Rey Nuestro Señor Don Carlos Segundo de Austria, acuya Catholica Magestad, las dirige y consagra Don Juan de Vera Tassis y Villarroel. Madrid: Francisco Sanz, Impressor del Reyno, y Portero de Cámara de Su Magestad, 1690. Vertovec, Steven, and Robin Cohen, eds. Conceiving Cosmopolitanism: Theory, Context and Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Vicente, Marta. Clothing the Spanish Empire: Families and the Calico Trade in the Early Modern Atlantic World. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2006. Villalobos, Arias de. Obediencia que Mexico, cabeza de la Nueva España, dio a la Majestad Catolica del rey D. Felipe de Austria N(uestro) S(eñor), alzando pendon de vasallaje en su real nombre.—Con un discurso en verso, del estado de la misma ciudad, desde su mas antigua fundacion, imperio y conquista, hasta el mayor del crecimiento y grandeza en que hoy está . . . Por Arias de Villalobos, presbitero, a quien se cometio esta relacion, con acuerdo de la Audiencia real que governaba.—Con licencia, en Mexico, en la imprenta de Diego Garrido. Año de 1623. Vol. 12 of Documentos inéditos o muy raros para la historia de México. Reprint. Mexico City: Genaro García, 1907. Villalobos Pérez, Alejandro. “Consideraciones sobre un plano reconstructivo del recinto sagrado de México Tenochtitlan.” Cuadernos de Arquitectura Mesoamericana 4 (1985): 57–63. Villarroel, Hipólito. Enfermedades políticas que padece la capital de esta Nueva España en casi todos los cuerpos de que se compone y remedios que se la deben aplicar para su curación si se quiere que sea útil al Rey y al público. Mexico City: Miguel Ángel Porrúa, 1979. Viloro, Luis. Los grandes momentos del indigenismo en México. Mexico City: El Colegio de México, 1950. Viñao, Alejandro. “Computer Music.” Speech delivered in his acceptance of the Golden Nica Prix, Ars Electronica, Linz, Austria, 1992. Virilio, Paul. Open Sky. Translated by Julie Rose. New York: Verso, 1997. Vitruvius. The Ten Books of Architecture. Translated by Morris Hicky Morgan. New York: Dover Publications, 1960.

416   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Waldeck, Fréderic de. Voyage pittoresque et archéologique dans la province de Yucatan pendant les années 1834 et 1836. Paris: Bellizard Dufour et Cie., 1838. Walters, E. V. Placeways: A Theory of the Human Environment. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988. Wark, McKenzie. Virtual Geography: Living with Global Media Events. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994. Warren, Benedict. “An Introductory Survey of Secular Writings in the European Tradition on Colonial Middle America, 1503–1818.” In Guide to Ethnohistorical Sources: Part Two, vol. 13 of Handbook of Middle American Indians, edited by Robert Wauchope, 42–137. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1973. Watkins, David. Morality and Architecture: The Development of a Theme in Architectural History and Theory from the Gothic Revival to the Modern Movement. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977. Weaver, Muriel Porter. The Aztecs, Maya and Their Predecessors. New York: Seminar Press, 1972. Webner, Pnina. “Understanding Vernacular Cosmopolitanism.” Anthropology News (May 2006): 7–11. ———. “Vernacular Cosmopolitanism.” Theory, Culture & Society 23, nos. 2–3 (2006): 496–498. Weigert, Andrew, J. Smith Teitge, and Denis W. Teitge. Society and Identity. London: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Weissman, Elizabeth Wilder. Art and Time in Mexico. New York: Harper and Row, 1985. White, John J. Literary Futurism: Aspects of the First Avant-Garde. New York: Oxford University Press, 1990. Widdifield, Stacie. “The Calendar Stone: A Critical History.” Master’s thesis, University of California, Los Angeles, 1981. ———. “Dispossession, Assimilation, and the Image of the Indian in Late-NineteenthCentury Mexican Painting.” Art Journal (Summer 1990): 125–131. ———. The Embodiment of the National in Late Nineteenth-Century Mexican Painting. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1996. ———. “National Art and Identity in Mexico, 1869–1881: Images of Indians and Heroes.” PhD dissertation, University of California at Los Angeles, 1986. Wilkinson, Catherine. “Planning a Style for the Escorial: An Architectural Treatise for Philip of Spain.” Journal for the Society of Architectural Historians 44 (March 1985): 37–47. Williams, Raymond. Keywords. New York: Oxford University Press, 1985. Winckelmann, Johann Joachim. Gedanken über die Nachahmung der Griechischen Werke in der Malerei und Bildhauerkunst. Dresden: Im Verlag der Waltherischen Handlung, 1756. Reprinted in Deutsche litteraturdenkmale des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts 20. Heilbron: Verlag von Gebr. Henninger, 1885. ———. Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums. Dresden: In der Waltherischen Hof-Buchhandlung, 1764. Wisch, Barbara, and Susan Scott Munshower, eds. “All the World’s a Stage . . .”: Art and

417   ■  References Pageantry in the Renaissance and Baroque. Papers in Art History, vol. 6. University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 1990. Wittkower, Rudolf. Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism (1960). New York: Norton, 1971. Wohlleben, Joachim. “Germany 1750–1830.” In Perceptions of the Ancient Greeks, edited by Kenneth Dover, 170–201. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1992. Wolf, Eric R. Europe and the People without History. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982. Wolfthal, Diana. Images of Rape: The “Heroic” Tradition and Its Alternatives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Wood, Allen W. “Kant’s Project for Perpetual Peace.” In Cosmopolitics: Thinking and Feeling Beyond the Nation, edited by Pheng Cheah and Bruce Robbins, 59–76. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998. Wright, Richard. “Fractal Media and the Overexpressive.” Paper Presented at the Third International Symposium of Electronic Art, Sydney, Australia, November 9–13, 1992. Yáñez, Agustín, ed. Francisco Bramón: Los sirgueros de la Virgen; Joaquin Bolaños: La portentosa vida de la muerte. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1944. Young, Iris Marion. Throwing Like a Girl and Other Essays in Feminist Philosophy and Social Theory. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990. Yúdice, George, Jean Franco, and Juan Flores, eds. On the Edge: The Crisis of Contemporary Latin American Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992. Zanelli, Carmela Velásquez. “La loa de ‘El divino Narciso’ de Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz y la doble recuperación de la cultura indígena mexicana.” In La literatura novohispana, edited by José Pascual Buxó y Arnulfo Herrera, 183–200. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1994. Zanten, David van. “Architectural Composition at the École des Beaux Arts from Charles Percier to Charles Garnier.” In The Architecture of the École des Beaux Arts, edited by Arthur Drexler, 11–324. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1977. Zapata, Teresa. La entrada en la Corte de María Luisa de Orléans: Arte y fiesta en el Madrid de Carlos II. Madrid: Fundación de Apoyo a la Historia del Arte Hispánico, 2000. Zea, Leopoldo. El positivismo en México. Mexico City: El Colegio de México, 1943. Žižek, Slavoj. The Plague of Fantasies. New York: Verso, 1997. Zubilaga, Félix. “Los Jesuitas en Nueva España en el siglo XVI: Orientaciones metódicas.” In La Compañía de Jesús in México: Cuatro siglos de labor cultural 1572–1972, edited by Manuel Pérez Alonso, 603–635. Mexico City: Editorial Jus, 1975.

THIS PAGE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

Index

Aalto, Alvar, 187–188 Abreu, Ivan, 299 Academia Nacional de Bellas Artes, 232–233 academic culture, 197 Academy of San Carlos, Mexico City, 84–85 Acamapichtli, 27 Acevedo, Jesús, 132 Ackerman, James, 177–178, 193 “Actual No. 1” (Maples Arce), 199 (fig. 6.1), 209 adoratories, 227, 242, 254–255 (fig. 7.18) advertisements, 199, 201, 214–215, 291 Aeneid (Virgil), 61 Africa/Africans: brought as slaves to New Spain, 4; de Mier on, 98; as “land of childhood,” 179; marginalization of, 10; portrayal of in casta paintings, 72, 75–76 (figs. 2.3–2.4); portrayed as excessively emotional, 80; racial mixing with as decline, 77 Ahuitzotl, 234, 245 “Airplane” (Taniya), 208 Alamán, Lucas, 145, 249 Alameda Garden, 126–127 (fig. 3.17) albarazado, 72 albino, 71 álbum de recuerdos, 285 Alcocer, Ignacio, 227–228 (fig. 7.4), 247, 270–271 Alencastre Noroña y Silva, Fernando de, 96 alfardas, 109 Allar, André, 133 allegory, 29, 38, 57, 60, 130 Almaraz, Ramón, 155 Altar de los Reyes, 87 Alva, José María, 108–112 (figs. 3.7–3.8) Alva de la Canal, Ramon, 203 Alvarado, Antonio de, 59

Álvarez, Francisco, 115 Alva y Cortés, Juan de, 37 Alÿs, Francis, 299 Alzate y Ramírez Cantillana, José Antonio de, 144–145 Amabilis, Manuel, 271–273 (figs. 7.25, 7.27) Amapanme, 262 American Spaniards. See Creoles Amor y suplicio (Paz), 148 Anacahualli Museum, 135 Ancona, Eligio, 148–149 Andaluz, Juan, 97 animals: biomechanical, 212, 216–219 (fig. 6.7); in casta names, 71; objections to cross-breeding of, 80; as outside of culture and morals, 79; sorcerers taking form of, 166 Año mexicano (Sigüenza), 34 Anonymous Muttering (Knowbotic Research), 284 Anti Oedipus (Deleuze & Guattari), 17 Antúnez, Carmen de, 224–225 (fig. 7.3), 231, 248 (fig. 7.12), 251–252 (fig. 7.14) Anza, Antonio María, 108–114 (fig. 3.9), 119–120 Anza, José María, 122–123 (fig. 3.14) Apaches, 150–151, 165 Apollo dressed as archbishop, 40 The Apotheosis of Cuauhtemoc (Siqueiros), 358n82 Appadurai, Arjun, 195, 353n7 Appiah, Kwame Anthony, 11, 20 archaeological remains: Mexico’s as superior to Europe’s, ancient Greece, 147–149, 155; protecting artifacts while eliminating natives, 154, 166; representing and unifying Mexico, 141 architecture: borrowing in, 190; built

419

420   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture on destroyed indigenous structures, 3, 222; cosmopolitanism in Mexican, 94, 139; democratizing, 185; to demonstrate industry, 122; early theories of, 180–181; as expression of national character, 181; and human bodies, 68–69 (fig. 2.1), 86, 96–98, 180; indigenous representations of buildings, 241–242; lack of self-examination in, 173–174; and morality, 94; and national identity formation, 103; natural influences in Mesoamerican, 268; neoclassicism in Mexico, 83–86; open chapels, 4–5; race and class, 97, 179; tied to natural principles, 180, 183 Are We There Yet? (Critical Art Ensemble), 290 Arquitectura prehispánica (Marquina), 232, 235, 248, 265, 363n82 Arteaga, Esteban de, 78–79 Arte mexicana (Rincón), 148 artisan guilds, 41, 44 artistic style as conceptual bridge, 13–14 art nouveau, 131 “art of allegiance,” 29–30 art “with an accent,” 15 Asian trade with New Spain, 4 Atari Noise (Constantini), 299–300 Ateneo de la Juventad, 197 Atlantis, 50 “attractors,” 16 Augustinians, 3 automatic labeling, 292–293 auto sacramental El divino Narciso (Sor Juana), 63 Avenue of the Dead (Teotihuacan), 142 (fig. 4.1) Ávila, Alonso de, 249 Axayacatl, 234, 245, 247 Azcapotzalco, 247 Aztec(s): Calendar Stone, 146–148, 165, 261; in Codex Ixtlilxochitl, 34–36 (figs. 1.1–1.2); cosmogony of, 109; Creole affinity with, 28, 31, 52; defined, 359n1; depicted with Roman warriors, 5; European accounts of sacrificial rituals, 222; European beliefs regarding deities, 62; Marinetti reference to nemontemi, 207–208; marriages between nobility and Spaniards, 4; and Mexican nationalism, 231; name glyphs

for rulers, 55–56 (fig. 1.8); and pre-Hispanic cosmopolitanism, 20; Sigüenza’s use of deities of, 60–63; song scrolls in Malinalco murals, 5. See also Tenochtitlan The Aztec Templo Mayor (Serrato-Combe), 267 (figs. 7.23–7.24) Aztlán, 221 Báez Macías, Eduardo, 86 Bagshot Park (Surrey, England), 181 Bahktin, Mikhail, 191 Balbanera Chapel, 87, 93 (fig. 2.11), 98 Balbás, Gerónimo de, 87 Balbuena, Bernardo de, 81–82 ball courts, 225 (fig. 7.3), 241 (fig. 7.10), 244, 248 (fig. 7.12), 262–263 Bargellini, Clara, 5 Barnitz, Jacqueline, 14 Baroque allegory, 29 Baroque architecture/art: derided by neoclassicists, 84–86, 94–96, 147; flammability of wood structures in, 94; Mexican interpretations of, 86–87; modern scholarship on, 100–102; persistence of into nineteenth century, 97–98; triumphal arches, 38, 53 Barragán, Luis, 186, 188 Barrera Rivera, J. Álvaro, 256 (fig. 7.19) Basílica de Guadalupe, 296 Bataille, Georges, 164 Batres, Leopoldo: abuse of power claims against, 162; comparing indigenes and ancient sculptures, 169–171 (fig. 4.10); dislike of Pavilion of Mexico, 115–117; expropriation of lands by, 156–162; Mexico city excavations by, 155–159 (figs. 4.3–4.7), 243, 264–265; preparing sites for exhibition, 155–156; presentation of Teotihuacan project, 163; Pyramid of the Sun excavation, 156–159 (figs. 4.3–4.7) Beaux-Arts design, 268–273 beheaded statue (Nuremberg Map), 236–237 (fig. 7.8) Bénard, Émile, 115, 121 (fig. 3.13), 124 Benjamin, Walter, 1, 29, 57, 212–214 Bermúdez Pimentel, Gregorio Francisco, 97 Bernal, Ignacio, 146 Best Maugard, Adolfo, 197–198 Betancourt, Ernesto, 139 Bhabha, Homi, 9–10, 19, 27, 67, 191, 193

421   ■  Index biomechanical creatures, 195, 212–214 (figs. 6.4–6.5), 216–218 (figs. 6.7–6.8) biopolitics, 276 Birkmire, William H., 129 Bistolfi, Leonardo, 129–130 Blessence, Peter, 60 Blijde Inkomst, 38 Blondel, Camille, 118 Boari, Adamo, 103, 115, 123–127 (figs 3.16–3.17), 128–133, 233, 301 Boas, Franz, 197 Bocanegra, Mathías de, 40 bodies: church as body of Christ, 96; and skin color, 74; state as body of king, 96; universality of white male body, 70; visions of the ideal, 69–70, 77–83. See also casta paintings Body Movies: Relational Architecture 6, 290–300; responses to, 291; shadows and “tickling,” 289 (fig. 8.5), 290; and vulnerability of personal identity, 299 Bologna, Polytechnic of, 123 Bonet Correa, Antonio, 50 Boni, A., 129 Book of the Gods and Rites and the Ancient Calendar (Durán), 147 Boone, Elizabeth Hill, 62, 244 Borromini, Francesco, 86, 191 Bosque de Chapultepec, 122 Boturini, Lorenzo, 149, 155 Bourbon reforms, 83 Bracamonte, Luis Álvarez, 79 Brandt, Edgar, 134 (fig. 3.19) Braudel, Fernand, 14 Brown, Denise Scott, 185 Brown, Jonathan, 5, 326n29 Bryant, William G., 316–317n82 Bucarelli y Ursúa, Antonio María de, 144 “bulbous bodies,” Mexican architecture as, 86 Bullivant, Lucy, 369n34 Bullock, William, 155 Buonarroti, Michelangelo, 191 Burnham, D. H., 123–124 Bustamante, Carlos María, 98, 146–147 Buxó, José Pascual, 39 Caballero, Juan, 99 (fig. 2.12) Cabrera Castro, Rubén, 254

Cacama, 109 CAE (Critical Art Ensemble), 290 El café de nadie (Vela), 200, 204–205 Cajeme, 168 Calderón Peza, Manuel, 224 Calendar Stone, 146–148, 165, 261 Calixtlahuaca, 251, 254, 265, 266 Calleja, Xavier, 139 Calles, Plutarco Elías, 202 Calmecac, 224 (fig. 7.2), 244, 265 Camaxtli, 109 cambujo, 72 Camerarius, Joachim, 61 Cañeque, Alejandro, 96 Capilla de las Ánimas, 263 Capilla Real (Cholula), 4 capital, free flow of, 8 Carandini, Silvia, 40 Cárdenas, Cuauhtémoc, 287–288 Careri, Gemelli, 41 El Carmen, 98 Carrasco, David, 250 Carrillo, Abelardo, 85 caryatids, 40, 52, 109, 117 casta paintings, 60; by Alcíbar, 80–81 (fig. 2.5); and architectural criticism, 96; by Clapera, 72, 74, 76 (fig. 2.4); dating of, 74; emotions of Spanish vs. nonwhites in, 79; as forms of resistance, 74, 77; by Islas, 72–75 (figs. 2.2–2.3); natives in, 151; portraying threats to social stability, 80; similarity of architecture criticism to, 100–102 casta system, 4, 71, 96–98 Castillo de Teayo, 250 castizo, 71 Castro, José Damián Ortiz de, 85 catafalque, 98 cathedrals in Churrigueresque style, 87 Catherwood, Frederick, 149 Catholic church, 3–4, 284 causeways in Tenochtitlan, 247–248 cement, 194 Cempoala, 145, 251, 253–254 (figs. 7.15–7.16), 266 Centennial Exposition (1876), 118 Centeotl, 109 Centro Nacional de las Artes, 139 Centro Nacional Multimedia (CNM), 139–140

422   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Cerda y Aragón, Tomás Antonio de la, 22, 26–27, 32–33, 44, 53, 66 Cerda y Enríquez, Manuel Antonio de la, 21, 48–49, 65–66. See also Teatro de virtudes políticas ceremonial entries, 26–27 Certeau, Michel de, 312–313n26 Cesariano, Cesare, 68, 86 Chac masks/noses, 133–134 (fig. 3.19), 137, 188, 307n19 chalchihuitl, 261 Chalchiuhtlicue, 109 chaos, science of, 16, 309n54 Chapultepec castle, 106, 280 Charles II, 78 Charles III, 83–85, 95, 144 Charles IV, 144 Charles/Carlos V, 38, 55, 62, 221, 235 Charlot, Jean, 152 Charnay, Désiré, 149, 155 Chavero, Alfredo, 147–149 Cheah, Pheng, 12, 20 Chiapas, 172 Chichen Itza, 112, 243, 248 (fig. 7.13), 263, 264 Chichimecas, 61–62, 362n57 childhood stage of civilization, 179 Chimalpopoca, 27, 234 China, 179 Cholula, 4 Churriguera, José Benito, 87, 98, 329–330n69 Cicero, 291 Ciclografía mexicana (Sigüenza), 34 Cihuacoatl temple, 244 El Citlaltépetl (Velasco), 115, 117 (fig. 3.11) city-states, personifications of, 59 “civilizing mission” and neoclassicism, 183 Clapera, Francisco, 72, 74, 76 (fig. 2.4) Clark, Kenneth, 179 Clifford, James, 9–10, 13 Clos, Antonia, 162 clothing: in casta paintings, 80–81 (fig. 2.5); and moral character, 77; native nobles pictured wearing European attire, 57–60 (fig. 1.9); native nobles pictured wearing Roman attire, 62; and racial identity, 82–83; Spanish ideals of masculinity in, 78 Coatlicue, 62, 146, 165 Codex Ixtlilxochitl, 34–35 (fig. 1.1)

Codex Mendoza, 221–223 (fig. 7.1) Codex Ramírez, 257 Coffey, Mary K., 214–215 cofradías, suppression of, 83 colonialism: and “ambivalence of colonial discourse,” 19; colonizer as ventriloquist, 181–182; and cosmopolitanism, 5, 11–12, 19, 31, 303; and fear of “Indian sorcery,” 167–168; and nationalism, 12, 23, 174–177; and racial determinism, 179 Columbian Exposition, 124, 192 Columbus before the Catholic Sovereigns (Cordero), 152 commissioning of writers, 30 commissions, government architectural, 103–104, 107, 115, 119 commodity fetishism, 226 Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture (Venturi), 184–185 Comte, Auguste, 150 Concha, Andrés de, 41 Conde de Paredes (Cerda y Aragón), 22, 26–27, 33, 44, 53 “confluence,” 306n19 Conjunto Hospitalario IMSS (Mexico City), 137–138 (fig. 3.21) Constantini, Arcángel, 299–300 construction materials, importation of, 137 consumer cosmopolitanism, 8–9 Contreras, Cecilia Cortés, 287 Contreras, Jesús, 120–121, 152 Contri, Silvio, 115 “A Contribution to the Study of the Collective Representation of Death” (Hertz), 167 convents, restrictions on, 83 “convergence,” 306n19 Cooper, Anthony Ashley, 79 copying from prints, 5–7 Cordero, Juan, 152 Corps des Ingénieurs, 180 Corral, Ramón, 151, 168 Cortés, Hernán, 60, 62, 227; conquest of Tenochtitlan, 233, 235; descriptions of Tenochtitlan, 62, 221–222, 234–238 (figs. 7.7–7.8), 242, 246–247, 361n38; in mural art, 212–213 (fig. 6.4); Tlaxcaltecan mistress of, 60; torture and execution of Cuauhtemoc, 64, 167–168 Cortez, Luis Gerardo, 286 cosmopolitanism: association with elite

423   ■  Index consumption, 7–9, 14; changing with world power shifts, 303; as communication, 9; critical, 1, 11, 299; defined, 1, 7–8; as field of interactions, 19; global vs. international vs. universal, 13; as habits of thought and feeling, 12; integrating global and local, 2–3, 18–25, 71, 102, 201, 302; linked to colonization, 301; literature on, 7–13; local as opposite of, 8; and primitivist art forms, 209; as a relational term, 12–13; as a set of practices, 9; and taste, 8, 84; through embrace of preHispanic culture, 142–143, 149; vernacular within, 136; and violence, 302 “cosmopolitan patriotism,” 11 cosmopolization of classical and Aztec deities, 60–62 Costalius, Petrus, 64 Covarrubias, Alonso de, 94 Coyoacan, 247 Coyolxauhqui, 62 coyote, 71 Craven, David, 197 Creoles, 4; adopting Aztec symbols, 52; challenging European scholarship, 34; claiming Aztec ancestry, 55, 65; classicizing of art by, 40; desire to share in indigenous histories, 28, 31–32, 141, 144; dualistic attitude toward indigenes, 51, 55, 142; excluded from powerful positions, 32; exploiting natives’ labor, 51–52; marginal to Europeans, dominant at home, 10, 14, 29; as participants in world culture, 14; Philip V decrees to limit influence of, 83; praising indigenous science, 146–149; responding to European Enlightenment, 141 Critical Art Ensemble (CAE), 290 critical cosmopolitanism, 1, 11, 299 critical regionalism, 185, 190 crocodile symbol, 109 Crónica de la Santa Provincia de San Diego (Medina), 41, 43 (fig. 1.4) La cruz y la espada (Ancona), 148–149 Crystal Palace, 126 Cuadriello, Jaime, 31, 57–59 Cuadro histórico . . . (Bustamante), 146–147 Cuauhtemoc: monument to, 114, 116 (fig. 3.10); name of setting sun (eagle that descends), 262; on Pavilion of Mexico, 109; representing Constancy, 27, 63–65; “The Shadow of Cuauhtemoc” poem, 167–168

Cuauhtemoc against the Myth (Siqueiros), 358n82 Cuauhtlehuanitl, 262 Cuauhxicalli, 260 Cubas, García, 155 Cuevas, Emilio, 243 Cuevas, Minerva, 299 Cuitlahuac/Cuitlahuatzin, 27, 63–65, 109 Culhuacan, 237 cultural claims, transnational, 10 cultural fusion in Mexico, 269–270 cultural production, 8–9, 13, 15–16, 192, 195, 207 cultural purity, 368n12 culture as site of travel, 9–10 Cuzco, 4 Cyberlounge (Constantini), 300 cybernetic art, 282 Darwin, Charles, 179 date glyphs, 245 da Vinci, Leonardo, 68, 86 Dean, Carolyn, 325n9, 350n31 Deans-Smith, Susan, 325n8 De barcino y mulata, chino (Clapera), 74 De castizo y española nace español (Islas), 73 (fig. 2.2) De español y negra, mulato (Alcíbar), 80–81 (fig. 2.5) De español y negra nace mulata (Islas), 72, 75 (fig. 2.3) De genízaro y mulato, gíbaro (Clapera), 74, 76 (fig. 2.4) Deleuze, Gilles, 16–18, 67, 70 Demers, Louis Phillippe, 284 De mulato y española morisco (Clapera), 72–74 Denver Art Museum, 15 deportation of Yaquis, 151, 168 Derrida, Jacques, 1, 171 Descent from the Cross (Volterra), 79 Descripción histórica y cronológica . . . (León y Gama), 146 deterritorialization, 285, 287–288 Detroit Industry mural (Rivera), 210, 212 dialectical images, 212–214 Diario de México, 98 Díaz, Porfirio, 125, 131. See also Porfiriato Díaz, Porfirio Jr., 243 Díaz Mimiaga, Manuel, 119

424   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Difference and Repetition (Deleuze), 17 digital art, 140, 201, 227, 284, 299–300. See also Lozano-Hemmer, Rafael Dios de las Semillas, 63 Discourse Networks (Kittler), 195 Discovery of Pulque (Obregón), 112, 152 “discrepant cosmopolitanism,” 9, 13 Dislocation or Intimacy (Goldberg), 284 Displaced Emperors (Lozano-Hemmer), 278–281 (figs. 8.2–8.4), 299 Dominicans, 3 Doña Marina (Paz), 148 Don Carlos. See Sigüenza y Góngora, Carlos de Dondé, Emilio, 124 Don Tomás Antonio, 22, 26–27, 32–33, 44, 53, 66 d’Orléans, María Luisa, 87 Dos Passos, John, 200 drunkenness in New Spain, 83 Dubois, Paul, 232 Duchamp, Marcel, 38 Dupaix, Guillermo, 144, 149 duplicity, 219, 303 Durán, Diego de: on ball courts, 262; Book of the Gods . . . , 147; designing Church of Santa Prisca, 99 (fig. 2.12); reconciling American and European histories, 51, 57; on skull racks, 263; on Temple of Tezcatlipoca, 257; on Temple of the Sun, 260–261; on Temple of Xipe, 260–261; on Templo Mayor and precinct, 234, 246, 249, 257, 262, 361n31 Durand, Regis, 297 Dussel, Enrique, 11 dwelling through travel, 9–10 Eagles, House of the, 258–259 (fig. 7.21) earth symbol, 109 Easterling, Keller, 298–299 Echeverría, Luis, 295 eclectic architecture, 173–175, 181–186, 188, 190–192 École des Beaux-Arts, 232, 269 École des Ponts et Chaussés, 180 Education of a Christian Prince (Erasmus), 38 Eggener, Keith, 352n62 Egyptians, Toltec resemblance to, 50 Ehecatl, 251, 254 Ehecatl-Quetzalcoatl, 251, 255

Electric War (Marinetti), 207 Elizabeth I, 191 Emblemas morales (Horozco y Covarrubias), 61 emotions in paintings, 78–79 empires homogenizing differences, 3 encomenderos/encomiendas, 52, 165 Enfermedades politicas . . . (Villarroel), 96–97 engineering, 180 engravings as source for art, 41 Enseñanza, La (Mexico City), 101 (fig. 2.13) entalladores (carvers), 44 ephemeral arches. See triumphal arches epidemics from colonization, 3 epistemic violence, 1, 13, 210, 302–303 Erasmus, Desiderius, 38 Espace Vectoriel (Demers & Vorn), 284 Esquina (List Arzúbide), 207 estípites, 86–87, 91, 93 (fig. 2.11), 100, 329–330n69 Estrada de Balmori, Elma, 243 estridentismo: attitude toward women, 208, 214–215; and cinema, 356n46; and “efficient agents,” 202; end of, 200; and futurism, 196, 198–199, 206–208; images of, 201–206; literature of, 195–196, 198–200, 206–207; and local culture, 198, 201, 207; and modern technology, 202–208, 215–220; murals, 214–219 (figs. 6.6–6.8); novel language use by, 355n39 ethnic fusion in Mexico, 269–270 Europe: assumed supremacy of, 178–179; extent of colonial expansion, 181; gachupines, 4; mixtures with non-European art, 5, 37; as only source of pure art, 181; triumphal arches in, 37–38; as universal culture, 301 L’Ève future (Villiers de l’Isle-Adam), 206 excavations in Mexico City: confirming aspects of Marquina’s plan, 249–250, 263, 266; by Gamio, 249; of Metropolitan Cathedral, 261; twentieth century, 243 exile from conscious awareness, 164 expression of emotions in paintings, 78–79 eyebrows in drawings, 242 Fabrés, Antonio, 131 Fábrica de Tabacos, 85 Fagiolo Dell’Arco, Maurizio, 40 feather painting, 5

425   ■  Index Ferdinand VI, 83 Fernández, Justino, 85, 176 Fernández, Martha, 102 Fiorenzo, Gianetti, 129–131 (fig. 3.18) fire symbol, 109 fixing of Great Temple of Tenochtitlan, 226 Florentine Codex, 109 Flores, Tatiana, 209 Florimond, Joseph, 163 The Fold (Deleuze), 17 Folgarait, Leonard, 219 Fontaine, Michael, 320n111 Forbes magazine, 138 force field, cosmopolitan, 12 Forjando patria (Gamio), 269 Fortín del Dios del Aire (God of the Wind), 251, 253–254 (figs. 7.15–7.16) Foucault, Michel, 187, 305n3 Fox, Vicente, 295 Frampton, Kenneth, 185–190, 352n62 France: architectural design of, 268; losing influence in Mexico, 163; in Portrait of the Bourgeoisie, 217–218 (figs. 6.7–6.8); rule in Mexico, 117, 119–120; Universal Exhibition (1878), 118; Universal Exposition (1867), 119–120 (fig. 3.12) Franciscans: arrival of in Mexico, 3; monastery at Cholula, 4; monastery at Tlahuelilpa, 5 Frankfurt School, 185 Fray Bartolomé de las Casas (Parra), 152–154 (fig. 4.2) fresco cycles, 5 Friedman, Alice T., 190–191 Fry, Tony, 186 Fujihata, Masaki, 284 funerary monuments, 41 futurism, 198–199, 206–208, 210 gachupines, 4 Gage, Thomas, 82 Gallardo, Salvador, 208 Gallo, Rubén, 194–195, 201 Gamio, Manuel: on developing a national identity, 176, 197, 269–270; excavations of temple precinct, 232, 243, 246–247, 249; Forjando patria, 269–270; influence on Marquina, 270; professional career of, 366–367n147 García Barragán, Alisa, 152

García Izcabalceta, Joaquín, 32 García Payón, José, 253 (fig. 7.15) Garcidueñas, José Rojas, 66 Gargollo y Parra, Manuel, 175 Garita, Gonzalo, 115, 123 Garnier, Charles, 125 Garza de González, Silvia, 242 Gasdq, Paul, 133 Gelernter, Mark, 190 gender instability, 79–80 Germany, 129, 217–218 (fig. 6.8) Ghost Dance Cult, 49 ghosts of indigenous peoples, 164–172 (fig. 4.10) Gideon, Sigfried, 183 Gil, Jerónimo Antonio, 84 Giocondo, Giovani, 68, 86 Giorgi, Francesco, 68 global, defined, 20–21 globalization: in art, 299–300; as communicational concept, 3; and cosmopolitanism, 7; defined, 307n21; global vs. international vs. universal, 13; sacrificing archaeological sites for, 172 Glorias de Querétaro (Sigüenza), 30, 34 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 178 Goldberg, Ken, 284 Gombrich, Ernst, 48, 177–179 Gómez Peña, Guillermo, 353n2 Gonzalbo, Escalante, 59–60 González de León, Teodoro, 139, 287 González Gortázar, Fernando, 288 González Rul, Manuel, 137 Gorostiza, José, 132 Gorozpe, Manuel, 125 Gramophone, Film, Typewriter (Kittler), 195 Granada, Spain, 87 Grandeza mexicana (Balbuena), 81–82 Great Britain, 217–218 (figs. 6.7–6.8) Great Glass (Duchamp), 38 Greek civilization: architectural style of, 68, 84; belief in uniqueness of, 179; Chavero challenging supremacy of, 147–148; considered superior to Rome, 180; and German nationalism, 178; ideals of masculinity from, 78–79, 324n4; New World peoples compared to, 80, 179; plastic art replicas of, 20; and triumphal arches, 27, 37–38, 40, 49; as universal and local, 22, 31, 178, 183, 302

426   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Gropius, Walter, 183 Grosz, Elizabeth, 70, 276 Gruzinski, Serge, 15–16 Gualdi, Pedro, 124 Guanajuato, 98 Guarini, Guarino, 86, 191 Guattari, Felix, 17, 67 Güemes Padilla Horcasitas y Aguayo, Juan Vicente de, 144 Guerrero, 172 Guerrero y Torres, Francisco, 101–102 (fig. 2.13) Gulf Coast, 236 (fig. 7.7) Gussinyer, Jordi, 254, 263, 265 gypsies, castas compared to, 96–97 Haber, Stephen H., 202 Habsburg Castle (Linz), 279–281 hacendados, 151, 168 Haidt, Rebecca, 77, 79–80 Hall, Stuart, 191 Hannerz, Ulf, 9 Haraway, Donna, 219 Hardoy, George, 230 Harlem Renaissance art, 15 Hayles, Katherine, 191–192 Hebrew origins of Native Americans, 50–51 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 178, 184 Herculaneum excavation, 84, 144, 147, 180 Herder, Johann Gottfried Herder, 178 Hermant, Jacques, 192 Hernández, Agustín, 137 Hernández, Fortunato, 168–171 Herner de Larrea, Irene, 194, 210–212 heroic masculinity, 78 Heróico Colegio Militar, 137 Herrera, Juan de, 94 Hertz, Robert, 167 heterotopia, 187 Hidalga, Lorenzo de la, 123 hidalgo, 85 hieroglyph(s), 28–29, 55–57 (fig. 1.8) Hinojosa, Francisco, 256 (fig. 7.19) Hippocrates, 179 Historia antigua y de la conquista (Durán), 147 history and theory, 19 History of the Art of Antiquity (Winckelmann), 178 Hitchcock, Henri Russell, 184

Hitler, Adolf, 281 homotopia, 187 Horizonte magazine, 200 Horozco y Covarrubias, Juan de, 61 Hospital Complex IMSS (Mexico City), 137–138 (fig. 3.21) Hotel Princess (Acapulco), 137 House of the Eagles, 258–259 (fig. 7.21) Huatusco, 243 Huehueteotl, 109 Huitzilihuitl, 27, 234 Huitzilopochtli, 262; burial offering to, 166; depicted as Faith, 27, 60–63, 67; feasts to, 262; guiding Mexica to Tenochtitlan, 221; List Arzúbide book dedication to, 207; Temple of, 233–234, 241, 244, 249–250, 262 Hulbert, Lawrence, 358n85 human “joint kinship with animals and machines,” 219 human sacrifice, 62–63, 145, 222, 260 Humboldt, Alexander von, 144, 149 Hume, David, 179 hybridity, 348–349n6; in architecture, 174, 179, 183, 185, 190; in artistic styles, 179; Bhabha on, 10; embracing messiness, 185; focusing on surface effects, 350n31; and mélanges, 15–16; producing monsters, 80; Spain’s, 193 “hyperconformity of difference,” 186 Ibarrola, José Ramón, 118 Iberoamerican Exposition (1929), 271–273 (figs. 7.25–7.27) identity as multiple and contradictory, 28. See also national identity Iglesia Mayor, Mexico City, 222 Ilich, Fran, 299 The Image and The Eye (Gombrich), 48 Images of Rape (Wolfthal), 154 imagination: necessary for understanding image, 48; and transformation, 196 “impure ethical struggles,” 299 INAH: 1933 excavation by Cuevas, 243; 1978–1982 Matos Moctezuma excavations, 245–246 (fig. 7.11), 249–250; 1991 plan, 227, 255 (fig. 7.18), 258 (fig. 7.21), 263; 1999 model, 231 India, 179 Indian College of Santa Cruz, Tlatelolco, 238

427   ■  Index The Indian Potter (Laso), 14 “Indian problem,” 150 “Indians,” use of term, 21 indígenas, use of term, 21 indigenes: artistic representations of, 152–154; as disposables, 165; elite repulsion and attraction toward, 165, 302; expropriation of lands from, 156, 159, 161–162; fear of reawakening their memories, 165–166; as ghosts/sorcerers, 164–171; internal deportation, military assaults on, 151; New Spain building atop indigenous structures, 3, 222; New Spain depicted as a noble woman, 59; population loss from colonization, 3; as soldiers, 169 El Indio Triste, 247 industrialization of Mexico, 150, 163, 165 Instituto Cultural Cabañas, 212 “international,” defined, 21 International Exposition (1900). See Universal Exposition (1900) internationalism, 7–8, 28, 71, 87, 98, 172, 287–288 The International Style (Hitchcock & Johnson), 184 International Team of Plastic Artists, 216 international vs. global vs. universal, 13 Internet, use of in art, 282–283 (fig. 8.4), 285, 300 iron use in buildings, 107–108, 112 Irradiador, 200 Islas, Andrés de, 72–75 (figs. 2.2–2.3) isolation and modernity, 202–203, 226, 355n40 isolationism, 179 Italy: futurism in, 196, 203–204, 206–209, 220; in Portrait of the Bourgeoisie, 218 (fig.6.8); Renaissance in, 191 Iturbide I, Agustín de, 105, 145 Itzcoatl, 27, 56 (fig. 1.8), 109, 234, 245 Ixmiquilpan, 5 Ixtapalapa, 247 Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando da Alva, 34–37, 51 Izenour, Steven, 185 Iztaccíhuatl, 130 James, Henry, 177, 192 Jameson, Frederic, 3 Japan, in Portrait of the Bourgeoisie, 217–218 (fig. 6.8)

Jara, Heriberto, 200 Jardines del Pedregal, 186 Jesus Christ, 69, 79 Jiménez, Francisco, 114–116 (fig. 3.10), 152, 155 Johns, Michael, 176–177, 192 Johnson, Phillip, 184 Jolly, Jennifer, 194, 216, 358n85 Jonas, Joan, 300 Jones, Inigo, 191 Joufroy, Théodore, 181–182 Joyeuse Entrée, 38 Juana (Sor), 63 Juárez, Luis, 39 Kahn, Douglas, 196 Kalach Kichik, Alberto, 287 Kant, Immanuel, 7–9 Katzew, Ilona, 74, 80, 83, 325n8 Katzman, Israel, 107 Khlebnikov, Velimir, 204 Kidney, Walter C., 185, 191 kings, beliefs regarding, 26, 55, 69, 96 Kino, Eusebio, 33 Kircher, Athanasius, 57 Kittler, Friedrich, 195 Klein, Cecelia, 241 Klich, Lynda, 201, 202 Knowbotic Research, 284 Kozloff, Max, 212 Krueger, Myron, 277 Kubler, George, 177–178, 306–307n19, 350n31 Lacan, Jacques, 171 Lafragua, José María, 148 Lam, Wifredo, 15 Landa, Manuel de, 18 landowners, 52, 165, 168 Lang, Fritz, 214 Las Casas, Bartolomé de, 51, 152–154 (fig. 4.2) Laso, Francisco, 14 Latin, vernacularization of, 9 Leal, Fernando, 209 Leal, Luis, 201 Learning from Las Vegas (Venturi, Brown, Izenour), 185 Le Corbusier, 183 Lefaivre, Liane, 185 Legislative Palace, 121–122 (fig. 3.13), 125, 175

428   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Legorreta, Ricardo, 139 Leibniz, G. W., 17 Lelo de Larrea, Luis, 117 Leonard, Irving, 39 León y Gama, Antonio de, 146–148, 165 The Liberated Earth with Natural Forces Controlled by Man (Rivera), 210 Libra astronómica y filosófica (Sigüenza), 33–34 Liebsohn, Dana, 325n9, 350n31 Lienzo de Tlaxcala, 57, 60 Light on the Net Project (Fujihata), 284 limpieza de sangre (purity of blood), 74 linear time, rejection of, 17–18 Linz Castle, 278–279 (fig. 8.2) List Arzúbide, Germán, 207–208, 215, 220 lobo, 71 local: elevated as universal, 22, 27, 31, 50; and negotiation with global, 2, 301; as opposite of cosmopolitanism, 8; preservation of indigenous noble histories, 60; vernacularizing the international, 40 López Baz, Alfonso, 139 López de Azcona, Marcelo, 40 López Luján, Leonardo: House of the Eagles excavation, 258–259 (fig. 7.21); Templo Mayor building stages per, 245–246 (fig. 7.11), 249–250, 262; Templo Mayor excavation, 249–250 López Portillo y Rojas, José, 118 Lorenzana, Francisco Antonio de, 144 Lotman, Yuri, 191 Loubat, Duke of (Joseph Florimond), 163 Löwy, Emmanuel, 179 Lozano-Hemmer, Rafael, 276–300, 292–293; Body Movies, 289–292 (fig. 8.5); on the “connective,” 289; on Diego Rivera, 281; Displaced Emperors, 278–281 (figs. 8.2–8.4); on globalization, 291; 100 Million Mexicos, 282, 294; personal and professional background, 276–277; Under Scan, 294–295 (figs. 8.7–8.8); Subtitled Public, 292–293 (fig. 8.6); The Trace, 277–278; Voz Alta, 296–299 (fig. 8.9). See also Vectorial Elevation machines, 199, 210–219 (figs. 6.3–6.8). See also biomechanical creatures Macuilxochitl-Xochipilli, 241, 259 Mafarka, the Futurist (Marinetti), 207 Majluf, Natalia, 14, 325n8

Making a Homeland (Gamio), 269 Malinalco, 5, 243, 251 Malinche, 60 La Malinche (Vilar), 152 Man Controller of the Universe (Rivera), 210–211 (fig. 6.3) Manero, Vicente, 106 Mangino, José, 84 Mann, Steve, 290 Manrique, Jorge Alberto, 100–102 Maples Arce, Manuel, 198–200 (fig. 6.1), 202–203, 207–208 “marginal cosmopolitans,” 14 Marinetti, F. T., 199, 204, 206, 207 Mariscal, Federico, 103, 132, 233 Mariscal, Nicolás, 132, 175 Maróti, Geza, 129–130 Marqueste, Laurent Honoré, 133 Marquina, Ignacio: at Academia Nacional de Bellas Artes, 232–233; Arquitectura prehispánica, 265, 363n82; competition drawing for Pavilion of Mexico (1929), 271, 273 (fig. 7.26); construction phases by rulers, 245; on destruction of Tenochtitlan, 231; personal and professional background, 232–233; El Templo Mayor, 271. See also Templo Mayor reconstruction plans (Marquina) Marquina, Susana, 244, 271 marriage between races, 4, 150, 341n37. See also casta paintings; casta system Martínez, María Elena, 74 Martínez de Velasco, Juan, 136 (fig. 3.20) Los mártires del Anáhuac (Ancona), 148 Marvin, Carolyn, 129 Marx, Karl, 226 Mary, proper emotions of in paintings, 79 máscaras, 319n107 mascarones, 112 masculinity, changing ideals of, 77–81 Masnata, Pino, 204 Massumi, Brian, 276 Matos Moctezuma, Eduardo, 222, 245, 256 (fig. 7.19), 258 (fig. 7.21), 265 Mattelart, Armand, 3 Maximilian of Habsburg, 106, 117, 145, 280 Maza, Francisco de la, 86, 87 Mazzucotelli, Alessandro, 130 media and cosmopolitanism, 10, 12 Medina, Baltasar de, 41, 43 (fig. 1.4)

429   ■  Index Medina Miranda, Efrén, 224 mélange, 15 Mengs, Anton Rafael, 84 mercantilism: cosmopolitanism and nationalism resulting from, 12; and new ideal of masculinity, 77–78, 81; and New Spain, 82; and purity of blood, 74 Mercer, Kobena, 13–14 Mercury, 59–61 mestizaje, 15, 21, 74, 197, 325n9 “mestizo” art, 350n31 “mestizo” casta, 71 The Mestizo Mind (Gruzinski), 15–16, 18 Método de dibujo (Maugard), 198 Metropolis (Lang), 214 Metropolitan Cathedral, 85, 222, 261, 283–284, 288 Mexican Baroque style, 29, 53 Mexican/Latin American art: attractors in, 16; cosmopolitanism in contemporary studies of, 14; labeled as traditional, 8; as negotiation between local and global, 2, 7; treated as marginal, 14 Mexican Union of Electricians, 216 Mexicas: Aztec histories on, 221; defined, 359n1; early history of Tenochtitlan, 221, 233–234; incorporating effigies of conquered gods, 234; and Tlatelolco, 362n57; use of pictorial emblems for rulers, 55–56 (fig. 1.8). See also Aztecs; Tenochtitlan Mexico: culture of during wars of the revolution, 196–197; European loans to, 118–119; foreign-owned industries, 118; identifications with Europe, United States, Aztec Empire, 103; independence, 103; Mexican-American War, 118; middle class and cultural fusion, 269–270; national architectural style of, 108, 115, 145, 176–177; nineteenth-century wars and empires of, 105–106; as postcolonial state, 12; racial mixing as different from Spain, 77; regionalism in, 118–119, 269; revolution, 196–197; technology and modernity in, 194–195, 201. See also industrialization of Mexico Mexico City: Amerindian art in, 4; building codes in, 139; as mechanical megalopolis, 220; pictured as an indigenous woman, 59; racially mixed population in, 72; “richest city under the sun,” 82 Meyers, David, 320n111

Mictlantecuhtli, 259 middle class and cultural fusion, 269–270 Middleton, Robin, 350n36 Mier, Sebastián B. de, 122, 131, 176 Mier, Servando Teresa de, 98 Mignolo, Walter, 1, 11, 18, 20 migrant perspective, 13–14 Mill, John Stuart, 8 Mille Plateaux (Deleuze & Guattari), 17 Milliken Brothers, 129 Milo, Daniel, 214 Minc, Alain, 277 minor literatures, 67 “misrepresentations” of objective reality, 226 Mitchell, Timothy, 226 Mitla, 155 mitotes dances, 49 Mixtec genealogical codices, 242 Mizraim, 50 Moctezuma I/Moctezuma Ilhuicamina, 27, 234, 245, 265 Moctezuma II/Moctezuma Xocoyotzin: headdress of, 280; imprisonment of, 63; Mexica depiction of, 55; paintings of, 34, 36 (fig 1.2), 57–58 (fig. 1.9), 60; representing Magnanimity, 27 modern art, 14–15, 209, 302–303 modernism: claimed universality of, 184; criticism of, 186; and “Indian problem,” 150–151; multiple forms of, 13 modernity: comparative studies of, 23–24; defined, 14; Europe and, 184; Mercer on, 14; of Mexico, 85, 103–107, 115–117 (fig. 3.11), 163, 176, 194–195; Mignolo on, 11; technology and, 23–24; van de Veer on, 12; West and, 192. See also estridentismo; National Theater of Mexico/Palacio de Bellas Artes Moedano Koer, Hugo, 243 Molina, Olegario, 151 Molina Enríquez, Andrés, 197 momoztli, 241 monad, 17 Monsiváis, Carlos, 295 monsters, 79–80 Monte Albán, 140 Montenegro, Roberto, 203 Monteverde, Francisco, 167 Montiel Bonilla, Alejandro, 312n22

430   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Monumento a la Raza (Lelo de Larrea), 117 Monument to Cuauhtemoc (Noreña & Jiménez), 114, 116 (fig. 3.10), 152 Monument to Cuauhtemoc (Obregón Santacilia & Tarditi), 271 Monument to the Revolution (Obregón Santacilia), 296; Voz Alta (LozanoHemmer), 296 Moral, Enrique del, 135 More, Anna, 29 More, Thomas, 235 morisco, 71 Morris, William, 183 Mosquera, Gerardo, 14–15 Motecuhzoma (Vilar), 152 Motolinía, Toribio, 251 El movimiento estridentista (List Arzúbide), 200, 207–208, 220 mulato, 71 Mundy, Barbara, 237 muralism, 197–198, 210 Museo de Antropología, 137, 188–189 (figs. 5.3–5.4), 231 Museo del Ejército, 117 Museo del Templo Mayor, 222. See also temple precinct of Tenochtitlan Museo Nacional, 145 Museo Nacional de Artillería, 117 Museo Nacional de Historia, 280 NAFTA, 138 Nalbantouğlu, Gülsum Baydar, 173–174 Napoleon III, 119–120 “nascent patriotism” of Creoles, 29–30 Nash, John, 181–182 (fig. 5.2) national identity: with both Europe/United States and Aztecs, 103; and Centenary of Independence presentation, 162–163; eclecticism as search for, 176; erosion of, 299; Gamio on, 269; how to represent in art, 197; Mexican eclectic architecture and, 176; pride in Aztec history, 231 nationalism: and architectural style, 174, 271; estridentista opposition to, 207; and identity formation, 103; relationship of to cosmopolitanism, 2, 8, 11–12; resilience of, 286; and the state, 11–12 National Palace, 284 National Romanticism, 187 National Theater of Mexico/Palacio de

Bellas Artes, 103, 105 (fig. 3.2), 121–135 (fig. 3.16); change of name and purpose of, 132–133; commissioning of, 121–124; confusion over style of, 122–123, 127–128 (fig. 3.17); criticism of, 175–176; electricity and hydraulics in, 128–129; legacy of, 135; for local, cosmopolitan upper class, 134; materials used in, 128–130; modernizing architectural forms, 128, 301–302; multifunctionality of, 125–126 (fig. 3.16); Rivera mural, 210–211 (fig. 6.3); sculptors commissioned for, 129–130; in Western European tradition, 131–132, 301 “Native Mexican,” use of term, 21 nature, human mastery of, 211–212 nemontemi, 208 neoclassicism: in architecture, 71, 97, 107–108, 180–183; and the body, 70–71; and “civilizing mission,” 183; claimed universality of, 184; and indigenous antiquity, 144; Legislative Palace, 121–122 (fig. 3.13); in Mexico, 85–86, 102; privileged position of, 182 “Neo-Grecian” style, 122 neo-mudéjar, 173, 175 (fig. 5.1), 192–193 Neóstilo, 100–102 Neptune, 50 Netzula (Lafragua), 148 New Houses of Moctezuma, 147 New Orleans Exposition (1884–1885), 118 New Spain: Balbuena’s praise for, 81–82; building atop indigenous structures, 3, 222; Cerda y Aragón, Tomás Antonio de la, 22, 26–27, 32–33, 44, 53, 66; Cerda y Enríquez, Manuel Antonio de la, 21, 48–49, 65–66; described as corrupt and dissolute, 83; dissemination of prints in, 5; as marginal space, 10–11; myths for internal stability, 26; as union of two republics, 3–4 New Wave cinema, 17 Nezahualcoyotl, 109 Nezahualpilli (Codex Ixtlilxochitl), 35 (fig. 1.1), 61 Nicholson, H. B., 62, 250 nobility and racial purity, 74 Noche Triste (Sad Night), 63, 233 “nomadology,” 17 “non-Western art,” labeling of Mexican art as, 2

431   ■  Index nopal symbol, 59, 221 Nora, Simon, 277 Noreña, Miguel, 114, 116 (fig. 3.10), 152 Noriega, José, 173, 175 (fig. 5.1) Noriega Hope, Carlos, 200 Norten y Bernardo Gómez-Pimienta, Enrique, 139 no te entiendo, 72 Novo, Salvador, 204 Nuevo Templo Parroquial de Matehuala, 124 Núñez, Senobio, 161–162 Nunnery building (Chichen Itza), 112 Nuremberg plan, 235–237 (figs. 7.7–7.8), 242, 246, 361n38 Nuremberg rally (1935), 284 Nussbaum, Martha, 308n39 Oaxaca, 145 objects, 214, 308–309n53 Obras históricas (Ixtlilxochitl), 37 Obregón, José, 112, 152, 196–197, 202 Obregón Santacilia, Carlos, 122, 232–233, 271, 296 O’Gorman, Juan, 135–136 (fig. 3.20) oil pipelines and cosmopolitanism, 10 Olmedo Vera, Bertina, 241 Olmos, Andrés de, 51 100 Million Mexicos (Lozano-Hemmer), 282, 294 open chapel architecture, 4–5 Opera in Paris (Garnier), 125 originality, European valorization of, 5–7 Orléans, María Luisa d’, 41 ornament in Mexican architecture, 87–90 (figs. 2.7–2.9) Orozco, Gabriel, 299 Orozco, José Clemente, 198, 212–215 (figs. 6.4–6.6) Orozco y Berra, Manuel, 257 Ortega, Félix, 162 Osorio, Nelson, 220 outside, in architecture, 70 Pacheco, Carlos, 108–109 Paestum ruins, 180 Pagden, Anthony, 28 Paik, Nam June, 299–300 Palacio de Bellas Artes. See National Theater of Mexico/Palacio de Bellas Artes

Palacio de Minería, 85 Palacio Quemado (Tula), 259 Pani, Alberto, 132 Pani, Mario, 135 Panquetzalitztli, 262 Parayso occidental (Sigüenza), 34 parochialism as opposite of cosmopolitanism, 8 Parra, Félix, 152–154 (fig. 4.2) “passports” requested of Latin American art, 15 patriotism: as antithesis of cosmopolitanism, 8; estridentista opposition to, 207; local, 30; and morality, 11; and universalism, 10 Pavilion of Mexico. See Universal Expositions Paxton, Joseph, 114, 126 Paz, Ireneo, 148 Paz, Octavio, 38 Pegma, cum narrationibus philosophicis (Costalius), 64 Peñafiel, Antonio, 108–115 (figs. 3.9, 8.1–8.5, 8.7, 8.8), 119–121, 148 Pérez Esquivel, Luis, 282 “perpetual emotion machines,” 356n46 “Perpetual Peace” (Kant), 7–8 Pesqueira, Ignacio, 168 petimetres (fops), 79–80 Pevsner, Nikolaus, 183–184 Pez, Andrés de, 51 Peza, Juan de Dios, 167–168 Philadelphia Museum of Art, 15 Philip IV, 78 Philip V, 83 Philippines, 4 Philosophy of History (Hegel), 178 phonostereocinematograph, 128 Picasso, Pablo, 198 Pimentel, Francisco, 151–152 place, significance of, 141 Plato, 64–65 Plaza de la Constitución. See Zócalo El Pocito, 98, 102 Poemas interdictos (Maples Arce), 200 poets and texts for triumphal arches, 39 police, 150, 156, 160 (figs. 4.8–4.9) political cosmopolitanism, 9 Political Economy (Mill), 8 Pollock, Sheldon, 9, 13

432   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Pomar, Juan de, 34 Pompeii excavation, 84, 144, 180 Ponz, Antonio, 94–95 Popocatépetl, 130 population loss from colonization, 3 Porfiriato: centenary exhibition of archaeological sites, 155, 162–163; Díaz triumphal arches, 121; glorification of pre-Hispanic Mexico, 142, 145; government commissions, 103–106; industrialization of Mexico during, 106, 149–150; international financial connections, 118–119; national style during, 106, 108 Porphyrios, Demitri, 187–190 Portrait of Detroit mural (Rivera), 210 Portrait of the Bourgeoisie (Siqueiros), 215–219 (figs. 6.7–6.8), 299 posa chapels, 5–6f Posada, Ramón, 85 postmodernism, 185 powdered hair, 72–73 (fig. 2.2) power relations, 16–19 pre-Hispanic antiquity in European thought, 119–120, 148–149 Prigogine, Ilya, 17 Primavera indiana (Sigüenza), 34 Primeros memoriales (Sahagún), 239–240 (figs. 7.9–7.10); Marquina’s use of, 235, 246–247, 250, 261, 263, 265; mixture of pictorial conventions in, 241–242; native artists for, 238; Seler study of, 261–262 “primeval autochthonous,” vernacular as, 9 primitivism unified with invention and artifice, 210–211 prints: as agents of cultural diffusion, 5; copying from, 5–7; as cosmopolitanism detached from travel, 20 Puerta del Sol (Madrid), 87 Pugin, A. W., 181 Pyramid of the Moon, 155 Pyramid of the Sun, 155–159 (figs. 4.3–4.7), 167 pyramid profiles, 365n121 Querol, Agustín, 129–130 Quetzal-Butterfly palace, 109 Quetzalcoatl: as name or title, 250; as Saint Thomas, 57; Temple of, 244, 250–256 (figs. 7.14–7.21) Quetzalcoatl (Chavero), 148

Quiñones Keber, Eloise, 250 race(s): and class, 74; as constructed difference between New and Old Worlds, 77; and determinism, 179; as distinct and isolated, 179; mestizaje, 15, 21, 74, 197, 325n9. See also casta paintings; Creoles; indigenes La Radia (Marinetti & Masnata), 204 Radio (Taniya), 203, 205 (fig. 6.2) Radio of the Future (Khlebnikov), 204 radio/television, 10, 12, 201–206 railroads in art, 117 (fig. 3.11) Ramirez, José Fernando, 149 Ramírez Vázquez, Pedro, 137, 188–189 (figs. 5.3–5.4) RCA Building mural (Rivera), 210–212 Real Academia de San Fernando, 84 referents, surplus of, 1 Reflections on Painting and Sculpture of the Ancient Greek (Winckelmann), 178 “reflexive history,” 179 La Reforma, 106 La reina Xochitl (Chavero), 149 relational architecture, 277–278, 294–299 (figs. 8.1–8.5, 8.7–8.9) Renau, Josep, 216, 219, 299, 358n85 replicas of ancient art, 20 Re:Positioning Fear (Lozano-Hemmer), 282, 293 “republic of the Indians,” 3 Responsive Environments (Bullivant), 369n34 retablos, 41, 44–45 (fig. 1.5), 87, 285–286 Retort, 356n46 revivalism, 181, 185 Revueltas, Fermín, 209 Reyes, Sebero, 159–161 Reyes, Vicente, 108–113 (figs. 3.7–3.8) Rhetorica christiana (Valadés), 62 Ricoeur, Paul, 185 Riegl, Alois, 179 Rincón, Antonio del, 148 Ritvo, Harriet, 80 Rivas Mercado, Antonio, 125, 173, 175 (fig. 5.1), 232–233 Rivera, Diego, 135, 137, 198, 209–212 (fig. 6.3), 284 Robbins, Bruce, 12, 20 Rocha, Xavier Cortés, 139 Rodríguez, Abelardo, 133

433   ■  Index Rodríguez, Antonio, 34 Rodríguez, José, 34, 59 Rodríguez, Lorenzo, 86, 87, 92 (fig. 2.10) Rodríguez Prampolini, Ida, 152 Roisin, Maxime, 115, 121 (fig. 3.13) Rojas, Juan Fernández de, 79 Roman civilization: architectural styles from, 4, 180, 191; Aztec Empire compared to, 62; concept of architecture based on human body, 68; excavations of, 84; ideals of masculinity from, 78–80; influencing views of slavery, 98–100; on Ixmiquilpan murals, 5; New World peoples compared to, 80; and triumphal arches, 27, 37–38, 40; as universal and local, 22, 31, 302 “rooted cosmopolitanism,” 11 Rosario Chapel, 87–90 (figs. 2.6–2.8) Rosenberg, Albert, 129 Rosenbleuth, Arturo, 282 Ross, Kathleen, 29 Royal Pavilion (Brighton, England), 181–182 (fig. 5.2) Rufino Tamayo Museum, 300 Rugendas, Moritz, 155 Ruiz de Alarcón, Hernando, 166 Ruíz Gomar, Rogelio, 34–37 rural as cosmopolitan, 8 rurales (rural police), 150 Ruskin, John, 181 Ruso, Pedro Elías, 224 Russian futurism, 24, 204 Saavedra, Gustavo, 136 (fig. 3.20) Sagrario Metropolitano, 92 (fig. 2.10) Sahagún, Bernardino de: arrival in Mexico, 238; on ball court, 262; Primeros memoriales plan, 238–242 (figs. 7.9–7.10); recording testimonies of natives, 238; as source for later architects, 120, 235; on Temple of Yopico and Yopico Calmecac, 261; temple precinct of Tenochtitlan, 227, 238–242 (figs. 7.9–7.10), 244, 246 Saint Thomas, 57 Sala de Arte Público Siqueiros, 292 (fig. 8.6) Salazar, Cervantes de, 257 Salazar, Luis, 108–113 (figs. 3.7–3.8), 119, 121, 132, 175 Salinas de Gortari, Carlos, 138–140 Sánchez Solís, Felipe, 112 San Francisco de Acatepec, 87

San Francisco Javier church, 98 San Luis Potosí, 98 San Miguel, Huejotzingo, 5–6f Sanskrit, vernacularization of, 9 Santa Cecilia Acatitlán, 250 Santa María de Tonatzintla, 87, 91 (fig. 2.9), 329n66 Santa Prisca church, 98–99 (fig. 2.12), 100 Santo Domingo, Church of (Puebla), 87–90 (figs. 2.7–2.9), 98 Santos-Campiñas Railroad, 123 Santuario de la Virgen del Carmen, 124 Savia Moderna (Ateneo de la Juventad), 197 Savorgan, Pedro, 235 scaffolds, use of, 38 Schiller, Friedrich, 178 Schneider, Luis Mario, 201 Schreffler, Michael, 29–31 “scientific nationalism,” 146 screens on building façades, 291 sculptors’ guilds, 44 Second Life, 196 seeing as political act, 154 Seler, Eduard, 109, 238, 240–241 (fig. 7.10), 261–262 La Señorita. Etcétera (Vela), 200, 205–206, 214 sentiment vs. ideology, 11–12 Sermon, Paul, 277 Serrato-Combe, Antonio, 267 (figs. 7.23–7.24) Seville, Spain, 87 “The Shadow of Cuauhtemoc” (Peza), 167–168 shadows, 289 (fig. 8.5), 290, 293–294 Shapiro, Meyer, 177–178 Sierra, Justo, 149, 163 Sigüenza, Cayetano de, 99 (fig. 2.12) Sigüenza y Góngora, Carlos de: account of public revolt, 166–167; ambivalence regarding indigenous battle prowess, 63–64; as authority on pre-Hispanic Mexican history, 34; building of triumphal arch, 26–27, 30–31; exhibiting Mexican and Spanish patriotism, 30; expulsion from Jesuit order, 33, 34; family background of, 33; Glorias de Querétaro, 30; indigenous archives of, 34; learning of indigenous languages, 34; opinions toward contemporary indigenes, 51–52;

434   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture possible commissioning of Moctezuma portrait, 34–37 (fig. 1.2); pyramid excavations by, 144, 155; scholarship and works of, 33–34; viewing of archaeological remains, 144. See also Teatro de virtudes políticas (Sigüenza); triumphal arches Siloé, Diego de, 94 Sims, Lowery, 15 “singularity,” 17 Siqueiros, David Alfaro, 198, 212, 215–219 (figs. 6.7–6.8), 358n82 “skeuomorph,” 192 skull racks (tzompantli), 236–237 (fig. 7.8), 242, 244, 263–265 (fig. 7.22) Smith, Terry, 194, 212 soldiers, indigenes as, 169 Sonora, 150–151 sorcery, association of indigenes with, 166–171 Spaeth, Catherine, 298 Spain/Spaniards: hierarchical classification of, 4; ideal of heroic masculinity in, 78; marriages with Aztec nobility, 4; perceived hybridity of, 193; reaction to Bourbon regime, 78; represented as racially homogeneous, 77; repressing criticism, 30–31 Spanish conquest of Mexico: and climate of repression, 30–31; depopulation from epidemics, mistreatment, 3; destruction of indigenous architecture, 3, 222; and globalization, 11; glorifying to praise indigenous worth, 146; justified by bringing Christianity to heathens, 49; turning the world on its axis, 2–3 The Spanish Conquest of Mexico (Orozco), 213 (figs. 6.4–6.5) Speer, Albert, 284 Spencer, Herbert, 150 spirit, collective, 178 Spivak, Gayatri, 1 standard-bearers, 241–242 states, importance of, 11 steel, 122, 194 Stengers, Isabelle, 17 Stephens, John Lloyd, 149 student strike (1911), 197 style, 177–184, 187–188, 191, 192 “stylistic metaphors,” 187–188 Subtitled Public (Lozano-Hemmer), 292–293 (fig. 8.6), 299

Sully, James, 349–350n28 Sun, Temple of the, 224 (fig. 7.2), 244, 260–262 sun symbol, 109 surplus of referents, 1 surveillance, 286–287, 290, 292–295 (fig. 8.8), 299. See also Under Scan (Lozano-Hemmer) Survival Research Laboratories, 212 Symbola divina et humana (Typotius), 61 Symbolorum et emblematum (Camerarius), 61 syncretism, 16 synesthesia, 370n46 tablero, 264 “tactility,” 185 Tacuba, 247 talud, 241, 261, 263, 264, 288, 365n121 Taniya, Kyn, 203, 205 (fig. 6.2), 208 Tarditi, Carlos, 271 taste: and architectural theory, 180–185; and Baroque art, 84, 87, 95–98; and cosmopolitanism, 8, 84; distorting perception, 237, 255, 265–268, 270–271; Gamio and formation of, 269–270; and Mexican architecture, 176–178; and the National Theater, 132–134, 156; as quality of elites, 77, 226 Taussig, Michael, 167–168 Taxco, 98–99 (fig. 2.12) Teatro de virtudes políticas (Sigüenza): arch as city’s doors, 49; arch as virtual object, 31; arch paintings as “mirrors,” 66–67; and Baroque style, 38–39; biblical lineage of Native Americans, 50–51; blurring of boundaries by, 30; called incoherent and confused, 28, 60, 67; citations in, 46; commissioning of arch, 27; contemporary reaction to, 65–66; as cosmopolitan, 30; creating common heritage for indigenes and Creoles, 66, 144; and creation of Creole Mexican identity, 28; Cuitlahuac implication of self-liberation, 63; dedication and preludes to, 48–52; depictions of Aztec deities, 59–65; description of arch decorations, 52–53; description of inscriptions, 53–54; description of north façade, 59–65; description of paintings, 55–65; double translations of themes, 56; as gesture of alliance or resistance, 303; as a hieroglyph, 28–29, 55, 67; Huitzilopochtli,

435   ■  Index 61–63, 67; implicitly political, 28; loa for viceroy’s reception, 65; overt contestation of European authority, 29; praise of Aztec resistance to tyranny and oppression, 65; scholarship on, 28–31, 46–47; stressing power of the people, 54–55; as “sugarcoated honesty,” 29; textual description of architecture, 52–55; use of ambiguity and double entendres, 46; use of historical persons over “dark deities,” 50; use of Mexica rather than Greek/Roman heroes, 27; use of models from Mexican antiquity, 301; use of name glyphs for arch, 55–56 El Teatro de virtudes políticas de Sigüenza Góngora (Montiel Bonilla), 312n22 Teatro Juárez (Guanajuato), 173, 175 (fig. 5.1), 192 Teatro mexicano (Vetancourt), 51 Teatro Santa Ana (Gualdi), 124 technological actualization, 277 technology in art: acquiring semiotic values, 103; Amabilis stela, 272–273 (fig. 7.27); Diego Rivera and, 210–212 (fig. 6.3), 281; erotic involvement with, 280–281; as expression of power, 298; as intermediary between production and science, 165; and isolation, 202–203; Lozano-Hemmer and, 281–282, 291–292; as medium, 274; and Mexican cosmopolitanism, 194, 208–209, 286; and modernity, 194–195; and nature, 219; not a sign of social indifference, 220; and relational architecture, 290–300; scholarship regarding, 209–210; Siqueiros and, 215–219 (figs. 6.7–6.8); use of repurposed technology in, 300 technology on U.S.-Mexico border, 287 Tecuichpo, 60 Telematic Dreaming (Sermon), 277 television and cosmopolitanism, 10, 12 Temalacatl, 260–261 Temple(s) of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc, 241, 244, 249–250 temple precinct of Tenochtitlan: Alcocer reconstruction plan, 227–228 (fig. 7.4); building placement in, 244, 246–247, 249–251, 265–267, 270–271; destruction of and Spanish construction atop, 222; in early Mexica history, 221, 233–234; excavations of, 222, 243, 254; fixing of, 226; historical disagreements on details of,

234; illustration by Cortés, 227, 235–238 (figs. 7.7–7.8); illustration by Sahagún, 227, 238–242 (figs. 7.9–7.10); Marquina and Antúnez reconstruction, 222–225 (figs. 7.2–7.3), 229 (fig. 7.5); number of buildings in, 246–247; plan of Alcocer, 227–228 (fig. 7.4); Serrato-Combe digital reconstruction, 227, 267 (figs. 7.23–7.24); shape and size of, 246–247; symmetry in plans, 244, 255, 265–268; temple construction phases, 225–226, 241, 245–246 (fig. 7.11), 256 (fig. 7.19); Vega Sosa reconstruction plan, 254 (fig. 7.17); Villalobos reconstruction plan, 227, 230 (fig. 7.6). See also Templo Mayor reconstruction plans (Marquina) Templo Expiatorio, Guadalajara, 124 El Templo Mayor (Marquina), 271 Templo Mayor reconstruction plans (Marquina), 222–225 (figs. 7.2–7.3); 1951 version, 227, 229 (fig. 7.5), 244; 1960 version, 224– 225 (figs. 7.2–7.3), 227, 230, 244; accepted as authoritative, 230–231; accuracy and success of, 226–227; accuracy of reconstruction, 226, 242, 261; archaeological evidence used for, 242–243; Beaux-Arts design shown in, 268–271; as document, 225–232; indigenous architecture in a European plan, 269; number of doors, 247–248; pictorial sources for, 234–242 (figs. 7.7–7.10); preference for symmetry in, 244, 255, 265, 266–267; shape, size, position of, 246–247, 249–250; as tacit cosmopolitanism, 25; Temple of Quetzalcoatl, 251–252 (fig. 7.14); as tool for reaching middle class, 270; west door and ball court, 225 (fig. 7.3), 248 (fig. 7.12), 262–263; wooden model, 224–225 (fig. 7.3) temporal boundaries, blurring of, 30 Tenayuca, 243, 249–250, 362n57 The Ten Books of Architecture (Vitruvius), 68–69 (fig. 2.1), 180 Tenochtitlan: Aztec histories of, 207, 221; Codex Mendoza account of founding, 221, 223 (fig. 7.1); construction of Great Temple, 225–226; lakes surrounding, 361n38; Nuremberg plan, 62, 235–237 (figs. 7.7–7.8), 242, 246, 361n38; population of per Cortés, 221; virtual-reality simulations of, 140. See also temple precinct of Tenochtitlan

436   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Tenorio-Trillo, Mauricio, 108 tente en el aire, 72 Teopanzolco, 243, 266 Teotihuacan, 23, 109; Avenue of the Dead, 142 (fig. 4.1); considered to be haunted, 167; importance of to indigenes, 154–155, 362n57; informing Tenochtitlan reconstruction, 241, 243, 265–266; police force at, 156, 160 (figs. 4.8–4.9); presentation of “consolidated” site, 162–163; Pyramid of the Moon, 155; Pyramid of the Sun, 155–159 (figs. 4.3–4.7), 167; resemblance of indigenes to ancient sculptures, 169–171 (fig. 4.10); Talud-tablero pyramid profile, 264, 365n121; violence done during excavation of, 143, 156, 159–163; Walmart at, 172, 348n103 Tepepolco, 238 Tepeyac, 247 Tepozotlán, 98 Terraciano, Kevin, 305n7 Teskey, Gordon, 29 Tetabiate, 168–169 Texcoco, 37 Tezcatlipoca temple, 247, 257–260 (fig. 7.20) Tezozomoc, 249 third space, 193 Third World stereotype of technological backwardness, 357n58 Thouvenot, Marc, 261 “Three Appeals for a Modern Direction” (Siqueiros), 215–216 “THS—­Telegrafía sin hilos” (Maples Arce), 200 time, rejection of linear, 17–18 Tizoc, 234, 245, 261 Tlahuicole (Vilar), 152 Tlaloc, 109, 234, 241, 249–250 Tlatelolco: causeway of, 247; as “new Herculaneum,” 147; possible source for Sahagún plan, 241; as source for Marquina, 243, 247, 250, 266; student massacre at, 294–297; Voz Alta (Lozano-Hemmer), 294–299 (fig. 8.9) tocotínes dances, 49 Togno, Juan B., 148 Toledo, Juan Bautista de, 94 Tolsá, Manuel, 85 Toltecs, 50, 109, 258 Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl, 250

torna atrás, 72 The Torture of Cuauhtemoc (Siqueiros), 358n82 Totoquihuatzin, 109 Toussaint, Manuel, 85 Tovar y de Teresa, Rafael, 281 tozpalatl, 265 The Trace (Lozano-Hemmer), 277–278, 299 translation: and Mexican art, 1; and vernacular cosmopolitanism, 10 transnationality, 10, 299 Trauerspiel, 29 travel, dwelling through, 9–10 Treatise on the Heathen Superstitions (Ruiz de Alarcón), 166 Triple Alliance, 109 triumphal arches: architectural design of, 40–43 (figs. 1.3–1.4), 52–53; Baroque period, 38–39; in colonial Mexico, 39; conflating Christian and Roman references, 38; connections to retablos, 41, 44; descriptive texts as souvenirs and virtual reproductions, 39; engravings of, 41–43 (figs. 1.3–1.4); in Europe, 37–39; introduction of novelty through, 40; planning and building of, 39, 41, 44. See also Teatro de virtudes políticas (Sigüenza) Triunfo Parthénico (Sigüenza), 34 Trouillot, Michel-Rolph, 308n45 Tudor art and architecture, 191 Tula, 243, 258–259, 263, 265, 266 Twentieth-Century Art of Latin America (Barnitz), 14 Typotius, Jacobus, 61 tzompantlis (skull racks), 242–243, 263–265 (fig. 7.22) Tzonis, Alexander, 185 Ultraísmo, 198–199 Umberger, Emily, 245 UNAM, 296 Under Scan (Lozano-Hemmer), 293, 294–295 (figs. 8.7–8.8), 299 UNESCO recognition of Zócalo, 285 “Unhistorical, Undeveloped Spirit,” 179 United States: eclecticism in architecture, 192; Mexican relationship with, 287; in Portrait of the Bourgeoisie, 217–218 (figs. 6.7–6.8); Rivera on, 211; technology on U.S.-Mexico border, 287

437   ■  Index Universal Exhibitions. See Universal Exposition Universal Exposition (1855), 14 Universal Exposition (1867), 118, 119–120 (fig. 3.12) Universal Exposition (1878), 118 Universal Exposition (1889): Anza/Peñafiel proposal, 108–115 (fig. 3.3) (fig. 3.6) (fig. 3.9), 119–121; Boari preparations for, 123; Contreras’s reliefs of Aztec rulers, 111 (fig. 3.5), 152; cosmopolitanism in, 25, 140; criticism of pavilion, 115–117; intended Mexican image for, 117–118, 122, 133, 140, 163; location of Mexican pavilion in, 119; Mexican pavilion exterior, 104 (fig. 3.1), 111 (fig. 3.5); Mexican pavilion interior, 114 (fig. 3.9); returned to Mexico, 117; Salazar/Reyes/Alva proposal, 108–113 (figs. 3.7–3.8); Temple of Xochicalco, 120 (fig. 3.12) Universal Exposition (1900): Anza pavilion design, 122–123 (fig. 3.14); commissioning of pavilion, 133; intended Mexican image for, 122, 133; Justo Sierra on, 163; legacy of, 135; “modernity” of, 125; modifications from 1889 design, 122; neoclassical “NeoGrecian” style for, 121–122 Universal Exposition (1929), 271–273 (figs. 7.25–7.27) universal global, 31 El Universal Ilustrado, 200, 214 universality: and architectural theory, 180–186, 226, 231–232, 268; and European culture, 40, 301; and Greek civilization, 22, 31, 178, 183, 302; of ideal body, 70; and Kant’s global federation, 7–8; and Roman civilization, 22, 31, 302; “universal” defined, 20; universal vs. global vs. international, 13 Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM), 296 University City, 135–137 (fig. 3.20), 186 Utopia (More), 235 utopian beliefs about Internet, 355n40 Valadés, Diego de, 62 Valenciana, 98 van der Rohe, Mies, 183 van der Veer, Peter, 12 Vasconcelos, José, 197–198, 206

Vázquez Gómez, Francisco, 162 Vectorial Elevation (Lozano-Hemmer), 275 (fig. 8.1), 281–289, 369n30; as complicit or interrogatory, 303; cosmopolitanism of, 274; ephemeral nature of, 274; in Europe, 288–289; and meaning of “nation,” 299; state commission for, 281; web submissions for, 282–283 Vega Sosa, Constanza, 254 (fig. 7.17), 261–262 Vela, Arqueles, 200, 204–206, 214–215 Velasco, José María, 115, 117 (fig. 3.11) Velázquez, Antonio González de, 85 Velázquez, Diego, 78 Velázquez Zanelli, Carmela, 311n7 Venturi, Robert, 184–185, 187 Venus, 59–61 Vera, Olmedo, 259 vernacular, 9 vernacular cosmopolitanism: in architecture, 107, 136, 140; Bhabha on, 10, 27; Creole identities and, 28, 67; as domestication, 40; regional and national versions of, 194; Teatro as, 46, 51; in twentieth century, 194; van der Veer on, 12 Vetancourt, Augustín de, 51 Viaje de España (Ponz), 94 El viajero en el vértice (List Arzúbide), 200 Vicente Flores, Luis, 139 viceroys of New Spain: ceremonial entry of, 26–27, 39; chosen from illustrious Spanish families, 32–33 Video Place (Krueger), 277 Vilar, Manuel, 152 Villalobos, Alejandro, 227, 230 (fig. 7.6), 267 Villalpando, Cristóbal de, 39 Villarroel, Hipólito de, 96–97 Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, Auguste, 206 violence: of architecture, 174; of colonialism and nationalism, 174; and cosmopolitanism, 1, 3, 9, 13, 19; epistemic, 1, 13, 210, 302–303; and expropriation of native lands, 156, 159, 161–163; natives associated with, 165–171; to the object, 214; ongoing today, 172; trauma of colonialization of Americas, 3, 19 Viollet le Duc, Eugène-Emmanuel, 181, 183 Virgil, 61 Virgin of Guadalupe, 30, 296 Virile Age (Allar), 133

438   ■  Cosmopolitanism in Mexican Visual Culture Virilio, Paul, 154, 172 virtual, defined, 17 virtual openings, 276 visibility, rendering of, 19 visual culture and power, 18–19 visuality/perception, ethics of, 154, 172, 299 Vitruvius, 68–69 (fig. 2.1), 96, 180 Vittone, Bernardo, 191 voice in art, 298. See also Voz Alta (Lozano-Hemmer) volcanic stone, 135 Voltaire, 179 Volterra, Daniele da, 79 von Kügelgen, Helga, 46–47 (figs. 1.6–1.7), 61, 64 Vorn, Bill, 284 Voz Alta (Lozano-Hemmer), 296–299 (fig. 8.9), 303 Vrbe (Maples Arce), 200 Waldeck, Frederick, 155 Walmart at Teotihuacan, 172, 348n103 Walters, E. V., 141, 143 Watkins, David, 184, 350n36 “ways of seeing,” 154 WearComp/WearCam, 290 web pages, 285–286 wet nurses (chisochiguas), 97 White, Charles, 179 white wigs, 72 Widdifield, Stacie, 152, 339n5 Wiener, Norbert, 282 Wilber, Walter G., 130 Williams, Raymond, 13 Winckelmann, Johann Joachim, 84, 178–179, 180, 328n54 Wind God, Temple of, 251, 253 (figs. 7.15–7.16)

wireless radio, 203 Wolf, Eric, 191 Wölfflin, Heinrich, 179 Wolfthal, Diane, 154 women: estridentista attitude towards, 208; in Greek and Roman tradition, 79; success in architectural field, 287–288; Vela’s models for sale, 214–215; as visual symbol for city-state, 59 world citizenship concept, 8 “world culture,” 186 World’s Columbian Exposition, 124, 192 world’s fairs, 287 Wright, Frank Lloyd, 183 Xicotencatl, 168 Ximeno y Planes, Rafael, 85 Xipe temple, 260–262 Xochicalco temple, 109–110 (fig. 3.4), 120 (fig. 3.12), 148, 155, 263 Xochiquetzal, 109 Yacatecuhtli, 109 Yaquis, 150–151, 163, 165, 168–169 Year 2000 program, 281, 286 Yopico Calmecac, 261 Youth (Allar), 133 Yucatán, 151, 168, 235, 269 Zacatecas Cathedral, 98 Zedillo, Ernesto, 140, 276, 281, 286–287 zinc, 112 Zócalo: historical significance of, 283–284; renovation of, 287–288; and universalism, 287; Vectorial Elevation in, 281–284; Voz Alta and, 296