Wherever I go, like Paul Simon, I'm noticing angels in the architecture. (I have a thing for angels, which I collect, especially primitive folk-art angels.) I posted this essay back in April of 2012, using photos from a trip to Mexico taken in 2010. I recently rediscovered it while looking for photos for a travel contest. You'll see why I was inspired to re-post this. And the story has a happy ending (spoiler alert). The volcano "El Popo" did not erupt and destroy the beautiful angel-filled churches.
Last week, when I read that the volcano of Popocatepetl,
known fondly in Mexico as “El Popo”, was producing fire, smoke, lava, ash and
loud underground groans, 40 miles southeast of Mexico City, I began to worry
about the angels in the churches of Cholula, right below the volcano.
The alert level near the volcano is now at the fifth step on
a seven-level warning scale. The
area is closed to visitors and the next stage of alert would prompt
evacuations. I’m sure the populace
would be evacuated in time, but what will happen to the churches, the most
stunning display of religious art that I’ve ever seen? For someone who loves
folk art, and especially angels, the two churches I visited in Cholula two
years ago, decorated by the local indigenous people, seemed as close to heaven
as I would get in this life.
Cholula is famous for its views of the volcanoes, especially
from Nuestra Senora de los Remedios—the imposing church perched atop the Great
Pyramid of Cholula, the largest in Mexico. The décor in Remedios is typical of
the Spanish baroque style seen everywhere.
But the next church I visited, lower down the hill—San Martin
Texmelucan—blew my mind--both the exterior, covered with the famous Talavera tiles
of the region (which were being cleaned by workmen with no safety belts), but
even more so the interior, where the local Indians had incorporated so much of
their culture into the portrayal of angels that fill the dome and every inch of
space; some holding ears of corn or wearing feathered headdresses. This style is what they call indigenous
baroque, and baroque it was.
Another native-designed church, Santa Maria Tonantzintla,
also covered with tiles, is even more of a whirlwind of angels everywhere. You weren’t supposed to take photos
inside, but I took these anyway.
Tonantzintla, which means “place of our little mother” in
the Nahuatl language, comes from the Aztec earth mother who evolved into the
Virgin Mary when the Spaniards conquered the area. So perhaps this church is protected by both Christian and
pagan spirits.
I hope that the wrath of “El Popo” does not fall on these
exquisite churches, so expressive of the religious fervor of the people of
Cholula, but these angels have survived earthquakes in the past and hopefully will
be shielded by their divine protectors from “El Popo” as well.
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