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Osuna is one of those towns you're not likely to visit unless you stay 5 weeks in Andalusia. It's about an hour from everywhere: Granada, Seville, Cordoba, and Malaga. Central, but distant, and seemingly not worth the trip -- until you make it and then fill up your friends' email boxes with pictures. The hills around burst with neat rows of olive trees in arid terrain similar to the cactus-spattered hill in the foreground. In the 17th century, the land hid the bandoleros -- outlaw gangs with some of the charm of Robin Hood. Today all is calm and Osuna shows off its stately churches, noble homes, and Roman roots stretching back to the days when the place sided with Pompeii in his civil war against Julius Caesar. In fact, this was the site of Caesar's last battle (if we ignore that unfortunate Et tu, Brute incident on the Senate floor a year later. As Dick Cheney and Patrick Leahy remind us, we've come a long way since 44 BC! )
The town got so polished because some uppity counts traded for the place -- and then invested to make their social climbing possible. They ended up as some of the most powerful dukes in Spain. Our day started at an old hospital which since 1626 has been a cloister for nuns. Inside it's also a museum of sacred art and has one of the most complete Sevillian ceramic series anywhere museum. (No photos allowed!) For 2 Euros each, we had two nuns as personal guides -- one ample and jovial and the other tiny (actual size in this picture in the archway at left) and fascist. Jane towered over her, but followed orders. (You may need to click on HIDE CAPTIONS to see her hiding behind this text.)
Discalced or Barefoot Carmelites typically wear sandals, as did our two guides. Ours also wore socks and full nun habits, and spoke only Spanish except for their NO PHOTOS! We were allowed to shoot pictures in their chapel just off their entrance but not in their cloister and museum rooms.
This is a beautiful Spanish baroque space complete with ceiling...
...and dome. The fourth Duke of Osuna (Juan Tellez Giron) founded the place in the 17th century. The Osuna Dukes had done a real-estate swap for their future home with the Order of Calatrava -- a branch of the Cistercian monks who fought. (Not all monks prayed, some had to convert heathens through other methods up to and including death.) The monks rebuilt the town as a fort and were probably ceded the place since it was on the rough border between the Moors and Christians ...
...but after the swap, the wannabe Dukes made this now peaceful site into an elegant showpiece to convince the king that such a beautiful town deserved a dukedom. Here's one of the side altars.
And another side altar with St. Michael the Archangel stomping what appears to be a very friendly devil. After the chapel tour, the nuns took us through the place room-by-room: opening doors and turning on lights as they showed off their collection of religious art, especially statues, some with various outfits which were changed with the feast days. No one was thinking of Barbie and Ken (at least in Spanish). The piece de resistance (if they have such a thing in Spain) is the extensive tile dado in the cloister and stairways symbolizing the five senses. (Another non-photo op).
Next we walked up the hill to the Renaissance jewel in the very plain wrapper -- The Collegiate Church of Santa Maria de la Asunción . A Collegial church is one which is not a cathedral. This once was part of the university behind it (now a secondary school after the reactionary Fernando VII shut down such liberal hotbeds in the 1800s.) The outside is monotonous yellow stone blocks except for...
...its west door of the sun (Puerta del Sol) with its sculpted Plateresque doorway which seems to be semi-restored. The word Plateresque has roots in the Spanish word for silversmith and refers to the delicate, almost metal-worked, decorations. This door is thought to be inspired by the Plateresque details in the Spanish city of Salamanca. Rumor holds that Napoleon's troops used this portico for target practice; if so, the restorers won the war.
In order to claw their way to the top of the Spanish nobility, the Girón dukes spent lavishly, hiring the best artists from Seville, 60 miles away. This church is the work of two of them: Diego de Riaño and Martin de Gainza who did that city's iconic city hall and Andalusian parliment buildings, respectively. Inside the Collegia's five naves switch back and forth from Renaissance arches to Baroque altarpieces...
...as in this altar retable with ...
...gilded framed paintings at top and ...
...sculptures in the middle.
And, of course, a Renaissance dome. Above it's magnificent; below it's even better as the 4th duke of the powerful Girón family created this church and university as a memorial to his parents and then built a mausoleum for the family underneath the apse starting around the mid 1500s. In addition, a huge sacristy is now a museum with several paintings by Jose de Ribera. (Unfortunately, no photos allowed there either.)
Speaking of Josê Ribera, just inside the door is one of the most important works of this 17th century Spanish master, known as Lo Spagnoletto -- the little Spaniard. (Although unsigned and undated, this naturalistic Crucifixion with its treatment of flesh and cloth is unarguably Ribera and likely done in 1618.) Born in Spain, he spent most of his life in Naples -- which was under the Spanish crown during his time. For a while it was run by the Duke of Osuna who probably commissioned Ribera to fill up his home church with such paintings. (Other Osuna dukes and duchesses were likely involved). He's a fellow traveler of Caravaggio in that dark and light stuff called tenebrism, precursor to the Oreo cookies of the school of Nabisco in the Kraftsman movement.
Let's look at some of the side altars. This looks to be a huge triptych -- without the hinges.
Here some fabric frames a more modest retable.
Here's an elegant silver float carried during processions. Since 2008 is the International Year of the Organ (but, of course, you knew that) let's talk about the one here. Most churches brag about how big their organs are (this may be a guy thing). Instead, The Colegiata has one of the smallest --but it's carried during their processions, an 18th century variant on the marching band theme that may have inspired Woody Allen's Cello marching band in Take the Money and Run. These candles could use a little Viagra in the holy water as well.♀
We ended our visit to the Collegiate church in its masterpiece: the tombs of the Dukes. Unfortunately, photos weren't allowed; since this lovely cloister was technically outside, I thought I could sneak one. This small square space (15' per side) has been recently restored -- but I can't believe that the original architect intended that upper railing to be there. Although Italian inspired, this atrium is considered to be one of the outstanding examples of the Spanish Renaissance. Note the triangle of the red-and-gold beamed ceiling showing at top center. The Dukes' Mausoleum itself could be the most interesting spot in town (but no photos allowed.) It claims to be the smallest --25' X 15' X 8' high -- cathedral in the world. (The choir has 9 sculpted seats). It has a bit of a bizarre Gothic feel to it with a polychrome ceiling now whose blue has turned to gray with centuries of candle smoke.
We found the steeples in Osuna to be unique with their wiry crosses and weather vanes. Does God need to know which way the wind is blowing?
Near the two art museums/churches is the town's main square, the spacious Plaza Mayor, flanked on one side by a colonnaded city hall: the Ayuntamiento. Signs are plentiful and traffic flows reasonably well right through the building.
We didn't go inside but learned that the town hall holds many works of Jaldón Rodriguez a painter the Seville School from nearby Carmona. He died in 1967.
At siesta time, we found Osuna's Plaza Mayor nearly empty. Other than the brown sandstone Convent of the Immaculate Conception at far left, the square is lined with elegant white buildings...
...such as this arcaded and azulejo tile encrusted facade.
We found decorative tiles in unusual places in Osuna, especially near the tops of steeples. This is on the 16th century renaissance church of St. Dominic which was closed for massive restorations. (It'd be nice if they took down the wires!)
The Girón family's efforts paid off. Not only did the town (and they) get its Dukedom, this duchy became one of the most influential in all Iberia. Consequently wealth flowed back to the town, allowing for the construction of beautiful public and private structures. San Pedro street features many of them.
The grill work around these projecting windows is common on this street.
This 1773 Baroque palace called Cilla del Cabildo honors nearby Seville: a model of its famous Giralda rises between flowerpots (representing the cathedral of Seville) and statues of Sts. Justa and Rufina, 3rd century Sevillian sisters and martyrs from the days when Christians were being fed to lions. (Rufina was, but the lion turned into a pussy cat and so she was beheaded instead). They traditionally guarded this tower through the centuries after the Moors erected its base.
The Cilla del Cabildo has an exquisite Plateresqe facade augmented by a little graffiti on its sign and the ever present parked cars to frustrate photographers. These unusual pilasters are typical of its architect, Alonso Ruiz Florindo.
Down the street a block or so is the Palacio de los Marqueses de la Gomera, sporting another 18th century Baraoque facade where delightful curves run rampant. With the marquis long gone, it's now an upscale hotel.
The front cornice of the Palacio de los Marqueses de la Gomera built around 1765 and crowned by the Marquis' family crest. This building is considered the most representative of secular Baroque architecture in Osuna (but still contains a cloister and chapel!) It was designed by Juan Antonio Blanco.
A typical Osuna steeple, here on our lady of Victory church. Note the tiles and weather vane. Its plain bottom suggests that it was added onto a Moorish mosque minaret. Below, the 17th century church is quite small but contains more than its share of important paintings and a retable by José Mora, best known for his work in the cathedrals of Granada and Cordoba. (We found this one closed).
Here's the 18th century public granary which was later used as a courthouse and hospital. It replaced an open air theater. The roof could use a lawnmower.
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