Madrid
On a gloomy afternoon a few days before Christmas, I snuck up to the Museo del Prado to catch another glimpse of an exquisite exhibition of Latin American art that was shipped to Spain during the glory days of the viceroyalties between the 16th and 18th centuries.
Tornaviaje (Return Journey)— a collection of a little more than 100 paintings, devotional objects, and furniture—has a subtle story to tell about the forgotten legacy of mestizaje in Spain. While the story of the mixing of cultures and peoples in the New World has been widely told—including by me—there’s been little attention paid to its influence at the center of the Spanish Empire itself. The exhibition, which closes on February 13, is perfectly timed. Two hundred years after it lost most of its overseas colonies, Spain is now coming to grips with the influx of hundreds of thousands racially mixed, Spanish-speaking, mostly Catholic Latin Americans over the past few decades. Not simply a part of its colonial past, mestizaje is now a firm part of Spain’s present and future. And not only in the big cities but in small towns throughout the country, you’ll meet dark-skinned Spanish citizens who were born in Ecuador, Bolivia, Colombia, Peru, Venezuela, Cuba, and the Dominican Republic.
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The return journey is not new, however. If you’ve ever been to Asturias in the north of Spain, you’ve seen those gorgeous old mansions built by Indianos. For centuries, Indiano was the term Spaniards used to refer to those lucky few who set off for the Indies, made their fortunes, and returned to flaunt it to all those who remained at home. The mansions standing today, some in better shape than others, were generally built in the 19th and early 20th century. Almost all of them still have a palm tree standing tall somewhere on the property. As if the size and ostentatious architectural style of these casonas were not enough to show off the owner’s status, the tree they planted on their grounds was a symbol of his worldliness.
Many of the items in the Prado exhibition were art works sent back to Spain by Indianos of earlier centuries. Some were shipped to Spain to decorate stately homes or were gifts to religious communities back home. They were commissioned by prominent Indianos in part to draw attention to the prestige they had attained abroad as well as to showcase the wonders of America. Many depict religious themes and iconography that had arrived from Spain and were painted or handcrafted by indigenous or mixed-race Americans using techniques and materials unknown in Spain such as feathers and corn stalk in figurative art. Others document distinctly American events and themes—post-conquest Mexico City, mulattos from Ecuador’s coastal Esmeraldas province, or the Virgen de Copacabana, the patron saint of Bolivia.
With the exception of their American themes, the art works could be mistaken as Spanish. And that’s the point of the exhibition. If you look closely, the items speak not only of conquest but of coexistence, adaptation, and hybridization.
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Two weeks ago, I met a man named Elkin at a park down my street. We talked as his two pre-teen daughters ran off to play with their friends. An Afro-Colombian who’s been in Spain for 12 years, he told me about his experience as an immigrant. Has he experienced racism in Spain? Absolutely. He gave me examples of the insults he’s endured. But then on reflection, he said it wasn’t so much different in Colombia. So what is different in Spain? Well, the language, the religion, so much of what he’s come to know here is not so foreign at all than what he knew back home. When pressed, he said he guesses the castellanos are a little “drier” and less friendly than Colombians. Otherwise, he’s completely at home here. I guess you could say that he, too, has made a return journey.
