Casa del Deán - Puebla, MX [2024]
Casa del Deán stands as a critical site in Puebla’s colonial landscape—not merely for its architectural preservation, but for the dense layers of symbolic power embedded in its sixteenth-century frescoes. Completed in 1580 as the private residence of Tomás de la Plaza, a prominent cleric in the Spanish colonial elite, the building manifests the intimate convergence of ecclesiastical authority, settler power, and aesthetic production. Its frescoes—rare in the context of private domestic architecture in the Americas—offer not only a window into the visual cultures of early colonial Puebla but also a mechanism through which ideological and theological worldviews were spatialized and performed.
In the first room, The Procession of the Synagogue and the Sibyls unfolds across the walls in a calculated narrative arc. Synagoga, a blindfolded female figure cradling the broken Tablets of the Law, appears at the procession’s head. Her body and symbolism are steeped in medieval Christian iconography, where she functions as a foil to Ecclesia—the triumphant Church, sighted and whole. This pairing, repeated across centuries of European ecclesiastical art, stages a theological supersession: the blindness of Judaism giving way to the perceived illumination of Christianity. That this imagery persisted unchallenged until Vatican II is testament to its role in institutionalizing visual forms of exclusion. Rendered in the context of New Spain, such imagery gains new resonance—it becomes part of a visual apparatus by which colonial Christianity reasserted its global dominance and justified its displacement of indigenous cosmologies.
Trailing Synagoga is a procession of sibyls—pagan prophetesses absorbed into Christian narrative tradition—each mounted, adorned with iconographic banners, and accompanied by miniature depictions of Christ’s life. Their elevation over Synagoga is deliberate, reinforcing a hierarchy of insight and legitimacy, in which classical antiquity is recuperated while non-Christian traditions are pathologized or erased. The surrounding friezes, dense with monkeys, deer, serpents, and angels, offer more than decorative flourish. These animal presences—and their playful, even subversive gestures—hint at residual traces of indigenous thought and visual grammar. The monkeys (ozomatli), for instance, speak through Nahua speech scrolls, invoking a mestizo visuality wherein European mannerist style is hybridized by Indigenous artists trained within colonial workshops. What emerges is a visual field of negotiation, tension, and at times, resistance.
In the adjoining room, the iconographic program shifts to Petrarch’s Triumphs, a canonical Renaissance poem that allegorizes the moral progression of the human soul through love, chastity, time, death, and ultimately, fame. Though banned by the Church shortly after Petrarch’s death, his work found renewed life in visual form on these walls. Each Triumph is personified in elaborate procession: from Laura’s chariot drawn by white horses in the Triumph of Love, to the grim inevitability of the Triumph of Death, where oxen carry the Fates and Death trampling figures of worldly status beneath their wheels. The artist’s rearrangement of Petrarch’s sequence—placing Fame after Death—signals a colonial preoccupation with legacy, commemoration, and the transcendence of earthly time through historical inscription. In this context, fame is not just personal; it is institutional—a triumph of colonial memory over mortality.
These frescoes do not merely illustrate—they organize vision. They encode systems of belief, structure hierarchies of value, and transmit ideologies across generations. Their hybrid visual language, composed by Indigenous artisans working under European iconographic regimes, reflects the asymmetrical encounter at the heart of the colonial project. Yet within these surfaces, one finds fissures: gestures, symbols, and motifs that complicate the narrative of cultural domination. Casa del Deán is not just a monument of colonial history—it is a site where power, theology, and resistance intersect in pigment and plaster.