Locating Hispano-Philippine ivories

Colonial Latin American Review ISSN: (Print) (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/ccla20 Locating Hispano-Philippine ivories Stephanie Porras To cite this article: Stephanie Porras (2020) Locating Hispano-Philippine ivories, Colonial Latin American Review, 29:2, 256-291, DOI: 10.1080/10609164.2020.1755940 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/10609164.2020.1755940 Published online: 07 Jul 2020. Submit your article to this journal View related articles View Crossmark data Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=ccla20 COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 2020, VOL. 29, NO. 2, 256–291 https://doi.org/10.1080/10609164.2020.1755940 Locating Hispano-Philippine ivories Stephanie Porras Tulane University On 19 October 1655, the Manila galleon the San Francisco Javier sunk off the cost of the Philippine island of Samar, on its return journey from Acapulco. The wreck was the result of stormy weather and navigational error, and led to years of litigation and the imprisonment of many of the surviving officers. Within the pleito addressed to the Crown concerning the galleon’s loss of silver is the claim of the silk merchant Francisco Vello. According to the claim, Vello had sold luxury fabrics in Acapulco, as well as: First a box with four figures of Crucifixions in Ivory - the largest cost thirty-seven pesos, - one that cost thirty-five pesos, - the third cost thirty-two pesos, - the fourth and smallest cost eighteen pesos - a figure of the Virgin that cost forty-four pesos - a figure of Saint Michael costing forty-five pesos - Three figures of Saint Joseph - One costing thirty-three pesos - The other costing twenty-seven pesos - The other costing twenty-five pesos - a figure of Saint Diego that costs twenty pesos - a figure of Saint Pedro costing twenty-one pesos1 This is the earliest known record of prices fetched in Latin America for ivory sculptures made in the Philippines. The text describes figural sculptures, rather than triptychs, plaquettes or the separately carved heads and hands used for imágenes de vestir (dressed religious sculptures). These ivories were purchased in Manila, quite possibly directly from sculptors’ workshops, to be sold in Acapulco alongside other Asian luxury goods, before being resold (at an even higher price) in Mexico City. Consumed in Latin America, but produced in Asia after European and Asian models, this kind of figural sculpture had been made in Manila since the Spanish first established a base in the Philippines. Sixty-five years before the wreck of the San Francisco Javier, in 1590, the first Bishop of Manila, Domingo de Salazar, wrote to Philip II, praising the artistic skills of the local Chinese population (known by the Spanish as Sangleys), exclaiming: What arouses my wonder most is, that when I arrived no Sangley knew how to paint anything; but now have so perfected themselves in this art, that they have wrought marvelous works both with the chisel and with the brush. Having seen some infant Jesus figures in CONTACT Stephanie Porras sporras@tulane.edu © 2020 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group on behalf of CLAR COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 257 ivory, it seems to me that nothing more perfect than these could be produced; and such is the opinion of those who have seen them. The churches are now being provided with these images, which they sorely lacked before; with their ability to replicate those images that come from Spain, I understand that it should not be long when even those made in Flanders will not be missed. 2 In describing the production of these ivory sculptures, Salazar invokes the breadth of the early modern Spanish empire, from Flanders to the Philippines. According to Salazar, Manila carvers used Spanish models to displace highly desired imported objects from another Spanish territory, the province of Flanders. Although unmentioned by Salazar, Latin America was a key location in this process—not only did the majority of European sculpted and printed models travel to Manila via New Spain, but by 1655 and the sinking of the San Francisco Javier, these ivories were also highly valued export products to the Spanish Americas. Consider, for example, a sculpture like St Michael the Archangel (Figure 1). This ivory figure, now in a church collection in Spain, necessitated a dizzyingly complex set of journeys. The archangel is adapted from a Flemish print (Figure 2) in its pose and costume. The size of the sculpture means it is likely made of African ivory, but was probably carved by Chinese immigrants in Manila, before being shipped to Acapulco on the Manila galleon, carried overland across New Spain then across the Atlantic to Salamanca, where it arrived in 1686.3 The production of this single sculpture then required the movement of materials, models and makers across the Atlantic, Pacific and Indian Oceans in multiple directions. As a case study in connected history (Subrahmanyan 1997), these ivory sculptures cannot be identified with a single location: they are freighted with a surplus of geographic vectors that necessitate careful unpacking. The itineraries contained in these objects are not linear routes but often recursive or circuitous movements of materials, objects, people and knowledge (see Smith 2019). Locating these objects then is an interpretative method that requires reconstructing these ivories’ complex relationships to imported models, materials and techniques, exploring how these sculptures navigated both devotional and commercial networks of exchange across the global Spanish empire. Rather than offering interpretative fixity, this process allows for the deconstruction of common interpretative tropes applied to the study of such ‘hybrid’ and mobile objects. Art historians typically describe such sculptures as ‘Hispano-Philippine,’ an authorial shorthand intended both to denote their place of facture (the Philippines) and to place these artworks within the early modern Spanish empire. Yet this term flattens a complex set of geographies, migrations and transmissions that coalesce in these objects. The foundational scholarship on Hispano-Philippine ivories has surveyed the extant corpus of objects (most importantly Estella Marcos 1984), focusing on questions of dating and pinpointing their place of facture (Jose 1990; Jose & Villegas 2004; Trusted 2013a and 2013b; Bailey 2013). There are very few archival references to the manufacture of these sculptures, no surviving contracts or artist names and no signed works from the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries. Dating these objects is notoriously difficult in the absence of documented commissions and given the continual production of ivory sculpture in Manila, from the late sixteenth century until the modern era. The objects themselves then are often the only historical evidence we have. 258 S. PORRAS Figure 1. Hispano-Philippine, St Michael the Archangel, ivory with polychromy and gilding, 17th century, San Esteban, Salamanca. Photo: author. But these sculptures’ use of models and materials, their supposedly syncretic blending of European and Asian forms have not been interrogated in their full complexity. So for example, while the use of Flemish prints as models for ivory has long been noted, there is little discussion of how those prints traveled to Manila or how they were manipulated and reconceived by local artists, who had limited exposure to chiaroscuro and crosshatching. COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 259 Figure 2. Hieronymus Wierix after Maerten de Vos, St Michael the Archangel, engraving, published by Adriaen Huybrechts and Hieronymus Wierix, 1584. 291 × 202 mm. Art Institute of Chicago, Bernard Rogers Collection, 1935.149. Photo: Art Institute of Chicago, Creative Commons license (CC0). Catalogues of Hispano-Philippine ivories often describe these works as ‘East/West hybrids,’ a useful yet ultimately deceptive stylistic simplification for complex, novel artworks made of Asian and African ivory, by Chinese immigrant artists to the archipelago who utilized both Indian and European exemplars.4 Historians of the global Spanish empire (most recently Gasch-Tomás 2014) and art historians (Trusted 2013a and 260 S. PORRAS 2013b; Ruiz Gutiérrez 2016) have recognized how these ivory sculptures addressed Latin American consumer demand for Asian luxury goods. But the diverse networks of makers, materials and models for these sculptures extended far beyond the Pacific trade. This essay is centered on objects—figural ivory sculptures made in the Philippines in the seventeenth century—emphasizing the material and commercial innovations of these artworks and the ingenuity of their makers. I trace the different geographic trajectories of these sculptures’ materials, models, makers, and markets, enabling a critical reassessment of the ways in which historians describe and analyze colonial ‘copies,’ artistic style and labor, and the emerging global art market. Setting the material and conceptual geographies of these objects in motion puts pressure on key methodological assumptions that undergird studies of such complicated artworks: the ways in which historians analytically pause, reconstruct and reconcile interlocking spatial and cultural geographies.5 Beyond Flemish models In describing the production of Hispano-Philippine ivories around 1600, Salazar connects two art industrial complexes on opposite ends of the globe, at the contested peripheries of Spain’s empire. Yet closer consideration of Manila carvers’ use of both sculpted and engraved Flemish models repositions the Philippines as a center of artistic innovation, aimed at meeting Latin American demand. While the use of Flemish models has long been noted in the scholarship on these ivories, less attention has been paid to the importance of Flanders as a barometer of artistic achievement and style within the Spanish world and the complex ways Flemish sculpted and printed models were transformed in Manila. Flemish sculpture played a key role in Spanish claims to divine and terrestrial authority over the newly conquered islands. According to legend, in 1521 when Ferdinand Magellan ‘discovered’ the archipelago now known as the Philippines, his crew left behind a small statue of the Christ Child, gifted to the wife of Rajah Humabon, the ruler of the island of Cebu, upon her baptism into the Christian faith. When Spanish troops under the command of Miguel López de Legazpi returned to conquer the islands in 1565, a soldier rediscovered this sculpture, described by the chronicler Fernando Riquiel as ‘a child Jesus like those of Flanders.’6 There is no physical evidence corroborating the Flemish origins of the surviving Santo Niño de Cebu (Figure 3). However, the figure type—a standing, curly-haired Christ child, holding an orb in his left hand while making a gesture of blessing with his right—has iconographic and stylistic correspondences with statues of the infant Christ produced for export in the Flemish town of Mechelen throughout the sixteenth century, (see for example Figure 4, and the works collected in Preisig and Reif 2017) known as poupée de Malines. Mechelen dominated the European export market for small-scale devotional sculpture, in both wood and alabaster by later in the sixteenth century (Victoria 1993, 165).7 Spain and New Spain were key markets for these works. Regardless of its actual place of facture, the ‘rediscovered’ Santo Niño de Cebu was immediately recognized by Legazpi’s soldiers as a so-called poupée de Malines in large part because of the preponderance of similar Flemish statues in early colonial New Spain. Legazpi had lived in New Spain for thirty years before sailing to the Philippines; upon seeing the recovered Santo Niño, he established a Filipino brotherhood of the COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 261 Figure 3. Flanders (?), Santo Niño de Cebú, polychromed wood, 16th century, Basílica Minore del Santo Niño de Cebú, Cebu City. Photo: Cofradiabsn at Wikipedia.org, Creative Commons license (CC BY-SA 4.0). most blessed name of Jesus modeled on the Mexican priory of San Agustin. The apparently miraculous survival of the statue was interpreted as divine legitimization of the Spanish campaign of conquest in the Philippines, in the name of the Christian conversion of the archipelago (Bautista 2005). Via the cultivation of the cult of the Santo Niño de Cebu then, the colonial and ecclesiastical administration of the Philippines was conceptually linked to other Spanish territories: Flanders and New Spain. 262 S. PORRAS Figure 4. Mechelen, Christ Child, polychromed walnut, ca. 1510. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Photo: Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Salazar’s 1590 letter to the Spanish king, claiming that even ‘those [sculptures] made in Flanders’ would not be missed, suggests Flemish sculpture was still the stylistic barometer against which all other sculptural work was assessed. Since the fifteenth century, Iberian patrons had esteemed and collected imported Netherlandish prints, sculpture and other luxury goods (Heesch et al. 2018), and these preferences were soon transmitted to the Spanish colonies in the Americas, where Flemish models remained preferred by patrons (Stols and Bleys 1993). Salazar’s desire to supplant demand for imported Flemish sculpture, in favor of locally produced works, also had a precedent in New Spain, where missionaries saw salvific potential in reorienting indigenous craftsmanship towards European, Catholic models. Missionaries in the Americas, like Salazar, also praised the ‘seemingly miraculous’ replicative abilities of indigenous artists (Gruzinksi 2001). Hispano-Philippine ivory sculptures, as most comprehensively surveyed by Margarita Estella Marcos (1984 and 1997), broadly fall into several distinct categories: crucifixions, independent figures of standing saints, the Virgin or the Christ Child, heads and hands of sculptures to be dressed (imágenes de vestir), as well as small triptychs or plaques carved in relief. All of these figural sculpture types have Flemish and Spanish precedents. The COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 263 Figure 5. Installation view of Hispano-Philippine, Santo Niños, ivory with polychromy, and silver accessories. 17th century, Museo de Historia Mexicana, Monterrey. Photo: author. predominance of figures of the infant Christ (Figure 5) and the Virgin (typically represented as the Virgin of the Apocalypse, standing atop a crescent moon, as in Figure 9) in particular, replicate the most popular forms of Mechelen export statuary. Yet other popular subjects clearly responded to local demands for devotional artworks, with a high number of surviving ivories depicting key saints of the missionary orders most active in the islands: St Francis, St Dominic, St Ignatius of Antioch, and later in the seventeenth century, the newly canonized saints Francis Xavier and Rose of Lima (see Ruiz Gutiérrez 2007). In addition to the development of locally resonant iconographies, Hispano-Philippine ivories also grew to phenomenal size in comparison with Mechelen models, with some surviving sculptures over a meter in height. Returning to the ivory St Michael introduced earlier (Figure 1) reveals how Flemish artistic models were transformed in Filipino workshops. In 1645, St Michael was named patron saint of the islands (Jose and Villegas 2004, 85) and the figure of the archangel, after that of the crucified Christ and the Virgin of the Apocalypse, was one of the most popular subjects in large-scale, multi-piece ivory sculptures produced in the Philippines. The most dominant figural type is based upon a sixteenth-century engraving from Antwerp (Figure 2), designed by Maerten de Vos and engraved by Hieronymus Wierix (see Porras 2016). Several surviving ivory sculptures replicate (Figures 1, 6, 12, 13) the angel’s wavy hair, his all’antica costume (a breastplate, tasseled skirt, a prominent knotted sash and booted sandals topped with cherub heads), as well as the angel’s distinctive pose atop a serpentine figure. Some variants are closer to the engraving than others, but it appears that at least one copy of the engraving must have made it to Manila from Antwerp, implanting the model in local production. 264 S. PORRAS Figure 6. Hispano-Philippine, St Michael the Archangel, ivory with polychromy and gilding, 17th century, Museo de Historia Mexicana, Monterrey. Photo: author. Relatively cheap and easy to transport, thousands of printed images, many of which originated in Antwerp publishing houses, made their way from Europe to the Americas and on to Asia in the seventeenth century (Stols and Bleys 1993; Thomas and Stols 2009; Dekoninck 2013; Porras 2018). Longstanding trading and artistic links between Seville and Antwerp meant that Flemish prints were readily available at the official departure point for all Spanish American passengers and trade.8 In addition to those prints recorded in commercial manifests, many more prints must have been transported in the personal COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 265 baggage of individual travelers, particularly missionary clergy. In 1620 the Jesuit procurator in Manila, Francisco Gutiérrez, wrote to Alonso de Escobar in Seville, noting ‘the prints that I received are so excellent’;9 suggesting that religious orders specifically sent printed images from Seville to Manila, via New Spain, to meet the demand for devotional and instructional imagery in the archipelago. St Michael was not well represented in Flemish sculptural exports and to my knowledge there is no exemplar of Spanish or Flemish statuary produced after the de Vos print. The engraving was thus almost certainly the primary vehicle for transmitting this particular iconography to the South China Sea.10 The provision of prints as artistic models is a long-recognized feature of Spanish colonial art (see Ojeda di Ninno 2009), but one that here requires more nuanced consideration. The transformation of a printed image into a three-dimensional form—close to three times the size of the original engraving—is not a simple task. The use of prints as a model for ivory carving required familiarity with foreign modes of representation, in order to translate a grammar of black and white lines into a sculptural form. Given the number of surviving versions of this figure, various seventeenth-century Filipino ivory workshops had to have had access to the print, or a drawing or a sculpture based upon the engraving.11 One of several extant ivory St Michaels now in Monterrey, Mexico (Figure 6) testifies to the complex ways carvers in the Philippines utilized Flemish prints.12 While much of the figure’s pose and costume are clearly indebted to the de Vos engraving, this St Michael also reveals how multiple printed sources could be drawn upon in the creation of a single sculpture. The devil, who has a human torso, bat-like wings and a serpentine tail, is very close to two other prints of the Archangel, one designed by de Vos and published in Antwerp in 1585 by Johannes Baptista Vrients and another miniscule print by Wierix (Figure 7).13 The sculpture’s combination of costume, serpentine devil and large knotted sash then indicates that the artist had access to at least two different prints, or two different sculptural models based on prints originating in Antwerp, when carving this ivory. Not only does this reinforce the apparent availability of a variety of Flemish prints in seventeenth-century Manila, but the artist’s and/or patrons’ interest in combining different iconographic models also reveals a desire for artistic innovation.14 Manila’s ivory carvers did not simply replicate Flemish models but materially transformed them, creating artistic products novel in their iconography, scale and medium. The need for devotional objects to assist in conversion efforts does not fully account for the increasing artistic sophistication of these sculptures. Salazar’s 1590 letter suggests that Manila’s carvers would eliminate the need for imported sculpture—but as early as 1601, ivory sculptures were also being exported in some quantity to New Spain, as Trusted has shown in her study of the surviving ivories from the shipwrecked Manila galleon ship the Santa Margarita (2013a).15 The increasing artistic ambition of Hispano-Philippine ivories during the course of the seventeenth century, coupled with the 1655 pleito record, suggests that Manila’s carvers did not just meet local demands for devotional artwork but developed a sophisticated export market aimed at Latin America. Flanders was not just the source of the sculpted and engraved models used by Manila’s ivory carvers then, but also represented a commercial rival for the Latin American market. While Salazar predicted that there would soon be no need of Flemish sculptures in the Philippines, he could not have foreseen how quickly Hispano-Philippine ivories would find a ready market outside the archipelago, across both the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. Beyond 266 S. PORRAS Figure 7. Hieronymus Wierix, St Michael the Archangel, engraving, 1619. 9.4 × 6.4 cm. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Photo: Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. simply ‘copying’ exemplars, these sculptors rapidly expanded upon the size, material and iconographic variety of Flemish sculpted and printed models. The shift from wood to ivory represented both an artistic and commercial innovation, developed to compete against Flemish exports in a new global market for art and luxury goods. ‘Chineseness’: artistic labor and style While Hispano-Philippine ivory sculptures are undoubtedly indebted iconographically to Mechelen poupées and Flemish prints, they were likely made by sculptors of Chinese origin, working thousands of miles away from Europe and the Americas. Considering the mobility of the artists responsible for these works, the liminal status yet foundational economic role of the Chinese diaspora in Manila and across the South China Sea, exposes the limits of traditional art historical analysis, connecting stylistic features with authorial ethnic identity. Acknowledging the ingenuity of Manila’s ivory sculptors also requires COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 267 Figure 8. Probably Zhangzhou, China. Figure of Guanyin, carved and stained ivory, Ming dynasty, 1580–1640, Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Photo: © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. accounting for the historical realities of this artistic labor, as well as the interplay of commercial motivations and colonial controls in Spanish Manila. Chinese carvers had been using African ivory since the Song Dynasty (960–1279) (Gilman 1984; Clunas 1996) and sixteenth-century Chinese carvers, particularly along the southeastern coast in Fujian province, utilized the material to produce figural sculptures of Immortals (Figure 8). Gao Lin, a merchant and author writing in 1592, described how ‘in Fujian ivory is carved into human forms, the workmanship of which is fine and artful’ (cited in Clunas 1996, 18–19). In 1574, Hernando Riquel described Chinese ships arriving in Manila with ‘Chinese crucifixes.’16 A 1628 gazette describing the industries of Zhangzhou complained that ivory was no longer available in the prefecture as it was monopolized by the port markets, where it was carved into ‘Immortals and that sort of thing, supplying them for the purposes of providing pleasure […] ivory chopsticks, ivory cups, ivory belt plaques and ivory fans are also to be had’ (cited by Gilman 1984, 39; and Clunas 1996, 19). Ivory as well as ‘ornaments of little value’ are both listed by Antonio de Morga as one of the trade goods offered by Chinese junks in Manila (1909, 219–20). The heavily lidded eyes and simplified drapery of some surviving Hispano-Philippine sculptures, such as the Virgin and Child (Figure 9), has led Gauvin Alexander Bailey to 268 S. PORRAS Figure 9. Hispano-Philippine, Virgin and Child, ivory with polychromy and gilding, 17th century, Seville Cathedral, Seville. Photo: author. suggest that these works may have been produced in Fujian to be sold in Manila.17 It is certainly possible that some ivory sculptures were carved in centers like Zhangzhou and then exported to Manila for sale. Yet crucially, Salazar’s 1590 letter is early evidence that there were also local Chinese carvers at work in the Philippines by the end of the sixteenth century. In 1626, a letter from the Jesuit procurator in the Philippines Gerónimo Pérez to his superiors mentions ‘Chinese crucifixes,’18 although whether they were imported readymade or produced locally by Chinese artists resident in Manila is unclear. The 1633 carta anua (the annual letter sent from the mission to Rome) mentions a revered COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 269 Madonna held in the Casa de San Miguel within the Colegio de Manila, described as an image ‘of beautiful ivory, the style very rich and expensive,’19 and an earlier Jesuit letter mentions a figure of St Michael.20 These early and repeated references to local ivory statues, coupled with Salazar’s account, suggest Chinese immigrants to the Philippines were the likely makers of these sculptures.21 The Chinese population of Manila was primarily composed of immigrants from southern Fujian province, known as Minnan (Chia 2006). The Spanish term ‘Sangleys’ derives from sing-li, the Hokkien (a Fujian dialect) term for ‘trade’ or ‘doing business’ (Chin 2010, 188). The Spanish-designated residential and commercial district for the Sangleys was the Parián, outside the walls of the Spanish-controlled city (see Pinto 1964; Santamaria 1966; Reed 1978; Gil 2011; Kueh 2014; Leibsohn 2014). In 1590 this district, according to Salazar, held three to four thousand residents, not including the additional two thousand Chinese merchants who seasonally settled in the city for the purposes of trade; by 1602, that number had grown to 20,000 individuals (Wickberg 2000). After the 1603 uprising and subsequent slaughter of the majority of the archipelago’s Chinese population, an official cap on immigrants from China and Japan was imposed, but never enforced. By 1630, the Chinese population of Manila when the merchant junks were in port was again close to 20,000 (Pinto 1964, 97). This trade diaspora was crucial to the survival of the Spanish enterprise in Asia.22 Descriptions of colonial Manila from the early seventeenth century repeatedly stress that it was this Chinese immigrant population that provided nearly all of the artisanal goods in the city, presumably including ivory carving. In 1606, only three years after the first disastrous rebellion and massacre of the Chinese Philippine population, there were 243 shops recorded in Manila’s Parián.23 In 1614, a resident of Manila described how his fellow citizens relied on the Sangleys ‘for all the things necessary for a republic’: the five or six Spanish shops in the city, he noted, only sold goods from Castile, whereas the Chinese were ‘captains, tailors, carpenters, blacksmiths, ropemakers and silversmiths, and bakers, hatters.’24 In 1632, a petition from Manila again noted the Parián housed all of the city’s ‘shops of the merchants […] and other workshops.’25 This was apparently still the case as late as 1704, when the Italian traveler Gemelli Careri described the Parián: ‘Here are found all arts and trades … ’ (Gemelli Careri 1704, 420). While subject to periodic violence and geographically contained within the designated residential zone of the Parián (which changed location and size over the course of the seventeenth century), Manila’s Chinese population was clearly indispensable to the colony—despite the fact Sangleys were largely resistant to conversion. While Parián baptism records from the 1620s include the names of several Chinese artisans who converted to Catholicism, the Chinese community’s wholesale resistance to conversion continually vexed the city’s Dominican Order, who held ecclesiastical jurisdiction over the Parián.26 Converts could marry Tagalog women and permanently settle outside the Parián; they were also exempted from repartimiento labor and tributes for ten years (Crewe 2015, 358). These incentives often meant Chinese conversions were viewed with suspicion by Spanish colonial administrators, and Church officials worried about the durability of such conversions. Large-scale uprisings of the Chinese population of Manila occurred in 1603, 1639, 1662 and 1668, and each was followed by violent subjugation and slaughter. After these rebellions, tributes from Christian Sangleys rose, suggesting 270 S. PORRAS Figure 10. Unknown Sangley artist with the assistance of Captain Hernando de los Ríos Coronel, Nuesta Señora del Santissimo Rosario de La Naval de Manila, ivory hands and head, glass eyes, hair, wooden corpus, textiles, silver-gilt and jewels, 1593/4, Santo Domingo, Quezon City, Manila. Photo: estancabigas / Alamy Stock Photo. conversions were in fact often forced concessions on remaining inhabitants (Gil 2011, 323–24; Lee 2016, 11).27 Spanish chroniclers hoped that Sangley artistic production would encourage Sangley conversion. The Dominican priest Diego Aduarte, who arrived in Manila in 1595, described how an unconverted Sangley artist, under the direction of Hernando de los Ríos Coronel, fashioned the ivory head and hands of the Virgin of the Rosary for Manila’s Dominican monastery (Aduarte 1640, 36), now known as La Naval (Figure 10). According to Aduarte, the unnamed sculptor was later convinced to convert by the proven efficacy of the image he himself had carved. Although restored in the eighteenth century (see Jose 2007), La Naval is key evidence of the Spaniards’ reliance on unconverted Chinese artists resident in Manila, and the skills of these carvers at an early date, manufacturing artworks unprecedented in the Chinese ivory sculptural tradition. COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 271 The Sangley artists of Manila were quick to embrace novel forms. Chinese artists outside the Qing court did not use crosshatching to render spatial volume and weight until the eighteenth century.28 For the Sangley artist, translating the black and white lines of a print such as Figure 2 involved familiarizing oneself with the techniques of chiaroscuro, and the linear grammar used in engravings to render volume and texture. The iconographic source material provided by the two-dimensional print had to be enlarged dramatically and reconceived as a three-dimensional form (see Figures 1, 6, 12, 13). Beyond projecting the figure into three dimensions, this complex translation also required incredible material proficiency, as the sculptor had to conceive of ways of hiding the joints of multiple interlocking pieces of ivory. Earlier and contemporary ivory sculptures made in Fujian and mainland China had been confined to the shape of a single tusk (see Figure 8), whereas many of the Manila-made sculptures used multiple pieces of ivory to render complex figures. Sangley artists combined formal traits from multiple media in producing these ivory figures. The decoration of Flemish, Spanish and possibly even Latin American polychrome wooden sculpture, as well as Asian ornamental motifs, inspired these ivories’ gilding and painted decoration: extending from the simple coloring of the hair, eyes and lips, to more elaborate decoration of textiles and feathers in a number of colors.29 The patterns used— sinuous florals, elaborate stripes and dashes—are distinct from those used on contemporaneous polychrome wooden sculpture of New Spain or Flanders, and they appear particular to ivories carved in the Philippines. Preliminary technical analysis of the gilding of the St Michael in Baltimore (Figure 11) identified Asian lacquer in the binder used to adhere the gold leaf to the figure, evidence that many of these works were painted in Asia, prior to being exported.30 The material and stylistic ingenuity of these works is often flattened by attempts to account for their ‘Chineseness.’ See, for example, the intriguing substitution of the Fu dog for the typical serpentine devil in a St Michael now in Badajoz, Spain (Figure 12), often described in art historical literature as evidence of the object’s status as ‘syncretic’ or a ‘cultural hybrid.’31 However, as Dana Leibsohn and Carolyn Dean pointed out fifteen years ago in their pivotal critique of hybridity as a model of cultural analysis, describing an object as ‘hybrid’ often works to reify cultural difference, reinscribing processes of colonial erasure (Dean and Leibsohn 2003). The presumably Chinese maker of these sculptures did not seek to make a figure like St Michael more ‘Chinese’—indeed the very notion of ‘Chineseness’ is difficult to define in the framework of the diaspora of the South China Sea and the Chinese-mestizo population of colonial Manila. The Sangleys of Manila were a heterogeneous population of immigrants: some itinerant, some resistant to conversion and colonial rule, some of whom converted and married local women. What does it mean to describe artists, export art, or works produced by immigrant artists resident in a foreign land, whether commercially motivated, forced or willing converts, all as ‘Chinese’? At what point do the Chinese carvers of Manila, intermarried and resident in the city for generations, become Filipino? ‘Chineseness,’ like ‘indigenous’ or even ‘Spanish’ identity, is not a stable category, but one in continual motion. Merchants and missionaries could describe something as ‘Chinese’ to indicate export value, while missionaries used sangley to signal Chinese resistance to conversion, the liminal status of the immigrant merchant or artist. China is 272 S. PORRAS Figure 11. Hispano-Philippine, St Michael the Archangel, ivory with polychromy and gilding, 17th century, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. Photo: Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, Creative Commons license (CC0). certainly a key locus in the cultural geography of these ivory sculptures, even if it was not the place these objects were made, but it behooves scholars to acknowledge the sometimes irresolvable complexity of historical experience, and the concomitant difficulty of defining and describing these ivories’ ‘Chineseness.’32 The creation of a novel artistic product by the early modern Chinese diaspora in Manila demonstrates the necessity for art historians to balance stylistic analysis with a more nuanced consideration of colonial artistic labor; scholars of colonial Latin America and the Pacific trade similarly must resist the view of a homogenous ‘Chinese’ identity. COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 273 Figure 12. Hispano-Philippine, St Michael the Archangel, ivory with polychromy and gilding, 17th century, Catedral de San Juan Bautista, Badajoz. Photo: © Cabildo Catedral de Badajoz. Seeing ivory Rather than attempting to recover specifically ‘Chinese’ elements of these sculptures, it is perhaps more useful to remember the relative fungibility of ivory—that is, its high value as an exchangeable material to consumers across the globe. While scholars have long noted the use of African ivory in colonial works from the Iberian world, close examination of the facture of these ivory objects allows for a new appreciation of the role of the Indian Ocean trade in providing the materials and models for these artworks, spurring both product and process innovation. Asian elephant ivory had been available in the Philippines since the tenth century (Jose and Villegas 2004) and in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, official embassies as 274 S. PORRAS well as merchant junks from the kingdoms of Siam (Thailand) and Cambodia carried Asian ivory, both worked and unworked, to the archipelago.33 A fourteenth-century gift of elephants from the Sultan of Java to the ruler of Sulu meant that there was an elephant population on this southern Philippine island until the eighteenth century; however, there is no record of a seventeenth-century ivory trade between Manila and Sulu, when Spanish forces were waging several campaigns there to eradicate Islam (Jose 1990, 3, 15). In addition to these regional sources, at least some of the material used in the Philippines was African in origin. There has been an implicit erasure of the role of the Indian Ocean trade and the African continent in the way Hispano-Philippine ivories are described in both art historical scholarship and literature on the trans-Pacific trade, in part due to the lacunae of the surviving colonial archive. Yet the extraordinary size of some Hispano-Philippine statues means they are very likely made from African ivory. Artifacts with sections of ivory wider than 11 centimeters are commonly understood to derive from African elephants, given the discrepancy in tusk size between the two species (but this can only be confirmed via genetic testing).34 The wings of St Michael the Archangel (Figure 13) from the Viceregal Art Museum in Figure 13. Hispano-Philippine, St Michael the Archangel, ivory with polychromy and gilding, 17th century, Museum of Viceregal Art, Tepotzotlán, Mexico. Photo: author. COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 275 Tepotzotlán or the astonishingly large Crucifixion now in the Soumaya Museum, Mexico City (over a meter long, Figure 14), are each crafted from tusks circa 14 centimeters in diameter, strongly indicating the African origin of these ivories. Many surviving Hispano-Philippine ivory plaquettes, triptychs and smaller-scale sculptural works could have been made from Asian ivory, but works on this scale, at least in their largest sections, likely required the tusks of African elephants. Unrecorded in archival sources, the presence of African ivory in Manila is documented in the sculptures themselves, illustrating the necessity of a study of material culture in recovering the presence of non-European actors in histories of the early modern period. In the later sixteenth century, there was a decline in the availability of ivory in Europe, due to the Ottoman dominance of North Africa; yet African ivory was readily available Figure 14. Hispano-Philippine, Crucifixion, ivory with polychromy mounted on wood with inlays of mother of pearl and silver, 17th century. Museo Soumaya, Mexico City. Photo: author. 276 S. PORRAS and prized in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Asia, exported from East African ports (Malindi, Zanzibar, and later Mozambique) by Portuguese and South Indian traders who sent it onwards to Goa and Macao.35 In 1619 alone, the annual value of the Portuguese Mozambique ivory trade is estimated at 100,000 cruzados, or approximately 5 to 10% of the total carreira trade (Newitt 1987, 215).36 Ahmed Afzal has traced the import of over 200,000 kilograms of ivory from East Africa to Goa between 1613 and 1661—that is over 25,000 tusks (Ahmed 1991, 101). The union of the Portuguese and Spanish Crowns between 1580 and 1640 may have assisted in the movement of ivory from East Africa to Manila—either via Goa and Macao, or from the Indian coast via the Moluccas to the archipelago. Total Portuguese imports, from both Macao and the Estado da India, represented approximately a quarter of the total value of Manila’s imports between 1619 and 1631, yet the increasing Dutch dominance of the Indian Ocean and the dissolution of the Iberian union in the second half of the seventeenth century led to the decline in direct commerce between Manila and Portuguese Asia (Souza 1986, 83).37 Surviving HispanoPhilippine sculptures of African ivory like the ones described above, however, suggest the continuation of this trade through the end of the seventeenth century, possibly via Asian merchants and middlemen or through ecclesiastical networks. The presence of African ivory in Manila enabled the production of large-scale figural works, such as the numerous surviving Crucifixions (Figure 14) rendered in ivory. The form of the crucified Christ was an obvious subject for the exploitation of the tusk’s natural arc. Yet considering the energetic outstretched wings and arms of the larger St Michaels (Figures 1, 6, 11 and 13) reveals the complex spatial logic of the sculptor in overcoming the constraints of ivory as a material. The inherent curve of the elephant tusk in the archangel’s torso imparts a sense of forward motion akin to the contrapposto of the engraved figure, and it emphasizes the coil of the serpentine devil’s body. At the same time, the figure’s arms and legs work against the memory of the tusk’s original form, as they are carved separately from whole pieces of ivory, whose attachments are deftly masked by the figure’s costume. Sometimes (Figure 13) the archangel’s wings are carved from the hollow tops of the elephant tusk (the pulp cavity), taking advantage of the natural concavity to convincingly suggest unfurling wings. In other versions of the archangel (Figures 11, 12), these appendages are carefully joined together from multiple sections of ivory. While it is difficult to determine whether the African origin of the material was appreciated by consumers in Latin America or Europe, the longstanding resonance of ivory as a highly valued material across all of these cultures, coupled with the sheer size of these sculptures would have commanded high prices. Surviving large-scale Hispano-Philippine sculptures likely made from African ivory are today still largely held in prominent ecclesiastic collections in Latin America and Spain (for example the Basilica of Guadalupe, the Cathedral of Lima, the Convento San Esteban in Salamanca) suggesting these works were primarily produced for export and high-status donations. As well as arriving in the form of raw tusks from East Africa, finished ivory sculptures were also traded across the Indian Ocean. The 1615 shipwreck of the Nossa Senhora da Luz, which sank in the Azores on its way from Goa to Portugal, contained an ivory Christ Child, Crucifixion, Virgin and assorted decorative ivory items (Silva 2013b, 148). Ivories from Goa are distinguished by their more delicate facial features and the stiffer planar modeling of both bodies and drapery, retaining more of the tusk’s original form COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 277 (see Figure 15; Estella Marcos 1997; Silva 2013a and 2013b). Goan ivories also depict distinctive iconographies, such as Christ as the Good Shepherd shown seated with his face resting on his hand and seated on an elaborate floral throne.38 Marjorie Trusted has raised the possibility that some of the recovered ivories from the 1601 wreck of the Santa Margarita, the Manila galleon ship bound for Acapulco, may be Goan in origin, citing the presence of a small figure of Christ very similar to Goan exemplars (Trusted 2013a). This archaeological evidence suggests Manila was a place both where ivories were carved and where ivories from the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea were traded. Figure 15. Goa or Ceylon, Virgin and Child, ivory, 17th century. Formerly in the Museu Histórico e Nacional, Rio de Janeiro. Photo: Reprinted from A sagraçwão do marfim: coleção do Museu Histórico Nacional (São Paulo, 2005). 278 S. PORRAS There is further proof that the Indian Ocean trade not only provided the raw material, but also supplied artistic and technical models to sculptors in the Philippines. The St Michaels now in Monterrey, Mexico (Figure 6) and San Esteban, Salamanca (Figure 1) while indebted in overall form to the Flemish engravings discussed earlier, also include an entirely new form of ornament for Hispano-Philippine ivories—circular incised decoration with a central, drilled hole along the figure’s skirt and sash.39 This kind of ornament is found on ivory sculptures produced in Goa and in Ceylon made at approximately the same date (see Figure 15). Given trading links between the Indian coasts, Macao and Manila, it seems likely that the carver of the Monterrey St Michael was exposed to this kind of circular incised decoration from ivory sculptural models originating on the Indian subcontinent. The local availability of large tusks of African ivory, as well as carved works from the Indian subcontinent, apparently encouraged sculptors in Manila to push the boundaries of the medium, in terms of scale, composition, and surface detail. Attending to the material and technical aspects of Hispano-Philippine ivories reveals the importance of the Indian Ocean trade in the ambitious development of these sculptural forms. Close consideration of these ivories’ material and carving techniques exposes specific geographies underrepresented in the textual archive, where ivory (marfil), carved or uncarved, is typically recorded only in bulk and without regard to origin. Merchants and consumers from the East coast of Africa, across the Indian, Pacific and Atlantic oceans, all prized ivory. Both raw tusks and finished sculptures traversed the same Indian Ocean routes as the enslaved peoples brought from Africa and Asia to the Americas in the seventeenth century (Seijas 2008). Attentiveness to ivory as a material exposes still under-studied links between the Indian and Pacific Oceans, an early modern history of Latin America facing eastwards, rather than towards Europe. Silver and souls: entangled spiritual and commercial networks Thus far, I have considered the material, technical, stylistic and iconographic sources for Hispano-Philippine sculptures—Flemish poupées and engravings, Indian and Chinese carvings of African ivory. In the remainder of this essay, we will briefly consider how the production and export of these ivories served both devotional and mercantile ambitions. Scholarship on Hispano-Philippine ivory sculpture often assumes such works were made to assist in the conversion project of the Asian mission (see Estella Marcos 1984; Jose 1990; Jose and Villegas 2004; Bailey 2013). However, sculptors were not just employed by the missionary orders of Manila to fill their churches with ivory santos, but were also in all likelihood working for religious orders interested in monetizing Mexican and European demand for Asian luxury goods, in order to raise funds for their missionary projects. While a complete exploration of the market for these ivories in Latin America and Europe is beyond the scope of this article,40 considering the role of clergy in the commissioning and export of ivories made in the Philippines demonstrates the interwoven nature of transoceanic commercial and spiritual networks, as the manufacture and export of these ivories blurred the line between commodities and Church donations. The seventeenth-century records of the archdioceses of Manila record the relative poverty of the Filipino Church and its numerous, repeated requests for funds for basic materials like wine for the celebration of the mass.41 Since the start of the Spanish colony, missionaries had received tax-free cargo space on the Manila galleon ships, to COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 279 be filled with items to be sold in Mexico in order to fund the Asian mission. In 1638 the Ecclesiastical Cabildo of Manila, eleven secular priests who formed the chapter of Manila Cathedral, was given formal permission from the Spanish king to ship silk to Mexico; but it is clear that Philippine clerics had been participating in the Asian silk trade since their arrival in the archipelago fifty years earlier (Cushner 1967). In 1627, Juan Oñez defended the Church’s involvement in trans-Pacific trade, citing the poverty of the Philippine mission, stipulating that as long as priests did not step foot into the Chinese market and worked only with intermediaries, the Church’s involvement in the galleon trade was permissible (Clossey 2006, 46; Cushner 1967). For the historian, this practice of using laymen as commercial middlemen conceals the scale of the missionary orders’ involvement in the export market, as religious transactions are unrecorded in the archive or difficult to trace back to religious institutions. Jesuit procurators in Latin America, as Luis Elena Alcalá has shown, served both mercantile and missionary needs.42 Although the galleon trade was supposed to adhere to specific caps on tonnage and value set by the Spanish Crown, these were regularly exceeded by overloading the ship, and by passengers and crew including commercially valuable items in their personal baggage (Crailsheim 2017). The extant textual records of the seventeenth-century Manila galleon trade are minimal, reflecting poor rates of material survival. But there was also the desire (in both the Philippines and New Spain) to obfuscate the vast amounts of American silver reaching Asia, far from the control of the Spanish Crown (Priyadarshini 2017, 82). Examining the recorded debate within Manila’s Jesuit Order, regarding the mission’s involvement in trade, allows for at least a partial reconstruction of how these ivories simultaneously may have served both commercial and devotional markets. Diego de Bobadilla, professor of philosophy and theology at Manila’s College of Saint Ignatius, condemned the Order’s participation in the silk trade in a 1630 lecture (Cushner 1967). Even if a third party did the buying and selling, Bobadilla saw such commercial transactions by clergy as a grave sin; the only exception was if the value of goods bought were increased by paid labor: that is, if the Jesuits sent finished merchandise like clothes (or, I would suggest, ivory statues) to Mexico for sale, instead of raw silk.43 Bobadilla made allowances for the sale or bartering of finished goods for supplies and books, such that a cleric could send a box of goods or carry merchandise to cover expenses on the galleon without condemnation. Despite his fiery rhetoric, Bobadilla only recommended a penalty for those priests trading in values over 1000 pesos, a considerable increase from the limit of 200 pesos earlier espoused by Juan Ribera at the Jesuit college of Saint Ignatius (Cushner 1967, 366).44 This higher limit recognized the straitened circumstances of the Jesuit mission in Asia in light of its guiding ambition, the broader evangelization of China and Japan (Górriz Abella 2004). Five years after delivering this sermon, Bobadilla went on to become head of the Jesuit mission in the Philippines, presumably enforcing his views on the Order’s involvement in the galleon trade. But if the Jesuits commissioned ivory sculptures in Manila for export, to raise funds for the mission, how did these same poor Jesuits afford African ivory in the first place? One possibility is that tusks and carved figures from the Indian subcontinent were sent onwards as donations and legacies from wealthy Portuguese and Indian Christians based in Goa or Macao. In 1596, a Portuguese captain ‘donated’ several enslaved persons of African origin to the Jesuit Church in Manila, an early precedent for the transfer of ‘material’ wealth across the Indian Ocean (Irving 2010, 42). The donation of ivory 280 S. PORRAS tusks would have allowed for the missionary clergy in Manila not only to furnish their churches with impressive statuary, but to commission works to sell in Latin America in order to fund the Asian mission. Ivory then was both a spiritual gift and a trade good, exchanged across multiple transoceanic networks. Marjorie Trusted’s study of the ivories recovered from the 1601 shipwreck of the galleon Santa Margarita confirms that smaller-scale ivories were being sent to Mexico in some quantity already by the turn of the seventeenth century (Trusted 2013a). The forecastle of the wreck alone has yielded 21 smaller-scale ivory sculptures and a number of fragments; further planned excavations of the Santa Margarita’s mid-ship and stern castle may reveal more.45 While the number of ivories recovered from the Santa Margarita does not indicate export on a massive scale, the shipwreck indicates ivories from the Philippines were being exported, not just as one-off commissions or gifts, much earlier than documented in archival records.46 The earliest known documented reference to the trans-Pacific commercial trade in ivory sculptures is the 1655 pleito regarding the wreck of the San Francisco Javier, published here. Notably, the total value of the ivories sold by Vello in Acapulco did not exceed the prescribed limit set by Bobadilla regarding clerical involvement in the galleon trade. The particular choice of saints included in the 1655 cargo, alongside more standard iconographies of the Crucifixion and the Virgin, also indicates some responsiveness to American tastes. Saint Diego (James the Greater) and Saint Joseph were among the most popular saints in the Spanish Atlantic world, ideologically reinforcing Spanish colonial power over their indigenous subjects. James, as one of Christ’s disciples who brought Christianity to Spain and also known as Santiago Matamoros or the Moor-slayer, was a powerful symbolic antecedent for Spanish efforts at evangelization and the expurgation of ‘idolatry’ in the New World (González López 1991); similarly Villaseñor Black (2005) has traced the ideological import of the cult of Saint Joseph in promoting Spanish social structures to indigenous peoples in New Spain. The particular interest in ivory statues of St Michael could also have been a response to the established popularity of the archangel in Latin America. Maerten de Vos’s painted St Michael the Archangel (model for the later engravings used by ivory carvers in Manila, as in Figures 1, 6, 12 and 13) was on the high altar of the Cathedral of Mexico City by 1585 (Arroyo 2015, 123). The devotion to the archangel in New Spain exploded after 1631 when an indigenous man, Diego Lázaro, beheld an apparition of the archangel at a new spring in Tlaxcala, giving birth to a local pilgrimage cult (Cuadriello 2013, 229). The archangel is one of the most well-represented figures amongst surviving large-scale Hispano-Philippine ivories in Mexico today.47 The figure of Saint Michael is the most expensive sculpture listed in the 1655 record, probably due to the more complex and materially demanding nature of the archangel’s wings. The 1655 shipment of ivories from Manila to Acapulco aboard the ill-fated San Francisco Javier does not appear to be directly related to religious networks, although we cannot rule out the use of a commercial middleman, as advocated by Manila’s Jesuit leaders. The production and export of these ivories then demonstrates the ambiguous boundaries between religious and commercial networks, as these objects were made both to serve the devotional needs of the local mission, and to participate in transPacific commerce. Prior to the Spanish conquest, the Philippines were already a center of trade and exchange between the territories of Indonesia, Brunei, Cambodia, Malaysia, COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 281 Siam and China. The Spanish, even as late as the 1620s, were primarily focused on accessing and exploiting this trade network, more than establishing an independent colonial government and society in the mold of New Spain (Ruiz Gutiérrez 2016, 91). The manufacture of ivories for export by religious authorities bears witness to the economic reality of colonial Manila, the centrality of the American trade to the desired spiritual conquest of Asia and the intersections between European ecclesiastic and imperial ambitions (Leibsohn and Priyadarshini 2016, 6). While the economic role of the galleon trade is being increasingly well explored by historians, the export of Hispano-Philippine ivories also exposes how much ambiguity remains regarding the involvement of the Church in the galleon trade, and the difficulties of reconstructing value and cargo from a sometimes opaque archival record. The scale of the trans-Pacific taste for these ivories is attested to in a 1767 ecclesiastic inventory of a relatively minor parish church in Oaxaca, 14,000 miles away from Manila, which recorded at least ten ivory sculptures, likely Philippine in origin, on a single altar.48 The demand for Asian luxury goods in the Americas has been well documented in recent years (Curiel 2007; Leibsohn 2012; Pierce 2012; Bonialian 2014; Carr 2015; Leibsohn and Priyadarshini 2016; Priyadarshini 2017), while economic historians have established the seminal role of the Manila galleon trade in early modern globalization (Flynn and Giráldez 1995; Giráldez 2015). In return for American silver, the Manila galleon delivered porcelain, Japanese lacquer, textiles from China and India, jewels, beeswax, and other luxury items to New Spanish markets (Ruiz Gutiérrez 2016, 209–47). Mexican religious orders and wealthy families commissioned customized porcelain from Jingdezhen, presumably via intermediaries in Manila (Priyadarshini 2017, 83), suggesting Latin American demands for specific luxury goods were successfully transmitted across the Pacific. The production and export of ivory sculptures from Manila suggests ways in which ecclesiastical networks were also crucial agents for the patronage, consumption and distribution of such luxury exports. Large multi-part ivory figures were brought back, via New Spain, to the Iberian peninsula as expensive and exotic gifts for religious foundations. Tomás García de Cárdenas, general of the Philippine royal galleys, founded three chapels in Badajoz, furnished with ivories (Solís Rodríguez 1984, 92–96). In 1686, the Manila Dominican Francisco Antonio Vargas shipped three ivory statues (a St Michael, St Francis and St Dominic) to a convent in Salamanca.49 A similarly sized St Michael (Figure 12) likely accompanied the 1682 donation of a large St John statue (ca. 70 cm) by the father-in-law of the viceroy of the Philippines, Pedro Ardila, to the Cathedral of Badajoz.50 These donations bound the clerics and colonial administrators of the Philippines back to their Spanish homelands, while demonstrating the value (both material and spiritual) of the Spanish colonial project. As costly gifts and as devotional objects, these Hispano-Philippine ivories, when gifted back to Spanish religious institutions in the name of donors with ties to the Philippines, re-performed the Spanish empire’s geographic reach, and the entanglement of its devout and commercial ambitions.51 Object lessons Hispano-Philippine ivories, by virtue of their status as anonymously produced, decorative art objects, are under-studied in art history or only briefly discussed as an illustration of a 282 S. PORRAS galleon trade good. Carved from African ivory in the South China Sea, influenced by Indian, Chinese and Flemish models, sent across the Pacific in Spanish ships, to Latin American and European consumers: these objects resist stable categorization. This essay has endeavored to trace these geographic entanglements. Locating these ivories has required paying attention to varying and specific local conditions, zooming in to the workshops of Manila’s Parián and the iconographic and material details of a handful of works— and panning back out to consider the galleon trade, links between Goa and Manila, and the Catholic Church’s ambitions in Asia. This study demonstrates what is possible when faced with complex objects of unknown date and authorship, complex geographies of facture and limited archival documentation. I have tried to locate the novelty of these objects in their exploitation of multiple points of reference, addressing markets and models across several oceans.52 The complicated series of routes embedded in these ivories gives voice to the ‘afterlives’ of European printed models and the so-called ‘global Baroque,’ yet the recovery of these geographies also challenges traditional categories of art historical analysis (Mochizuki 2014, 159). Close looking has led to a conceptual reassessment of style and artistic labor, exposing the limitations of terms like ‘copy’ or ‘Chinese,’ the supposed divisions between devotional art and commodity good. Hispano-Philippine ivories are by no means the only early modern art object or luxury good, made by unrecorded artists moving within overseas markets. This essay suggests the generative possibility of close object studies as a mode of historical writing across the shifting temporal, geographic and disciplinary boundaries of the early modern. Notes 1. ‘Primeramente un caxonçillos donde van quarto figuras de Crucifixos de marfil - el maior costo treinta y siete pessos - el que le sigue costo treinta y cinco pessos - el terzero costo treinta y dos pessos - el quarto y mas pequeno costo dies y ocho pessos - Item una figura de Nuestra señora q costo quarenta y quarto pessos - Item una figura de Sn. Miguel costo quarenta y cinco pessos - Item tres figuras de Sanct Josseph - El uno costo treinta y tres pessos - El otro costo veinte y siete pessos - El otro costo veinte y cinco pessos - Item una figura de So. Diego que costso veinte ps. - Item una figura de So. Pedro costo veinte y cinco ps.’ from ‘Memoria de la Plata que trae este Galeon en Registro de Quenta de su Magestad en Reales del situado de las Yslas Filipinas’ (1655). Pleyto que siguen los Vezinos de esta ciud. Cerca del entrego de la plata que Salio atierra del navfragio del Galeon S. Franco.Xabier viniendo de la Nueva espana el a passado de 1655. Escribania 404a, Legajo 2, Numero 10, 1 quaderno 1655, f. 147r. Archivo General de Indias, Seville. 2. ‘ … y lo que mas me a admirado es que con no haver quando yo aqui llegue Hombre dellos que supiese Pintar cosa que algo fuese se an perfiçinado tanto En este arte que ansy en lo de Pinzel como de bulto an sacado maravillosas Pieças y algunos nyños Jesús que yo e visto Yn marfil me pareçe que no se Puede hazer cosa mas Perfecta y ansy lo afirman todos los que los am bisto. Bense Proveyendo las yglesias de las ymagines q estos hazen de q antes havia mucha falta y segun la avilidad que muestran en retrartar y las ymagines q bienen de Spaña entiendo que antes de mucho no nos haran falta las que se hazen en flandes … ,’ Domingo de Salazar COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 283 (24 June 1590). Carta de Salazar sobre relación con China y sangleyes. Filipinas 74, N. 38, ff. 185r–86v (ES.41091.AGI/23.6.1077//FILIPINAS,74,N.38). Archivo General de Indias, Seville. The Manila Dominican Francisco de Vargas shipped three ivory statues (a St Michael, St Francis and St Dominic) to Salamanca’s San Esteban in 1686: ‘Portes de unas ymágenes. Más de gasto 114 reales que pagó de los portes de tres ymágenes de marfil que están en poder del Rmo. P. Mo. Confesor de su Mag. D.fr. Pedro Matilla, que son un S. Miguel de vara de alto y los dos Patriarchas n.o. P.S. Francisco y Sto. Domingo de a dos tercias cada uno que remitió para este Convento desde Manila el P. fr. Franc.co de Vargas, hijo deste Convento’ (quoted in Jose and Villegas 2004, 115). On the three ivories, see Estella Marcos 1997, 27; Estella 1984, cat. 597, 631, 632. This is not to slight the foundational work on identifying Hispano-Philippine sculptures and accounting for their stylistic features, but the unproblematized use of the term ‘hybrid,’ or analysis that stresses these sculptures’ similarity to Buddhist figures can be found in much of the art historical literature on these works, including Estella Marcos 1984, Sánchez Navarro de Pintado 1986, Trusted 2013a and 2013b, and Bailey 2013. In this way, this essay can be related to a number of recent art historical volumes (Russo 2014; Kaufmann and North 2014; Dossin et al. 2015; Bleichmar and Martin 2015; Sloboda and Yonan 2019) that have brought together case studies on individual artists, objects, markets, courts and trade routes exemplifying early modern transcultural exchange, and the balance between global and local forces. Histories of material culture have also traced the migration of materials, object types, knowledge, techniques and styles; see Priyadarshini 2017, for example on porcelain, or the essays collected in Smith 2019. English translation of Fernando Riquiel’s account in his 1565 Relación from Blair and Robinson 1908, 2:120–21. On Mechelen’s status as an export center, for both sculpted single figures and relatively cheap waterverf paintings, see de Marchi and van Miegroet 2007. To cite just one example, see the record of hundreds of prints (‘sesenta docenas de imagenes de devocion’ ‘quince docenas de papeles de devocion’) from the manifest for the San Buenaventura, sent to Tierra Firme in the viceroyalty of Peru in 1586. Contratacion, 1084, N.2, f. 62. Archivo General de Indias, Seville. First published in Quintana Echeverría 2000, 109. ‘Los estampas recivi que son tan excelentes’ (4 August 1620). Letter to P. Alonso de Escobar de la Compañía de Jesús in Seville from Francisco Gutiérrez, Manila. 9/2667, Legajo 1, no. 36, f. 1v. Real Academia de la Historia, Madrid. I have hypothesized elsewhere about why this image may have been so popular in colonial Latin America and the Philippines; see Porras 2016. A candidate for the later possibility is an ivory statue of the archangel, referenced in a Jesuit letter of 1610; see note 20. The sculpture is now in the Museo de Historia Mexicana in Monterrey (Estella Marcos 1997, no. 39), which has a large collection of ivories donated by private collectors. Little is known about the provenance of most of these objects. Ruyven-Zeman and Leesberg 2004, cat. nos. 1083, 1085. Similarly, Marjorie Trusted has shown how ivory triptychs of the Tota Pulchra and St Jerome, as well as ivory plaquettes like Christ as the Divine Pilot all reproduce printed exemplars. See Trusted 2009; Trusted 2013a and 2013b, cat. nos. 347 and 348. To Trusted’s identification of printed models for these works I would add the following sources for the St Jerome: Jan Sadeler after Gillis Mostaert, St Jerome, engraving ca. 1575–1590 (Hoop Scheffer 1980, no. 370) and Johan Sadeler after Maerten de Vos, St Jerome, engraving, ca. 1585/6 (Schuckman 1996, no. 1105). All three of these compositions were seemingly produced in considerable quantities, given the number of closely related surviving versions. See the proximity of the surviving versions of the Tota Pulchra in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London (99 to B-1864), one found in the shipwreck of the Santa Margarita (now owned by IOTA Partners) and a private collection in Mexico City; see also the close compositional relationship between the St Jerome from the Santa Margarita (now owned 284 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. S. PORRAS by IOTA Partners), and two polychromed versions reproduced in Sánchez Navarro de Pintado 1986, figure 88; as well as the versions of Christ as the Divine Pilot held by the Victoria and Albert Museum (267-1879), the British Museum (1959,0721.1) the Museo de Historia Mexicana, Monterrey, a Mexican private collection (reproduced in Sánchez Navarro de Pintado 1986, figure 87) and another version formerly in a Madrid private collection. ‘They also made images of crucifixes, chairs very curious in our own way […] one of the Chinese that has been among us for more than a year, and returned to their land, gave these people the news that they could contract all the things that would, and to understand it, they made the trip, and they arrived with the aforementioned boats (Asimismo traxeron Imágenes de Crucifixos, Sillas muy curiosas á nuestra modo. La causa desta venida demás de la ordinaria que ellos tienen fue uno de los Chinas que ha estado entre nosotros tiempo de mas de una año, y vuelto á su tierra dio noticia desta Población, y que en ella se podran contratár todas las cosas que tubiesen, y para entenderlo asi hiceron el viaje, y llegaron con los Navios ya referidos.’ Riquel 1574. Relación muy cierta y verdadera de lo que agora nuevamente se ha sabido de las nuebas Islas del Poniente […] colección Fernández de Navarrete. Nav. II, f. 247, dto. 7o, Madrid, Archivo del Museo Naval. As transcribed by Ruiz Gutiérrez 2016, 182, n.342. Bailey (2013) cites a 1561 letter from the Jesuit Luís Fróis in Goa to Gonzalo Vaz, describing a Chinese workshop where crucifixes were being made for export; see Ruiz de Medina 1995, 476–77. Unfortunately, this portion of the letter has suffered some damage and loss, but reads in part: ‘ … una hermosissa imagen de talla de la Santissa Virgen, muchas de Chino crucifica [text lost]’ (24 May 1626). Letter from Gerónimo Pérez to Ignacio de Jual. 9/3717, no. 286, 2r. Real Academia de la Historia, Madrid. ‘La devoción con la Sra. Virgen por occasion de ja ver se collocedo su Imagen en una Capilla desueno compuesta es la imagen de marfil hermosissima, El Ystilo muy rico y costoso … ’ (1633). Carta Anua de la Provincia de Philipinas de la Compaña de Iesus del año de 1633. Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu. Philippinas 7.1, f. 97. Vatican Film Library, St. Louis, Roll 163. These two statues were likely purchased in 1610, as the carta anua for that year mentions the Colegio’s purchase of a Virgin and a St Michael. ‘Tiene tambien este Collegio avegargo un pueblo pequeno muy cercano a manila del la nacion Talaga los quales se doctrinan lo mas del ano en nra iglesia. Per estar cerca, y algunas veses en su propria iglesia la qual han hecho este ano de nuebo muy Buena y adelantandola con un San Miguel de bulto q es su vocacion y una Hermosa Imagen de Nra. Sa. y hecho para adorno de toda la iglessia de varios sedas y comprador un organo pa. celebrar sus fiestas’ (1610). Carta annua de la Provincia de Philippinas de la Compania de Jesus del Ano de 1610. 9/2667, Legajo 1, no. 14, f. 4r. Real Academia de la Historia, Madrid. This statue may be the impetus for the proliferation of ivory Saint Michael statues exported from Manila throughout the seventeenth century. Although the few surviving Spanish archival sources referring to ivory carving uniformly describe these sculptors as sangley or Chinese, it is also possible Japanese and other ethnic populations were responsible for ivory carving in Manila. This possibility has been raised but ultimately dismissed due to the lack of comparable contemporary Japanese figural carving; see Jose and Villegas 2004, 57. The Japanese population of Manila was around 3000 in 1624, though mostly concentrated in the Dilao district; see Reed 1978, 52. See the foundational work on the agency of early modern trading diasporas of Sephardic Jewish, Armenian and Mocha commercial networks, respectively, in Trivellato 2009, Aslanian 2011, and Um 2017. 1606. Carta de Díaz Guiral sobre sangleys, hospitals (27 May 1606). Filipinas 19, R. 7. N. 105. Archivo General de Indias, Seville. First published in Ollé 2008, 74. ‘ … como de carpinteros y lanteros y todos los demas que son nesesarios en una RePublica Los usan los sangleeys infieles y son muy pocos o ningunos. Los Espanoles que exersen los dichos ofizios ni tartan de ello solo de tener algunas tiendas dentro de la ciudad en que vender algunas cossas de Castilla y que estan desta fuerte El trato y comercio desta ciudad COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 285 es Imposible’ (1620). Pleytos de Manila. La ciudad de Manila de las Islas philipinas con El fiscal de su Magd. de las Juron del Parián. Escribania, 403b, legajo 10, N 14, ff.100v–1r. Archivo General de Indias, Seville. ‘ … con sus oficios y siendo esto tan en servicio de Dios nuestro sr. y de su Magd y biengen de toda esta republica contraviniendo a ello muy gran numero de los dichos sangleeys […] se han estado y estan y vuien con sus Tiendas de Mercaderes sabes capateros plateros bodegonos sombrereros y otros officious mecanicos … ’ (12 February 1632). Peticion de Manila sobre Parián de sangleys. Escribania, 403b, N.148, f. 889r. Archivo General de Indias, Seville. See, for example, the conversions of Hyacinto, a silversmith, and two carpenters, Thomas and Raymundo, on 21 May 1626, or the conversion of Domingo the painter on 22 July 1627. Libro de Bautizos Siglo XVII 1626–1700, Sección de Parián, Roll 47, vol. 2. Archives of the University of Santo Tomás, Manila. The discovery of this baptismal record book was first published in Kueh 2014. Dominic Crewe has described how during the course of the seventeenth century, the Dominicans of the Parián went from treating Sangleys outside Manila’s walls as a doctrina ripe for conversion, to a convivencia, a foreign community voluntarily resident in a land nominally ruled by a Christian king (2015, 364). On the presence of European stylistic elements in Qing court painting, especially thanks to the pioneering work of Sullivan (1973, 66–86), and more recently summarized in Cheng-Hua 2014. Julie Lauffenburger of the Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, is currently conducting a study of the pigments and techniques of polychromy and gilding on these statues, tracing their use of pigments and comparing them to European, Asian and American ornamental motifs. Previously there has only been a single study of the polychromy and gilding of a single ivory in Granada; see Rozalen and Ruiz Gutiérrez 2015. The sample extracted from the Walters St Michael was analyzed using Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy in transmitted mode following compression in a diamond cell at 256 scans with 4 wavenumber resolution; a very good match to urushi was achieved using the IRUG database (InfraRed Users Group standard INR00230). My thanks to Julie Lauffenburger for sharing these results with me. See, for example, Marjorie Trusted’s description of a piece with a ‘distinctive hybrid style of West and East’ (2013a, 458). Scholars also often stress the connection between figures of the Virgin and the Buddhist bodhisattva Guanyin (see Sánchez Navarro de Pintado 1986, 98), or identify iconographic links to other Buddhist iconography, as in Bailey 2013. Indeed in a recent catalogue, Alan Chong (2016) cautioned art historians to acknowledge precisely what we don’t know about these ivories. See the references to the ivory goods (marfiles) sent as gifts by the kingdoms of Siam and Cambodia to Manila (Morga 1609, 18, 102). Thanks to Sarah Guérin for her help with this. On distinctions between ivory derived from Asian and African elephants, see Cutler 1985, 27–29. On the links between East Africa, Indian and Portuguese merchants, see Pearson 1998; Machado 2014. Shipping records tend to record the total weight of ivory shipped, so it is difficult to reconstruct the price of a single tusk. On the total value of the carreira trade in the early seventeenth century, see Boyajian 1993. On Manila and Macao’s trade, see Flynn and Giráldez 1995. In Ceylon (Sri Lanka), skilled carvers also produced opulently decorated ivory caskets, plaquettes and fans, as well as some smaller figural carvings, which were all exported to Europe via Portuguese ships from the mid-sixteenth century. Similar incised decoration can be found on figures of St Michael the Archangel now in the Convento San Esteban, Salamanca, and the Monasterio de Carmelitas Descalzas, VélezMálaga, both of which may originate in the same workshop as the Monterrey sculpture. Further research is needed into the Acapulco sales of ivory, as well as documenting the owners and sellers of Asian ivories in New Spain, Peru and Spain. Questions for future 286 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. S. PORRAS research include the possibility of resale markets for ivories, the relation between the ivory market in comparison to other imported Asian goods, as well as other art objects. See for example the letters of 21 June 1624, 11 February 1636, and 1 October 1645 which all request Crown funds for Manila churches and specifically request ‘vino y aceite.’ Cedularios, a. 1573–1749 (1624, 1636, 1645). RG I S.01 General Administration, 7, 3.A.1, folder 2, f. 11; folder 2, f. 125; folder 3, f. 35. Archives of the Archdiocese of Manila, Manila. See Alcalá (1998, 126–71) for a discussion of the complex role of the Jesuit procurator, sent to Europe every six years to buy goods for the mission, but who often also engaged in additional commercial activities. ‘Segunda parte de las resoluciones de casos dadas en la conferencias de este colegio de la Compañía de Jésus de manila por el padre Diego de Bobadilla, Provincial que fué de esta provincial’ (October 1630). Casos resueltos en esto colegio de Manila en las conferencias ordinarias desde el mes de octubre de 1630. Archivum Provinciae Tarraconensis Societatis Iesu. No pressmark. San Cugat del Vallés, Barcelona. Partially transcribed in Cushner 1967. At five times the earlier limit, Bobadilla’s 1000 peso value limit was now comparable to that of many licensed galleon merchants; see the compilation of Mexican merchants’ licenses to dispense silver to the Philippines, collected in Gasch-Thomas 2019, Appendix A, Table 12. On planned future excavations, and photographs and details of past dives, I am indebted to Jack Harbeston, IOTA Partners; personal e-mail correspondence, 30 January 2018. A possibility also raised by Ruiz Gutiérrez 2016, 230. As well as the illustrated large-scale, multi-part ivory sculptures of St Michael the archangel now held at the Museo Nacional del Virreinato, Tepotzotlán, there are also versions at the Museo de la Basilica de Guadalupe, three versions of the figure in the Museo de Historia Mexicana, Monterrey, and one held in a private collection in Mexico City. All are over 50 cm in height. 23 July 1767 inventory of Our Lady of Solitude in Antequerra, cited by Estella Marcos 1997, 9. ‘Portes de unas ymágenes. Más de gasto 114 reales que pagó de los portes de tres ymágenes de marfil que están en poder del Rmo. P. Mo. Confesor de su Mag. D.fr. Pedro Matilla, que son un S. Miguel de vara de alto y los dos Patriarchas n.o. P.S. Francisco y Sto. Domingo de a dos tercias cada uno que remitió para este Convento desde Manila el P. fr. Franc.co de Vargas, hijo deste Convento’ (quoted in Jose and Villegas 2004, 115). On the three ivories, see Estella Marcos 1997, 27; Estella 1984, cat. 597, 631, 632 Estella Marcos 1984, cat. 594. See the related study of the diplomatic agency of Sri Lankan ivory caskets in the Portuguese world in Biedermann 2018. Here I follow Juneja (2015), who has called for a shift from the identification of trade routes, material and iconographic sources for such transcultural objects, to the study of how these movements led to the creation of novel artistic forms and practices. Acknowledgments This work was supported by a Carol Lavin Bernick Faculty grant from the Provost’s Office at Tulane University and a Center for Renaissance Studies Newberry Library Consortium grant. Like the objects it considers, this essay is the result of transoceanic travel, exchange and collaboration. My utmost thanks to Aaron Hyman, Ricky Trota Jose, Julie Lauffenburger, Dana Leibsohn and Nancy Um for help in looking, questioning and writing. Biographical note Stephanie Porras is Associate Professor of Art History at Tulane University. She is the author of Pieter Bruegel’s Historical Imagination (2016) and Courts, Commerce and Devotion: Art of the Northern Renaissance (2018). Her current book project, ‘The First Viral Images: Maerten de COLONIAL LATIN AMERICAN REVIEW 287 Vos, Antwerp print and the early modern globe,’ considers the global circulation of a single painting, engraving and illustrated book in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, from Antwerp to Mexico City and Manila. Her research for this project has thus far been supported by Tulane University, Renaissance Society of America, and fellowships at the New York Public Library, the Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute and the National Gallery of Art’s Center for Advanced Study of the Visual Arts. 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