Rococo on the rocks: European architecture with a native bartender

     The discovery of a giant landmass is not an everyday occurrence, and would be equally as earth-shattering had it taken place now, roughly half a millennium later. Cultures completely alien to each other were in a position to communicate, to make up for lost time, but were already very strongly routed in their ways. Understanding minimal and tension high – such is the stuff of intriguing art. Portugal’s parasitic attachment to Brazil meant European imposition in all aspects of native life, and they did not have much of a choice, forced to start on the defensive. As generations passed and the lines of race and class became increasingly blurred, the resulting art forms continued to react to the history of the colonization of Brazil, not quite an identity crisis, but still questioning the complex relationship between the two countries. The implications of racial divisions on art can be seen in the work of architect Antonio Francisco Lisboa, who attempted to explore his Portuguese heritage alongside the history of his country of Brazil.

     The so-called Age of Discovery not only created contact between the New World and Europe, but also produced an entire ongoing dialogue and complex relationship between the continents. An interest in the exotic nature of these newly discovered lands prompted further exploration and permanent settlements of the environments, not to mention rich interaction between native and foreign people. One of the most established nations when it came to testing the literal and metaphorical waters of colonial expansion was Portugal. As Michael Hall writes, “The Portuguese, more concerned with profitable commercial activities elsewhere, took several decades to work out a successful formula for the colonization of Brazil” (34). Experienced with the intricacies of establishing cultural niches in Africa and India, Portugal finally appeared prepared at the dawn of the sixteenth century to develop a European colony in South America. Pedro Alvares Cabral’s landing upon the Brazilian coast introduced yet another string tying together South America and Europe. Portugal’s grip on the new land remained at all times slippery, but was threatening enough to provoke reaction from the native people. Initially, Indian resistance “through frequent escapes [from enslavement], sabotage, malingering, and theft” called for the importation of African slaves (Hall 35), introducing a third population into the hierarchical social mix. There occurred other forms of resistance, though, such as resistance against oppression within culture and the arts. Despite the imposition of architectural styles, European dress, etc., the cultural integrity of Brazilian tradition was maintained within parts of major art forms. The persistence of native culture allowed it to find its way into more European artistic styles and preferences, generating a blend of ideals and morals uncommon in a society without cultural integration. Another important outcome of this melding of two populations was a whole new set of people. Brazilians with both Portuguese and native ancestry were thrown into the already complex racial situation early on, and continued to be an area of conflict among those who sought to divide a hierarchy of race and class.
     European feelings towards mulattoes were as mixed as these people’s racial heritage. The first glimpse they got of a mulatto man and a mameluca was the couple from Albert Eckhout’s paintings (Brienen 66). Brienen concludes that this couple is “placed at the top of this chain of being” within the Dutch painter’s works (67), judging by their clothing, other objects found within the painting, etc., but only because of their European qualities. Although the Portuguese appreciated some aspects of this hybrid population – women, for example, were valued by “European soldiers and colonists could select ‘acceptable’ wives and concubines” (Brienen 67) – they remained restricted by their race. “By the end of the eighteenth century, […] racial prejudice within the free population reinforced rigid hierarchies of power and wealth, and free backs and mulattoes suffered both legal disadvantages and widespread discrimination” (Hall 38).
     For Antonio Francisco Lisboa, Brazilian architect and sculptor of mixed birth, this meant overcoming the architectural context of his hometown of Vila Rica. Much of the power of construction lay in the hands of the Irmandados, or brotherhoods, whose “membership was governed by ethnicity and/or occupation and divisions were strictly enforced” (Benton 147). The elitism that circulated around membership rules also directed their commissions; “even the less privileged brotherhoods commissioned expensive chapels, often using Portuguese-born architects” (148). Lisboa’s ability to overcome certain the obstacles of racial discrimination may well have had something to do with the legacy of his father, “white Portuguese carpinteiro (carpenter and builder)” (146).
     Tim Benton rationalizes that Lisboa architectural education was passed down from his father, Manuel Francisco Lisboa, and his uncle, Antonio Francisco Pombal, both Portuguese emigrants from the early seventeen hundreds (149). At that time, the preferred style in Portugal was in the process of a drastic change, in an effort to catch up with the rest of Europe. The strict regularity and symmetry of the Renaissance was sacrificed for the dynamic flair, undulating curves, and elaborate detailing of the Baroque style. Theatrical qualities of light and space swept over new buildings, eventually making their way to Portugal just in time to be brought to the still relatively new colony of Brazil. The intricacies of European Baroque had not yet developed in South America developed at a decidedly different pace, with allowance for some native contribution, too. The architectural decisions made by Antonio Francisco Lisboa and his predecessors were largely influenced by this European trend; the Ouro Preto Church of Francis of Assisi is one example of how elements of the Baroque style – an ornamented, curved front, the elliptical plan, and gigantic order used to expand the building upwards – were utilized in the foreign land (Benton 160).
     Despite this overwhelming influence of European tradition and his father’s craft, Lisboa’s style also had a certain degree of “Brazil-ness” that, though comparable to the then-emerging Rococo style in Europe, was considerably different and paid a certain homage to the other side of his heritage, as well as the additional attachment to his land of birth. Being the son of an African slave (147), it can be assumed that oppression and restriction played a certain degree on Lisboa’s early life. Benton barely touches on this side of the architect’s parentage, implying it had less an impact on his style than the influence of his father’s work, but combined with the overall relationship Portugal had with Brazil, Lisboa’s treatment of detail could be read as a rebellious reaction against both cases of repression. Going back to the Ouro Preto Church of Francis of Assisi, the treatment of the sculptural elements of the façade is nothing if not elaborate. The explosive opulence of detail on the façade is overwhelming in its stark contrast to the pure, solid walls that wrap around the building, projecting those ornaments into the open sea of white, a defying element breaking away from the usual Baroque décor, which, though elaborate, was significantly less intricate and complex in its asymmetries and freeform quality. According to Benton, “The light tonality, and free, asymmetrical ornamentation that flows around the main motifs defines this decoration as Rococo rather than Baroque” (163). The whimsical qualities of a style that “included swirling asymmetrical and fanciful motifs, […] light tonality, […] and a virtuous frothy sculptural quality” was certainly visually apparent in much of Lisboa’s work (155), but Benton points out that “no precedents [for this style] exist in Brazil” (155). Personal exploration of these sculptural elements as way to react to the social situation of Brazil’s past and present, while utilizing his aptitude for sculpting soapstone, may have been the reason for his development of this Rococo-like architecture.
     In an attempt to conclude his analysis of Lisboa’s architectural influences, Benton introduces two possible hypotheses: Either “sophistication in Brazilian architecture could be measured in part by its openness to European influences, [or] the development of architectural styles in Minas Gerais was more self-sufficient” (165). It cannot be cleanly decided as to where one influence stopped and another began, but must be analyzed in way that reflects the very style of Lisboa’s architecture, that flowing, expressive comprehension of form. The Age of Discovery was not the Age of Understanding – the two cultures struggled and still struggle to understand each other now. The complexities of the relationship between Portugal and Brazil illuminate the differences between these two cultures, and the interweaving of the two can only generate something so intricate as the rationale behind one man’s architectural design. Only after probing all the possibilities can we begin to understand the idiosyncrasies of the geographic movement of artistic milestones and specific influences on the individual.