I hired a guide to take me on a tour around several of the famous churches (iglesia) and a couple of the better museums here in Ouro Preto. The town has roughly 75,000 inhabitants, which is amazing considering the town hasn’t been permitted to grow and is built within a very steep valley pocket. The hills make San Francisco look flat by comparison and in fact, there are no flat streets here. None. So the goal here is to maintain the town in its original colonial splendor so as to support its history and encourage tourism.
My guide, Alex, was an interesting guy. At 54 and with five children (most of whom still live with him despite having families of their own) and stay-at-home wife, he decided to spend the last six years studying for his law degree in order to practice criminal law defending the poor. He takes his bar exam in just three weeks. But in the mean time, he still spends much of his time earning a living as a tour guide. I have to say that when I travel, I often feel ashamed of the fact that I only speak one language fluently. Alex? He speaks Portuguese, French, Spanish, and English. To be honest, I have a secret wish that, as the US declines in power globally, we’ll finally all feel it absolutely necessary to learn another or several other languages (Spanish? Chinese? Both? Something else?).
Regardless of my slight shame at being a citizen of a country where “we’re number 1!” I fully enjoyed the tour today. Four churches and two museums. There is a national hero here who is the town’s most revered pseudo-saint. Aleijadhino (translation: little cripple, real name: Antonio Franciso Lisboa), was the illegitimate son of a respected artist and architect and a former slave. He rose from no stature to become the greatest architect, carver, and artist in Brazil, commissioned by the church to build the most impressive and ornate baroque/rococo churches in the country. Most of these churches are located here in Ouro Preto, which was the former capital of the country. What I find most interesting about him is that he was an outcast, illegitimate, of mixed race, not classically trained in the rigid styles of his time, and eventually quite crippled by the time he reached the age of 22. Despite that, the stars aligned for him. At that point in history (around 1750), the Catholic church had determined that, in order to maintain and grow its base of believers and the revenue that they would generate for the church, it needed to try something new and different. This was the perfect pocket for Aleijadhino to realize his artistic vision, defying convention and inflexible modalities of art at the time, and creating something new, unique, and inspirational.
This story reminds me of a story some may be familiar with. Tell me if you’ve heard this one: There was this guy from Galilee. He has an interesting philosophy and a gift for oratory and becomes a teacher that is quite inspirational to many. He happened to be in the right place at the right time with the right idea and a solid set of backers… and the rest is history (or religion). These are just two of so many examples of this occurrence, of course, but when I hear them, I’m still constantly amazed.
Back to our story…
Now baroque and rococo aren’t my favorite eras for art. But you gotta give it to them: both are unique and both demand a high level of commitment by the artists. These are not wimpy art movements. In these churches, the ornamentation, the absolute dedication to detail, the sheer over-the-topness with all of the ceiling murals, tremendous amount of gold leaf, intricate carvings. Columns, altars, etc… they demand some amount of respect regardless of your tastes. While baroque is less ornamental than rococo, baroque could hold its own in a grand dame’s French palace. And the art and architecture that bridged those two gaps was odd and singular, as you can likely imagine. And Aleijadhino was the creator.
I wish I could’ve taken pictures of the interiors of these churches. Mere words can’t describe them… ornate doesn’t even touch it. Detailed, not even close. Outrageous, maybe. Darkness, light, inspiration, fright, magic, extreme craftsmanship, blood, hair, bones, tears, and awe. That’s my attempt at it.
Hair and blood and bones? So literally, many of the statues in these churches have real hair. When a worshiper was poor and had no money to give during tithe time at church, he or she would cut their hair and donate it to the church. That hair was styled and cut and put on the statues of Mary, Jesus, St. Francis and other Saints in the gallery. It makes the statues look pretty eerie. Their flat hair, inanimate and collecting dust like a mummified Cher. Yes, I just said a mummified Cher. Creepy imagery, isn’t it?
Blood? Well there are like a gajillion statues of Christ being crucified in the most bloody and horrific ways you can dream of. Quite arresting, take my word for it. Forgive me father, but what the hell is up with Catholics and the whole suffering thing? OK, let’s down girl, down.
Bones? On the wood floor of each churches there are numbers carved. Each number represents a family crypt underneath the floorboards. No joke, crypts right underneath the floorboards. Sorry for stepping on your eternal soul, everybody. I’m just here for the tour.
Sadly, none of the churches or museums allowed photos or you better believe I would be posting some right now – Matriz NS de Pilar (the oldest church herin Ouro Preto), Matriz NS da Conceicao de Antonio Dias, Ingreja NS do Carmo, Museo do Oratorio, Casa dos Cantos, Museu do Aleijadinho. It would take me days of writing to even touch the level of detail contained in these churches and in the items in the museums. Maybe even weeks. And even though I know you love me, I just can’t put you through it.
Alex, my guide, was quite knowledgeable and also interesting in that he shared some facts not included in the regular tour diary. Catholic religion is on the decline in Brazil, and Protestantism is on the rise, but like in the US, religion is declining overall. This shocked me considering the very Catholic reputation that Brazil has. Also, Brazil as we know it was built on the backs of slaves brought over from Africa (sound familiar?). But when I asked what the African-American population was in Brazil, he said that there was no such thing. The race populations are so mixed, at this point, that it’s hard to tell who’s “white” or who’s “black.” Not to mention the mixture of the indigenous population. I liked that. While my mind that lives in the world of ideals imagines that there is no race division in Brazil, I know better, but I love the idea that they seem a bit further along than the US as far as having to classify people as “this” or “that.”
The museums contained collections of clothing, furniture, weapons, and religious items. Even though I’m not big cheerleader for religion, back in the day, those guys had some serious cash that helped promote art and art’s evolution. I say hooray for that.
Wow, my blood sugar is tanking right now. Can… no… longer… write… brain… shutting… down. Must have food. More later.
