A Strange Temple
01/21/09 02:21 PM Filed in: Mexico
Reader Nancy, in a comment to the previous post, asks: “What brought you [to Salvatierra]?”
Good question. I assume she means, “What was I thinking?”
I read somewhere that Salvatierra was considered to be the “other” colonial city of the State of Guanajuato, and having not visited there, I was curious. How come everyone knows about Dolores Hidalgo and San Miguel de Allende and Guanajuato, but nothing about Salvatierra? What could be wrong with the place?
Moreover I wanted to assess for myself, the mayor’s assertion that Salvatierra would be an ideal city to which the Sanmiguelada could be relocated. As far as I’m concerned, His Honor is welcome to an invasion of 100,000 drunk kids. But I wanted to visit the locale where there’d be mobs puking, eliminating and fornicating—right in the Plaza las Armas.
Another reason I wanted to explore was because of something I saw when I first drove through town a couple of years ago, while taking an alternative route between San Miguel and Michoacán. The highway offered little to attract me, but one building did stand out: This temple.
At the time, I couldn’t investigate. But over the following weeks, I wasn’t able to get the place out of my mind. I don’t know why it made such an impression on me. It’s not beautiful. The apple green tiled dome is nice, but the multicolored geometrical figures covering the exterior are not. I imagine the architect was someone’s unemployed nephew. Flanking the arched door are six concrete angels. Their classical forms seem out of step with the rest of the building.
Absence of pews suggest this is a temple, not a working church. The littered floor indicates infrequent occupancy. On the wall hang two images of the Virgin of Guadalupe. A painted statue of a biblical figure carrying a child rests on a simple altar. But there’s no crucifix—an odd omission in a country where such hang in cantinas.
The domed ceiling though—it is a marvel: a starry night with Saturn in near-conjunction with a textured moon. Dim outlines of what may be the Milky Way lend a convincing sky-ness to the image; abstraction enhancing reality.
Most folk art draws charm from fertile imaginations unfettered by convention, and from forms repeatedly worked until they become “right.” This temple is almost a work of folk art; surprising, sometimes jarring. Its design is collaborative and unexpected. But it’s a one-off, unpracticed. The dome, inside and out, works. The rest doesn’t. The place doesn’t warrant a special trip to investigate. But as a stop on the way to someplace else, it yielded a small surprise. Maybe, Nancy, the possibility of small surprises is what brings me to out-of-the-way places.
Good question. I assume she means, “What was I thinking?”
I read somewhere that Salvatierra was considered to be the “other” colonial city of the State of Guanajuato, and having not visited there, I was curious. How come everyone knows about Dolores Hidalgo and San Miguel de Allende and Guanajuato, but nothing about Salvatierra? What could be wrong with the place?
Moreover I wanted to assess for myself, the mayor’s assertion that Salvatierra would be an ideal city to which the Sanmiguelada could be relocated. As far as I’m concerned, His Honor is welcome to an invasion of 100,000 drunk kids. But I wanted to visit the locale where there’d be mobs puking, eliminating and fornicating—right in the Plaza las Armas.
Another reason I wanted to explore was because of something I saw when I first drove through town a couple of years ago, while taking an alternative route between San Miguel and Michoacán. The highway offered little to attract me, but one building did stand out: This temple.
At the time, I couldn’t investigate. But over the following weeks, I wasn’t able to get the place out of my mind. I don’t know why it made such an impression on me. It’s not beautiful. The apple green tiled dome is nice, but the multicolored geometrical figures covering the exterior are not. I imagine the architect was someone’s unemployed nephew. Flanking the arched door are six concrete angels. Their classical forms seem out of step with the rest of the building.
Absence of pews suggest this is a temple, not a working church. The littered floor indicates infrequent occupancy. On the wall hang two images of the Virgin of Guadalupe. A painted statue of a biblical figure carrying a child rests on a simple altar. But there’s no crucifix—an odd omission in a country where such hang in cantinas.
The domed ceiling though—it is a marvel: a starry night with Saturn in near-conjunction with a textured moon. Dim outlines of what may be the Milky Way lend a convincing sky-ness to the image; abstraction enhancing reality.
Most folk art draws charm from fertile imaginations unfettered by convention, and from forms repeatedly worked until they become “right.” This temple is almost a work of folk art; surprising, sometimes jarring. Its design is collaborative and unexpected. But it’s a one-off, unpracticed. The dome, inside and out, works. The rest doesn’t. The place doesn’t warrant a special trip to investigate. But as a stop on the way to someplace else, it yielded a small surprise. Maybe, Nancy, the possibility of small surprises is what brings me to out-of-the-way places.
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