Baroque

Just over a year ago, I was invited to join a friend of mine, a sometimes travel writer, to join them on a work trip in Ecuador as their photographer. I’m not a photographer, but I have a camera and like to use it, so I joined the tour from where I was at the time, which was Panama.

One thing that you notice right away when flying into the world’s second highest capital city of Quito, Ecuador is that A) it’s a long way from any kind of waterway that tend to make city building much easier, and B) there are deep ravines all over the place. At least, that’s what I noticed.

 As with most-if not all-aged modern cities, Quito was built upon the bones and buildings of the people that were there before, the beleaguered remnants of which the new residents of this bright new land worked to convert to belief in their merciful Christian god. One of the ways in which this was achieved was by providing them with profitable labour, which meant enslaving them to build structures that would glorify said god.

One of the most notable of these structures, and a fine example of South American Spanish Baroque, is the fabulous Ingelsia de la Compania de Jesus in the old quarter of Quito, which itself enjoys, to quote the UNESCO World Heritage Convention description of the city of Quito, “Quito, the capital of Ecuador, was founded in the 16th century on the ruins of an Inca city and stands at an altitude of 2,850 m. Despite the 1917 earthquake, the city has the best-preserved, least altered historic centre in Latin America. The monasteries of San Francisco and Santo Domingo, and the Church and Jesuit College of La Compañía, with their rich interiors, are pure examples of the 'Baroque school of Quito', which is a fusion of Spanish, Italian, Moorish, Flemish and indigenous art.”

I didn’t know much about the different styles of architecture or the history of the Spanish Jesuits in Ecuador, but my tour guide did, and this is what he told us. (Don’t worry, I’ll paraphrase.)

The Jesuit order arrived late from Spain at the land grab for the fledgling city of Quito in 1586. They were given a less favourable plot of land that had the unwelcome complication of a large ravine through the center of it. The industrious Jesuits constructed several brick arches that enabled full use of the site, as well as providing several large underground vaults, or pits, in which to house bodies.

In 1605, the clergy decided that it would be a good idea to enlist the aid of an architect, and the construction of what, in 160 years would become La Compania, was undertaken in earnest. Due to the length of time that the church took to build-during which the king of Spain at the time, Philip IV, grumbled over the staggering cost said, “the construction of that temple costs so much that it must be such a monumental work that its towers and domes must be seen from here(Spain).” -there were many different influences laid into the style of the building, however, the dominance of style is Spanish Baroque.

Our tour began at a side entrance. Leaving the best for last, apparently, we wandered through the mundane hallways that led us past mundane rooms that contained few, if any historically interesting artifacts. It all felt hollow, but full, somehow. So much had happened here, and for so long. As we exited out onto the roof of the church I was struck, almost physically, by the jarring variety of shapes I was seeing. Slope met curving slope met steps met domes met floors met walls, all clad in stucco, and brick, and green, four inch square ceramic tiles. The domes were amazing. I was allowed to climb the smaller ones. They had steps built into them so that the spires could be serviced.

From the roof, we walked into the top platform of the main dome, and I was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of ornamentation to observe while also battling a profound sense of vertigo at how high we were over the central nave. It was only then that I began to appreciate the scale, and the magnitude of what I was beholding, both above and below me. Every surface was painted, carved, and detailed, and I hadn’t seen anything yet.

Again bypassing the main attraction, we made our way past the painting of the Virgin Mary which apparently bleeds once in a while and earns the church a lot of maintenance money while also looking a little like Nicolas Cage, then past the grounded bells who’s weight(one of them is 4,400 pounds of bronze) probably didn’t help when the earthquakes of 1859 and 1868 broke the bell tower so badly that they gave up on it, and into the crypt. While down there in the ghastly blue light, the tour guide caught me staring at the the stone plug I was standing on. It had a metal ring in it so that it could be pulled up, and it felt...odd, odder even than being surrounded by the named and dated tombs of ‘important people.’ He said, “It’s six meters deep.” I asked who was down there, and he replied, “People who have no names.” I asked how many of them were down there between the arches, and he said, “Very many.”

Then we went upstairs to where the merciful god was worshipped.

I have a well cultured disgust for all things religious, but I can turn it off when I need to, and this was one of those times. I was, quite frankly, flabbergasted. Due to our detours and somewhat fraudulent journalistic privileges, we entered the nave under the main dome, instead of the main door, and were suddenly bathed in golden light. I’m rarely speechless, and I wasn’t then, either, but I probably shouldn’t have sworn so loudly. There’s something very different between seeing a sight like that in a photo, and being in the middle of it. To call it extravagant, even lavish, seems pitifully understated. The barrel vaults, the domes, the pillars, the pews, the doors to keep the unbaptised indigenous people out, everything but the floors, was intricately carved, painted or gilded. It was cloudy that day in Quito, but the moderate natural light through the high windows was enough to illuminate the ceilings and the altars, for the most part. It was surreal.

 Eventually, we left out the front door and turned, to once again admire the spectacularly carved facade. Most, if not all of the old buildings in that quarter of Quito have foundations of Andesite, and the entire facade of La Compania is carved from the durable, near purple stone. A lot of the stone was quarried in ‘nearby’ Pintag, which is a hour-and-a-half drive, which is a long way to drag stone in the sixteenth century. Pintag was named after a guy named Pintag, who was so ferocious in the defence of his homeland against his enemies that, after he was beheaded by his victorious rival, that rival then had a drum made out of Pintag’s skin, the sound of which haunted him to the end of his days, and the Incas, unfortunately, wound up hauling stone the 27 kilometers to the church.

 La Inglesia de la Compania de Jesus is a wonder to behold. From top to bottom it exemplifies the ability of humanity to create things and feeling that can stand the test of time. I stood in the dome, and in the nave, and in the crypt, amazed as I was bathed in the light of day, and reflected gold, and dark secrets. To disconnect one from the other is the cheapen the understanding of what Baroque means, what Spanish Baroque means, which, in this case, means lavishly carved cedar statuary clothed in gold and immaculately painted domes, while outside, the military keep the destitute out of the alley in the back because they tarnish the image, and nobody gives names to the bodies in the foundations, or those who were strewn along the road from the quarry.

And for what?

God?

I don’t think so, but I guess you could ask the Incas, and the bones under their city.