Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo House-Studio Museum

The studio and home of prolific artists Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo at the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo wows as a striking example of 1930s Mexican modernist architecture. 

You definitely have to tour Casa Azul and Anahuacalli Museum — but this site is also worth visiting if you have time.

When Wally and I talk to friends about our travels in CDMX, the conversation often turns to the places we’ve seen, and the places on our list for our next trip. 

One of the places I’d been wanting to visit was the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo, the former home and studio of two of the city’s most revered artists — though I’d argue that Frida has eclipsed Diego in fame since their deaths in the 1950s. It felt like a fitting comeuppance for how he treated her. But more on that later. 

“Whenever Frida wanted to visit Diego, she had to pull herself up an exterior floating staircase and cross a narrow footbridge.

Diego had specifically requested this to make it difficult for Frida to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. ”

San Ángel: An Escape From the City

The historic house museum is located in San Ángel, an enchanting neighborhood southwest of Mexico City. Once a separate municipality, San Ángel served as a retreat for wealthy families who built grand country homes to escape the chaos of city life during the rise of the Industrial Revolution. Ancient lava flows shaped this rugged terrain, where its cobbled streets and colonial estates were eventually consumed by the ever-expanding sprawl of Mexico City.

Duke and Wally stand on the terrace by the walkway that connected Diego’s home to Frida’s.

We planned our visit to coincide with the Bazar Sábado, a weekly market held on Saturdays, where artists and artisans set up shop and sell their wares. 

Our Uber driver dropped us off at the museum’s entrance on Calle Diego Rivera. As we waited for our guide, we couldn’t help but notice valets dressed in traje de charro, the traditional attire of mariachis, running past us in pairs. They were undoubtedly heading to the entrance of the nearby San Ángel Inn to park arriving cars. Known for its restaurant, the historic inn is a favorite dining spot for both locals and tourists, especially on weekends.

O'Gorman's Mexican fence post cactus barriers (and modern aesthetic) pissed off his traditional neighbors.

Wally and I walked to the front of the property, which faces Avenida Altavista. In our opinion, the best view of the two buildings is from across the avenue. On the left is the big house, a boxy white and red structure with a distinctive sawtooth roof and water tanks, which once served as the residence and studio of the plus-sized muralist Rivera. 

It’s linked at roof level by a narrow walkway and contrasted by the little house, the vivid blue home on the right, which belonged to his unibrowed surrealist painter wife, Kahlo.

The building that now serves as the restrooms originally functioned as a darkroom for Kahlo’s father, Guillermo.

Not the Blue House: The History of Diego and Frida’s San Ángel Studio Home

When the site opened at 10 a.m., we met our guide, Fernanda, in the museum’s courtyard. She resembled a proto-punk Japanese schoolgirl, dressed in a long-sleeve white shirt, sweater vest and tartan skirt held together with oversized safety pins. Joining us were a couple from Alabama celebrating their pandemic-postponed honeymoon and a towering white-haired man on a business trip from Germany who had added a day for sightseeing. 

Before the tour began, Fernanda asked how many of us had visited Casa Azul, Kahlo’s family home in the boho Coyoacán neighborhood. She explained that a lot of visitors show up here thinking they’re about to see the Blue House.

“It’s important to understand the difference,” Fernanda explained, “because that’s the house where she was born and where she returned after divorcing Rivera in December 1939.” 

She continued, “Here, there isn’t much furniture — it’s more of a photographic history. But what makes this site significant is the architecture of these three buildings.”

Our charming tour guide, Fernanda, was an expert on O’Gorman, Rivera and Kahlo.

Kahlo only lived here for six years. The couple moved into the home in January 1934 after Rivera was essentially forced to return to Mexico following the controversy surrounding his mural at Rockefeller Center, Man at the Crossroads. The mural, which included a depiction of Vladimir Lenin, led the Rockefellers to order its destruction and terminate Rivera’s commission. Rivera later re-created the mural in 1934. This version, titled Man, Controller of the Universe, can be seen at the Palacio de Bellas Artes murals in Mexico City.

Kahlo and Rivera remarried in December 1940, a year after their divorce, at San Francisco City Hall in California; however, she never returned to San Ángel. Her declining health made it more practical for her to remain in the beloved house of her childhood, la Casa Azul, which now serves as a popular attraction. This house offers a comprehensive glimpse into her life, showcasing her furniture and personal belongings. Rivera, however, lived in the studio home until his death in 1957.

In 1981, the National Institute of Fine Arts (INBA) acquired the houses from Rivera’s daughter, Ruth Rivera Marín, and, after nearly 16 years of restoration, it opened to the public. And three decades later, INBA acquired the Cecil O’Gorman House and incorporated it into the museum campus.

You can imagine Juan O’Gorman’s bold modernist design didn’t go over so well with the neighbors, who lived in colonial-style homes.

Cecil O’Gorman House 

Thanks to his interest in sports, Juan O’Gorman was the first to discover that the pair of tennis courts belonging to the San Ángel Inn were for sale.

In 1929, the aspiring 24-year-old architect purchased the plot at 81 Las Palmas, now Calle Diego Rivera, using money he had earned as chief draftsman at Carlos Obregón Santacilla’s atelier. 

He then began constructing a revolutionary dwelling inspired by Swiss architect Le Corbusier, whose work he had studied at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM). The design adhered to the principle that buildings should be created solely based on their purpose and function. 

Nearly a century later, the structure remains one of the earliest examples of functionalist architecture in Latin America. Its stripped-back, utilitarian design was radical for its time, standing in sharp contrast to the surrounding 18th century colonial homes.

An exposed concrete spiral staircase swirls up the side of O’Gorman’s house.

By 1930, O’Gorman had completed the Cecil O’Gorman House, which, according to his autobiography, he designed as a home and studio for his father. 

But that’s not the whole story. 

His father, the Irish painter Cecil Crawford O’Gorman, was an avid collector of colonial art and antiques. He already owned a spacious hacienda nearby and had no interest in downsizing to the modernist glass box that his son had built. In reality, it’s likely that O’Gorman designed the house to showcase his architectural ideas and intended it to serve as a prototype for low-income housing, though the project never came to fruition.

Elevated on pilotis, slender columns that raise the reinforced concrete structure off the ground, this innovative construction method eliminated the need for traditional load-bearing walls, allowing O’Gorman to incorporate an entire wall of articulated glass windows. 

Access to the second floor is provided by an external spiral staircase, but unfortunately, it was closed during our visit due to the installation of an upcoming exhibition.

We weren’t able to go upstairs in the O’Gorman House because they were setting up for a new exhibition.

Like Rivera, O’Gorman had socialist inclinations and sought to challenge the norms of his time. He wasn’t just building a home — he was making a declaration of functionalist design amid the traditional architecture that characterizes much of San Ángel.

The neighbors were said to be outraged, demanding that his architectural degree be revoked. 

The locals didn’t care for the home’s curb appeal, either. Enclosed by Pachycereus marginatus, a tall columnar cactus, also known as Mexican fence post cactus, and landscaped with agaves, it reflected the aesthetic of an indigenous Mexican village rather than the prevailing manicured European style.

Rivera, on the other hand, appreciated O’Gorman’s vision. He commissioned him to construct a similar pair of homes for himself and his wife, Kahlo, on the adjacent lot. 

A model of the property inside the O’Gorman House.

Inside, what formerly served as the dining room and kitchen now holds a glass case with a scale model of the trio of buildings as well as a series of photographs by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá, Kahlo’s grandniece. Among the photos are images of the hospital gowns Kahlo wore during her stays at the American British Cowdray Hospital in Mexico City, on which she often used to wipe excess paint from her brushes while she painted.

These doodles became the mural Entre Filosofía y Ciencia by O’Gorman.

In 2012, the museum’s restoration team uncovered the sinopia, or preparatory sketch, for the fresco Entre Filosofía y Ciencia (Between Philosophy and Science) on a layer of lime plaster beneath where the completed mural by O’Gorman originally stood. The fresco was purchased by Banco Nacional de México in 1957 and, when it’s not traveling, can be found in the Museo Foro Valparaíso.

Recall that Frida had leg and back issues, and imagine her having to walk up and down this floating staircase onto her roof and then across the walkway to get to Diego’s house.

Frida and Diego’s Complicated Relationship 

After we exited the Cecil O’Gorman House, Fernanda directed our attention to the floating staircase perched on the exterior of Kahlo’s house. Its tubular steel handrail leads from the second floor studio windows to the rooftop terrace. We couldn’t believe anyone would have used those stairs — especially Kahlo, whose chronic health issues significantly impaired her mobility. 

As a child, Kahlo contracted polio, which left her right leg weakened and deformed. Then, as a teenager, she was in a horrific accident when the bus she was riding collided with a trolley car. The impact left her with a fractured spine, and a handrail pierced her body, entering through her back and exiting through her pelvis.

RELATED: 9 Fascinating Facts About Frida

Yet, whenever she wanted to visit Rivera, she had to pull herself up those stairs and cross the narrow footbridge. Rivera had specifically requested this particular feature from O’Gorman to make it difficult for Kahlo to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. It was a marriage strained by mutual jealousy and infidelity. Rivera didn’t fit society’s standards of handsome — Kahlo nicknamed him el Sapo-Rana (Toad-Frog) — but his fame, confidence and charisma made him irresistible to many women. 

Tour groups meet in the small courtyard in front of Diego’s house.

Rivera’s House and Studio

In my opinion, the most fascinating part of the museum is Rivera’s house. It still contains some of the original furniture and artwork from when he lived there. 

The bedroom has a set of small windows high on the wall, which limited the amount of direct sunlight and helped keep the room cool. Next to the bed, there’s a pair of shoes, an enamel bedpan and a leather suitcase sitting atop the woven coverlet, awaiting its next trip. An articulated gooseneck task lamp and a small bust of Chairman Mao sit on the olive green-painted nightstand, with a watercolor landscape by Rivera hanging above it.

Diego’s bedroom

Like his bedroom, the studio was mostly left as it was at the time of Rivera’s death. The main section, with its double-height space, was perfect for large works and transportable murals. The design facilitated easy handling of the panels, allowing them to be moved in and out of the studio through the folding windows.

Our favorite pieces among the personal items were Rivera’s collection of larger-than-life cartonería (papier-mâché) figures. Known in Mexico as Judases, these brightly colored effigies, with features like oversized or abnormally small heads and stubby limbs, commanded the room with their massive presence. Originally, these figures were depictions of Judas Iscariot, the apostle who betrayed Jesus Christ. Rivera’s collection includes devils, skeletons and other fantastical creatures, which were traditionally burned, exploded or flogged on the Saturday before Easter. 

Some of Diego’s collection of papier-mâché Judases in his studio

Many of these larger-than-life-sized effigies were created by the Mexican folk artist Carmen Caballero Sevilla. One Holy Week, Rivera visited the Mercado Abelardo Rodríguez and was impressed with Sevilla’s Judas figures and invited her to work in his studio in San Ángel. (He admired the working class, which is why he often wore overalls.)

Cool metal skeletons covered the walls.

Diego collected handicrafts like these Judases.

Brushes and trays with reserves of dried paint remain exactly as Rivera had left them, offering a glimpse into his creative process. Among them were shelves with jars of pigments that reflect his color palette — including Paris Green, a highly toxic emerald green powder made from copper and arsenic. 

Diego’s paints line the shelves of his studio but have long since dried up.

There are bookcases filled with pre-Hispanic and indigenous folk art. On one of the easels was a painting of the Latin American actress Dolores del Río, who was rumored to have slept with both Rivera and Kahlo. 

Diego painted Dolores del Rio, a beautiful Latin American actress who is said to have slept with his as well as Frida.

Fernanda pointed out a papier-mâché torito, a little bull, hanging high above us. She explained that this tradition dates back to the mid 19th century. These creations are mounted on a kind of scaffolding that rests on the wearer’s shoulders, stuffed with fireworks like roman candles and bottle rockets, which are set alight as part of the annual festival in the town of Tultepec honoring Saint John of God, the patron saint of (what else?) fireworks makers. 

Sound dangerous? It sure is — but that didn’t stop Fernanda’s brother from participating in one. And he has the burns to prove it. 

Our group followed Fernanda up the staircase to the second floor, where we could take in a full view of the studio. Fernanda explained that this was the very spot where Kahlo discovered Rivera with her younger sister Cristina — an incident that became the proverbial last straw, which led to their separation and brief divorce. It wasn’t Rivera’s or Kahlo’s numerous indiscretions that caused the rift; it was the fact that Rivera was having an affair with her closest confidant.

Just off the landing, we entered Rivera’s private office, a space with a desk and a typewriter and additional bookcases filled with pieces from his prolific collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts, an obsession that can be seen at the Anahuacalli Museum in Coyoacán. 

Diego’s typewriter and some of the pre-Columbian artifacts he loved to collect.

From Rivera’s office, a door opened onto the rooftop terrace and the narrow bridge connecting his former residence to Kahlo’s. However, Fernanda quickly dismissed any thoughts of taking the infamous floating stairs. Instead, we followed her back through Rivera’s office and down the staircase to the courtyard below.

Frida’s house leaves much to be desired — but at least O’Gorman painted it the vibrant blue of her beloved family home, Casa Azul.

Kahlo’s House

Our group paused outside Kahlo’s house as Fernanda pointed out an interesting feature: a carnelian red painted garbage chute extending from the second floor, connected to a steel drum barrel. Its purpose? To collect kitchen waste.

By this time, the site had grown much busier, with dozens of visitors streaming in and out of the buildings.

The rooms inside Kahlo’s house were noticeably smaller and compact than those in Rivera’s, in large part because there wasn’t an open studio space. Unlike her husband’s residence, Kahlo’s house was devoid of decorative objects or furniture, leaving the space feeling even more austere.

The tiny kitchen exemplified functional design, featuring a concrete countertop with a gas cooktop, a small sink, and the opening of the chute that connected to the steel barrel outside. 

A man from Germany insisted Wally pose for a picture in his bright T-shirt to contrast with the blue of Frida’s house, next to the kitchen garbage chute.

We peeked into the modest bathroom, the very space where Kahlo’s 1938 oil painting, Lo que el agua me dio (What the Water Gave Me), was conceived. Fernanda told us that there weren’t any good spaces for Frida to paint in her home, so she chose the bathroom, which had better lighting. 

Frida’s home is small and dark, so she preferred to paint in the bathroom. One of her most famous works, Lo que el agua me dio, came from this period.

Wally paused in front of a framed letter that Kahlo had written to Hungarian-born photographer Nickolas Muray, with whom she shared a decade-long, on-again, off-again relationship, and read this poignant sentence aloud: “Please forgive me for having phoned you that evening. I won’t do it anymore.”

One of the glass cases in Kahlo’s house displays an open copy of the book Complete Anatomy of Man by Martín Martínez, and included a handwritten dedication from Kahlo to Dr. Juan Farill, the surgeon who performed seven spinal surgeries on her. 

The final room we explored was her small bedroom — a fitting conclusion to our visit. The room was concealed behind thick black drapery that we had to pull aside to enter. Inside, an installation by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá features numerous lightboxes  illuminating Kahlo’s medical records from the American British Cowdray Hospital. The air in the room felt heavy and still, with the slow rhythmic sound of a heartbeat emanating from a hidden speaker. 

We knew beforehand about Diego and Kahlo’s turbulent relationship. But standing in the dark, claustrophobic space Diego had O'Gorman design as her home was a different kind of gut punch. It was hard not to feel the weight of it — the realization that someone as fiercely powerful as Kahlo could be confined like this by a man who claimed to love her. It really shook us, and we didn’t linger.

Our group poses under the entrance to Frida’s house.

Know before you go

We purchased tickets prior to our trip through a site called Tiqets. At $30 per person it’s definitely more than the $2 price of general admission, but we felt it was worth it. 

Our guide, Fernanda, was charming and incredibly knowledgeable, offering all the insights we could have hoped for about the site. She didn’t shy away from discussing the complexities of Rivera and Kahlo’s relationship either. And even though the tour was scheduled to last an hour, she stayed with us for an hour and 45 minutes, never once making us feel rushed.

The museum is open Tuesday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Admission is 40 pesos for adults, while children under 13 and seniors can enter for free. On Sundays, admission is free for everyone. –Duke

Floor-to-ceiling windows opened wide to allow transport of Rivera’s large-scale mural panels into and out of his studio. 

Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo

Diego Rivera s/n
San Ángel Inn
Álvaro Obregón
01060 CDMX
Mexico

 

Saints and Social Change: A Q&A With Artist Laurie Buman

Discover how Laurie Buman’s art, heavily influenced by her travels in Mexico, shines a light on social issues through her captivating saint and botanical series.

Saint Monarca of the Milkweed

Duke and I popped into Everybody’s Coffee in our neighborhood of Uptown in Chicago — and were instantly captivated by the striking art gracing the walls. Laurie Buman’s works are a visual feast: wide-eyed saints with a hint of steampunk flair and Day of the Dead influences, each collage exuding a powerful spirituality. Among the holy figures were unique creations like a holy canine and the butterfly-infused Saint Monarca of the Milkweed, canonized straight from Buman’s imagination. We couldn’t help but be intrigued by the stories each piece told.

We reached out to Laurie a few months ago to learn more about her artwork and process. –Wally

Artist Laurie Buman

Let’s start from the beginning. What inspired you to become an artist and develop your style?

Since I was little, I knew I was an artist. I would draw from around 4 years old and always loved coloring and drawing. My parents noticed I had a natural ability to draw realistically, so they nurtured that talent. I received an art scholarship to the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design and later finished my degree at the University of Milwaukee. Over the years, I took continuing education courses in design and art, earning a BFA [bachelor of fine arts degree]. I spent many years working as a designer full time, which consumed a lot of my time, but I’ve gradually increased the time I spend in my studio.

Saint Cabrini of the River

How does Mexico influence your art?

I’ve been traveling to Mexico since I was 17. My first trip was for Day of the Dead, and I was captivated by the landscape’s beauty and the culture. It’s very unlike Wisconsin, where I grew up. The people in Mexico are so welcoming and inviting, and their culture is rich in history, color and ritual. It draws you in. My art was influenced by these experiences, especially my Day of the Dead photography.

What are some of your favorite places in Mexico?

Oaxaca is very dear to my heart, with its intense culture and natural beauty. I also love Mexico City and Mérida. I’m excited to visit Chiapas in spring 2025, which has a rich indigenous culture.

Can you tell us more about your saint series?

The series started with Saint Catherine of Bologna, an incorruptible saint whose body did not decompose. I channeled her and created my first saint piece, and the series grew from there. I've created pieces addressing social issues like femicide and mental illness, each piece becoming a shrine where people can put their thoughts and prayers. The process is therapeutic for me, as it allows me to bring light into the darkness.

What’s your artistic process like?

I spend months thinking about a particular saint. I do extensive research, layer images in Photoshop, and bring in original photography and found objects that add dimension and meaning. For example, I use rosaries and milagros in my pieces and top them with hand-applied gold leaf.

Saint Kateri Tekakwitha of the Indigenous

What other themes do you explore in your work?

In the past two years, I’ve been focusing on the environment and global warming, creating pieces about monarch butterflies and bees. My latest work, Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the first Native American saint, celebrates ecology. I’ve also been working on botanicals and cyanotypes, exploring themes of nature and spontaneity.

What are some of the biggest challenges you face as an artist, and how do you overcome them?

Keeping momentum can be challenging, especially when starting. Making connections and finding venues to show my work helps. Having a studio at the Bridgeport Art Center provides a monthly audience and a supportive community. It’s vital to share your work and feel inspired by those around you.

Tell us about 3rd Fridays at the Bridgeport Art Center.

All the resident artists open their studios, and there are galleries on the third and fourth floors. We always have a show or two going on. I have a small gallery called Galería Azul, where I feature a guest artist every two months.

Daffodils + Fireflies

How has your work evolved over the years?

As I’ve aged and grown more confident, my work has become more expressive. My experiences at the University of Chicago and the Bridgeport Arts Center have elevated my work and given me the confidence to be myself and share my ideas.

Night Sky

What do you hope people take away from your art?

With my saint series, I hope people feel compassion towards the subject matter and think about social issues. With my botanical pieces, I want people to delight in spontaneous moments and appreciate the beauty of our world, realizing how precious our planet is.

A Day of the Dead ofrenda by Buman at the Chocolate Museum in Mexico City, featuring Saint Agatha of the Forgotten Daughters

Are there any upcoming projects or exhibitions you’re excited about?

Yes, I have a Day of the Dead show at the Patrician Gallery in Wilmette and a potential show in December at the Chocolate Museum in Mexico City. 

Infant Saint Ben of the Pit Bulls

Is there a particular piece that holds significant personal meaning for you?

All my pieces are special, but Saint Ben of the Pit Bulls is very dear to me. I used to do pit bull rescue, and this piece commemorates a pit bull named Ben who had a significant impact on my life.

The Black Madonna of Light

What legacy would you like to leave as an artist?

I hope to have brought attention to social issues, brought light into the world and added beauty. If people said I reminded them of Frida Kahlo, that would be a great honor.

Anything else you’d like to share?

Just that I’m grateful for this opportunity to share my story. I love connecting with others who share a passion for travel and culture.

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The Hidden Side of Dallas: 5 Quirky Adventures

What to do in Dallas? Try these unusual gift experiences, from a murder mystery to racing in a Ferrari. 

When you think of Dallas, you might picture its towering skyline, bustling streets and that unmistakable Texas pride. 

But this city is more than what meets the eye. Beneath the iconic sights and well-worn tourist trails, there’s a softer, lesser-known side of things to do in Dallas waiting to be uncovered. 

“ There’s a quiet, hidden magic in Dallas if you’re willing to look for it. ”

Dallas invites you to look closer, wander a bit further and discover the unexpected. Here are five unique experiences that led me off the beaten path and into a different Dallas entirely — one I never saw coming.

1. Grapevine Lake Sunset Glow Clear Kayak Tour

There’s something magical when the sun starts its slow descent and paints the sky in shades of marigold and lavender. It’s like the whole world is holding its breath. I was there, in a see-through kayak, the kind that makes it feel like you’re barely floating above the surface, with the lake’s wake calmly lapping at the sides.

All around, the sky reflected off of the glass-like water, stirring the colors of twilight. And it wasn’t just gorgeous; it was humbling. For those quiet, perfect moments, it felt like the world shrunk — all that existed was me and the gentle hues swirling through the water. I’ve never experienced anything so pure. I’m not sure I ever will again.

2. Murder Mystery Dinner Show in Fort Worth

Then came the murder. I didn’t expect to fall in love with a murder mystery dinner. “I’m not that kind of person,” I thought, as a card pinned to my sundress announced my new role: potential suspect.

But then — mid-bite of my steak — the server slipped away, the lights dimmed, and diners at my table leaned in, exchanging hurried whispers. We were sure we’d cracked the case. And isn’t that the thrill? Strategizing for the solution in the midst of a story that’s still unfolding, woven between courses. Actors drifted in and out, someone in the corner laughed too loudly, while another guest quietly pieced together clues. It felt like stepping into a play — without ever having learned my lines. We were all in it together, strangers turned co-conspirators. My team lost, I think, but by the time we surrendered, I was all in, laughing harder than I had in years.

3. Italian Supercar Racing Experience at Texas Motor Speedway

I don’t quite know how to explain what it feels like to drive a Ferrari. Once it’s in gear, sure, it’s all flash, speed and horsepower. But there’s something else — a feeling in your arms, a pull in your chest. It’s as if the road beyond the track has vanished, and the whole world is somewhere outside of you. Champagne bubbles in the pit of your belly; there’s just the car and the low, thrilling growl of the engine beneath you. It’s… intimate. That’s the best way to describe it — intimate and intense, an unexpected emotion for a souped-up machine. Alive? Yes, alive — fully, fiercely, incandescently alive.

4. Zipline and Treetop Adventures

If one thing brought out my inner child, it was ziplining through the treetops. The rush of air as I flew, the way everything below blurred, and the laughter that bubbled up when I landed on a platform more than 60 feet above the ground. The silences up there, the open emptiness, the blend of exhilaration and peace, the feeling of flying while being connected to something real.

It’s when you’re standing still, high above, surrounded by sky and leaves, that the magic truly happens. That’s when the perspective hits — how far you’ve come, how high you are, how small you feel, and how incredibly good that is.

5. Fluid Art Workshop

I had no expectations going into the fluid art workshop. I showed up with a blank canvas (literally) and an open mind. The instructor pointed me in the right direction to start, and then it was just me, some colors and a quiet space — to pour paint, to watch it blend and bleed, with no rules, no wrong ways, no real… anything other than watching the colors mix and mingle.

For two hours, I didn’t think about anything other than where the paint was going, how it was moving. I watched the canvas come alive, and when it was over, I wasn’t just walking away with a painting; I was walking away with a feeling. A sense of peace. A sense of having let go of everything and just… been. It was art therapy, minus the therapy part.

Rediscovering Dallas

Dallas isn’t just for the big moments, the big ideas, the grand experiences. There’s a quiet, hidden magic in Dallas if you’re willing to look for it. And for me, those experiences weren’t just about doing them. They were about finding myself in them, learning what it means to slow down, to do something new, and to let myself be present in a moment that’s anything but ordinary. And that’s why experience gifts are the best way to explore Dallas. Because they reveal a side of the city — and maybe a side of yourself — you didn’t know was there.

And while these experiences led me to unexpected self-discoveries, they’re also unforgettable gift ideas for others. With each unique adventure, you’re offering a chance to see the city from a new angle, and maybe even a little self-discovery of their own. –Maria Nowak

Iglesia de San Luis de los Franceses: The Baroque Brilliance of Seville’s Hidden Gem

This little-known chapel will have your head spinning, with gorgeous art and jaw-dropping details in every direction.

When we returned to Sevilla, our friend José told us of a little-known but absolutely gorgeous church, the Iglesia de San Luis de los Franceses (the Church of Saint Louis of France). His partner Jo, who I once dubbed the Rock ’n’ Roll Nanny, gave Duke and me a tour of her favorite spots in Sevilla. In between stuffing our faces with delectable tapas dishes and sipping sherry, she took us to see José’s secret spot.  

We arrived during the lull of siesta, so we bided our time the best way we knew how: by indulging in yet more tapas, finding a quaint café in the Macarena neighborhood. 

When we returned to San Luis and entered the main chapel, we stood stock still as we took in the sheer spectacle before us. We understood immediately why José was so captivated — even for us recovered Catholics. Baroque churches have a way of being extravagantly maximalist, but even by those standards, San Luis packs so much into a small space. 

The chapel is a visual feast, where every surface competes for your attention. We moved from one altar to the next, making our way around the circle, grinning immensely and excitedly pointing out strange details to each other. You could spend an hour here and still not catch every detail.

The Schizophrenic History of the Iglesia de San Luis de los Franceses

Built between 1699 and 1730, this Baroque marvel was the crowning achievement of Leonardo de Figueroa, an architect celebrated for his role in shaping Sevilla’s grandest religious spaces. 

The church was originally part of a Jesuit novitiate, meaning it was designed not only for worship but to serve as a spiritual training ground for novices. 

This complex was built on land donated by a noble family with French ties, hence the dedication to Saint Louis, the French King Louis IX.

In those early years, the church was a prime example of Jesuit opulence and influence. Every inch of the building seemed designed to overwhelm with splendor, drawing viewers into a theatrical experience. 

The main chapel, a circular space devoid of traditional seating, was meant to stand as a monument to Jesuit ideals, immersing novices and visitors alike in an atmosphere where spiritual grandeur took precedence over community worship. 

However, in 1767, the Spanish crown expelled the Jesuits. For a time, the building served as a Franciscan convent. 

As the 19th century rolled in, the property underwent secularization and was turned over to the state. The grand altarpieces designed to showcase Jesuit saints were stripped, and the space was adapted for pragmatic uses, including functioning as a factory. 

The building’s role shifted once again as it became a hospice for the city’s elderly and sick. For several decades, the church was a place of stark contrasts — its Baroque details and gilded interiors juxtaposed with the somber reality of its new short-term inhabitants. 

The 20th century saw further change. The once-sacred site became a stage for performances, with productions like Don Juan Tenorio taking advantage of the church’s dramatic acoustics and architecture to tell the tale of the infamous lothario. 

A lightning strike in the 1920s pierced the vault, destroying an oil painting — perhaps serving as a grim suggestion that God wasn’t happy with how the church was being used?

After decades of neglect, San Luis was finally restored in the late 20th century. This revitalization effort sought to reclaim the site’s former glory, reopening the doors of the church, domestic chapel and crypt to the public. 

Architectural Highlights of the Iglesia de San Luis de los Franceses 

The façade alone is a visual feast. Ornate Solomonic columns twist skyward, framing a riot of Baroque symbolism covering the pale pink building. Statues of saints and angels stand guard like sentinels, their expressions a mix of stern devotion and regal authority. Above the entrance, the coat of arms of Spain is crowned by three archangels.

The Surreal Spirituality of the Main Chapel

But it’s when you step inside that the full spectacle begins. The church was designed in a Greek cross layout, and from the moment you cross the threshold, your gaze is drawn upward to the magnificent dome. Light filters through the lantern high above, illuminating frescoes that swirl like divine visions. Painted by Lucas Valdés, these frescoes depict scenes of Christian virtues — obedience, chastity, humility — interspersed with symbols of Solomon’s Temple. (Side note: Did King Solomon really exist?)

The main chapel is something of an enigma. Circular and intimate, it has no pews. Jesuit novices would have stood in silent contemplation, absorbing the intricate carvings, gilded reliefs and soaring altarpieces that fill the space. This is Baroque at its most intense. 

At the center of the main altar is a painting of San Luis, the church’s namesake, attributed to the school of Zurbarán. Flanking this are paintings of the Immaculate Conception and the Virgin of Bethlehem, all framed by mirrors that multiply the radiance of the gold. (Learn more about the various depictions of the Virgin Mary.)

But what really caught our eye are the relics embedded within this luxurious setting. Encased in delicate reliquaries, you’ll find a skull, ribs, and fragments of bones belonging to Jesuit holy men like Saint Ignatius of Loyola and Saint Francis Xavier. Vials of blood, believed to belong to lesser-known saints, are encased in gold and glass. There’s also a piece of cloth from Saint Stanislaus Kostka’s robes to honor this Polish saint who died at the age of 18. 

Each side altar tells a different story through its artwork and relics. On one side are scenes celebrating Jesuit virtues (devotion, sacrifice, spiritual fortitude), while the other side showcases key moments from the lives of saints who exemplified those ideals. 

The black-and-white checkered floor calls to mind dualities — light and dark, good and evil, the sacred and the profane — echoing the spiritual journey of navigating moral choices central to Jesuit teachings. In a space filled with opulence, the simple geometry of the floor offers a grounding presence, representing the balance between the earthly and divine realms. 

This is a chapel designed not just to be seen but to be felt — a place where spiritual reverence mingles with a sense of the macabre. 

The Domestic Chapel

As you wind through the quiet corridors of the Iglesia de San Luis de los Franceses, following almost inconspicuous signs, you find yourself in another part of the complex. This secluded space, the Domestic Chapel, hidden within the old Jesuit novitiate, was designed for private worship by the novices. It’s a single-nave chapel, but, like the Main Chapel, don’t let its size deceive you — its beauty and detail are breathtaking.

The chapel is lavishly adorned, featuring stunning frescoes by Lucas Valdés and Domingo Martínez, and sculptures by the renowned Duque Cornejo. 

The richly ornamented altarpiece is a visual celebration of the Eucharist. At its center is the Virgin Mary, a gift from Saint Francis Borgia, flanked by statues of Saint Stanislaus Kostka and Saint Aloysius Gonzaga. Above the Virgin, a relief depicts Saint Stanislaus’ reception into the novitiate in Rome, surrounded by medallions illustrating the lives of Saint Francis Xavier and Saint Francis Borgia. Saints alive!

The Crypt

The crypt, once sealed off and hidden, has now been opened to the public. That being said, there’s not much to see here. The crypt of the Iglesia de San Luis de los Franceses is a subdued space — especially when contrasted to the crazily ornate rest of the church or something like the catacombs of Paris — primarily intended for meditation and remembrance. 

Over 300 bodies are buried in the crypt — though you’d never know that. There’s not a single marker. So who’s buried down there? Some members of the Jesuit order and other notable figures associated with the church, although specific records of who’s interred there are sparse. 

Haunting Tales of San Luis de los Franceses

One of the most unsettling tales of this church is that of Manuel Cantelar. In the 1990s, this troubled man is said to have staggered toward the church one fateful night, a knife clenched tightly in his trembling hands. Eyes glazed with despair (or madness), he pressed the blade against his chest and threw himself against the cold stone façade in a bizarre form of suicide. It’s said his spirit never left. 

Strange occurrences continue to plague the church. Workers involved in restoration projects have spoken of tools vanishing, only to have them reappear in baffling places. Even the bravest of them have confessed to hearing ghostly whispers and feeling a sudden chill as if unseen eyes were fixed on them. And then there are the dogs. They growl and snarl at empty spaces, their hackles raised, as if warning off an unseen presence.

Even now, the murmur of phantom voices and the chill of restless spirits might greet anyone daring enough to explore the forgotten corners of San Luis de los Franceses.

Visiting the Iglesia de San Luis de los Franceses

As we left the church of San Luis de los Franceses, we couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the beauty and history of this often-overlooked treasure — from the grand Main Chapel with its imposing dome and intricate altarpieces to the almost-as-impressive Domestic Chapel tucked away from the main church. 

While most visitors will make sure to see the Seville Cathedral, we found its beauty to only be skin deep: The façade is much more impressive than its interior. That’s why we were so happy to marvel in surprise at the unexpected tiny-by-comparison grandeur of San Luis. We owe our heartfelt thanks to our friends Jo and José for encouraging us to explore this hidden gem, a reminder that some of Seville’s most stunning spaces lie just beyond the well-trodden paths. –Wally

The deets

Hours
Monday: Closed
Tuesday to Sunday: 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. and 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. 
Summer hours (July 1 to August 31): 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. 
Note: Ticket sales end 15 minutes before closing time, and visitors are asked to leave 10 minutes prior to closing. 

Cost: €4, with discounts for students, seniors and local residents

Tour options: Guided tours are available as are audio guides in multiple languages. 

Iglesia de San Luis de los Franceses

Calle de San Luis, 37
41003 Sevilla
Spain 

 

Weird and Wonderful Woodstock, New York

Woodstock unplugged: The site of the 1969 music festival is an artsy, laidback town in the Hudson Valley, where cool shops, great eats and local treasures abound.

A glimpse of the adorable backyard of Tinker Taco along Tannery Brook in Woodstock, New York

When you hear the name Woodstock, do you picture Snoopy’s little yellow sidekick from the Peanuts comic strip, or do peace-loving hippies, patchouli and that legendary rock and folk music festival held in the summer of 1969 come to mind?

Well, here’s the twist, man: Technically, the historic lovefest didn’t even happen in Woodstock! It actually took place on a 600-acre dairy farm, in the neighboring town of Bethel, about 60 miles southwest. Although it was a success in terms of cultural significance, it was a logistical failure — there wasn’t enough food or enough toilets. But according to Wally, they were high, they were hippies, and they couldn’t have cared less.

Despite this misconception, I imagine Woodstock had a better ring to it than Bethel, and the name stuck. 

Papa, Wally and Duke on Tannery Brook Bridge, enjoying their time in Woodstock, New York

Woodstock’s laidback, artistic spirit continues to evolve and thrive, and this small town, nestled in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains along the Hudson River, turned out to be exactly the vibe we were looking for during our four-day Hudson Valley weekend.

Read on for our list of our favorite spots along Mill Hill Road and Tinker Street in the charming burg of Woodstock, including a couple of recommendations on where to stop and refuel along the way. 

Tinker Street and Mill Hill Road

The main thoroughfares of Woodstock are Tinker Street and Mill Road, a walkable stretch lined with locally owned shops, restaurants, galleries and other businesses catering to residents and visitors alike. 

The Mud Club 

We started our day at the Mud Club (a nod to the famously muddy aforementioned festival in Bethel). We headed straight to the hulking brown barn to order four of their Montreal-style bagels from the service window. 

Established in 2017 by brothers Nicolas and Gray Ballinger, along with their father Doug, their irregularly shaped hand-rolled bagels are briefly poached in honey-sweetened water and baked in a wood-fired oven, resulting in a bagel with a crisp exterior and a denser chew than a New York-style bagel. 

The Mud Club vibe? Think rustic yet quirky mountain lodge with a side of artisanal coffee. Their rotating selection of single-origin beans, sourced from regions like Ethiopia, Kenya, Peru and Honduras, expertly roasted by Brooklyn-based Mud Club, are sure to satisfy even the most discerning caffeine connoisseur.

The Mud Club
43 Mill Hill Road

Bread Alone Bakery

You know what they say: Man cannot live on bread alone. But if we did — we’d be happy getting our sustenance at Bread Alone. Even though we had already eaten bagels at Mud Club, we couldn’t resist stopping at this local bakery. What started as an entrepreneurial endeavor by artisan baker and educator Daniel Leader in the early ’80s, with loaves being sold out of the trunk of the family station wagon, has grown into a trailblazing bakery with a big following, with additional locations in Boiceville and Rhinebeck. 

This is the place to find an assortment of breads made with certified organic grains milled in Halifax, Pennsylvania, along with a pastry counter filled with sweet and savory treats. I purchased a chocolate caramel cake to enjoy later for Wally’s birthday, and trust me — it was a winner!

Bread Alone Bakery
22 Mill Hill Road

Candlestock

Beyond the white picket fence with yellow flame-topped posts at 16 Mill Hill Road is Candlestock, a one-of-a-kind family-owned business offering a wide selection of beeswax, drip and handmade candles in every shape, size and color imaginable. 

Wally and I purchased a few hand-dipped tapers and were in awe of the impressive, rainbow-colored “Drip Mountain,” a towering 8-foot-high by 3-foot-wide wax creation dramatically lit by blacklight that has been steadily growing since 1969. 

Candlestock
16 Mill Hill Road

The Golden Notebook 

This small but impressive independently owned bookshop, named after the original owner’s favorite Doris Lessing novel, has been a local staple for nearly five decades. Among the shelves and tables, you’ll find a mix of popular and rare titles spanning both fiction and nonfiction, as well as a selection of signed books and graphic novels by acclaimed author Neil Gaiman. His writing often features darkly whimsical themes, complex characters and richly imagined worlds.

A section at the front of the shop is dedicated to local history and the surrounding Hudson Valley, with a selection that highlights the region’s storied past. 

Whether you’re looking for books for adults or children, you’ll easily find your next read among the thoughtfully curated selections on display.

The Golden Notebook
29 Tinker Street

Timbuktu 

You’ve probably heard or even uttered the phrase, “from here to Timbuktu” to describe a faraway place. Well, just a few doors down from the Golden Notebook is a shop with that name, filled with global and one-of-a-kind goods. You’ll find a diverse array of handmade home goods, pillows, quilts and jewelry by the shop’s owner, Jaime Surgil. Wally and I especially loved the whimsical aquatint etchings by New York-based artist Stephen Francis Duffy. Whether you’re browsing or buying, you’re likely to leave this boutique feeling inspired.

Timbuktu
2 Tannery Brook Road

Woodstock Leisure Syndicate 

When Wally and I spotted a sign across the street with two bears hugging beneath a radiant moon, we had to check it out. It turned out to be tied to the concept shop Woodstock Leisure Syndicate, a collaborative project by the design duo Grant Krajecki and Ryan Kelly.

The shop is housed in the historic Old Forge House, a building that formerly served as the village blacksmith’s workshop and home. Stop by to browse quilted seating upholstered in nylon, as well as apparel, books, artwork and chunky, oversized Grey Ant eyewear — designed in New York by Krajecki and produced in Italy. I especially loved their playful take on the classic smiley logo, with “NY” for the eyes and “Woodstock” forming the smile. It’s available as a patch, tie-dyed T-shirt and super soft hoodie.

Woodstock Leisure Syndicate 
54C Tinker Street

Tinker Taco

By this time, we had worked up an appetite and decided to try the cute spot we had seen earlier. Plus, you can never go wrong with Mexican. 

To reach Tinker Taco, you have to walk behind the Old Forge. It’s a relaxed, order-at-the-bar-and-find-a-seat kind of place. We chose a picnic table on the banks of Tannery Brook, a stream that runs through town. 

The tortillas are handmade from local non-GMO corn, and the taco options range from chicken to barbacoa to vegetarian. Plus, the frozen margaritas are muy ricas!

Tinker Taco
54 Tinker Street

Village Green Bed & Breakfast 

In the center of Woodstock, you’ll find a small square and a charming storybook Victorian B&B. Known as the Village Green, it features the fantastical assemblages Merlin and Fantasy Boy, whose faces are embellished with hundreds of lustrous glass beads and whose bodies are covered in ceramic figurines, which instantly caught our attention. 

Village Green Bed & Breakfast
12 Tinker Street 

Tinker Toys Too

Tinker Toys Too, named after the street, not the toy, has been delighting kids of all ages for over three decades, thanks to its owner, Suki Beeh. Whether you’re looking for stuffed animals, storybooks, or educational wooden puzzles and games, you’ll find imaginative items throughout the store. Every shelf is filled with a delightful selection of classic and new toys, from Colorforms to Kewpie-like Sonny Angel figurines. These are toys made to last for years of play and discovery.

Tinker Toys Too
5 Mill Hill Road

WAAM (Woodstock Artists Association & Museum) 

WAAM, bam, thank you ma’am! This gallery is a great spot if you’re looking for a break from shopping. Since 1919, WAAM has been showcasing an eclectic mix of local talent and celebrating Woodstock’s long history as an arts haven. Whether you’re into paintings, sculptures or photography, there’s always something fresh to catch your eye. The museum also houses an impressive permanent collection, featuring works by notable artists like Milton Avery and Yasuo Kuniyoshi, giving you a peek into the creative roots that helped shape this quirky town. There’s a $10 suggested donation. 

WAAM (Woodstock Artists Association & Museum)
28 Tinker Street

Casa Ziki

The eye-catching entrance of Casa Ziki drew us in like a brightly colored flower attracting a pair of hummingbirds. There was no turning back once we saw the Georgian-style pediment, awash in a combination of tangerine and lavender — a custom design by the local duo Headspace. It definitely sets the tone for what awaits within. 

This modern homewares boutique, with locations in Brooklyn and Woodstock, is co-owned by wife and husband Sylvanna Kiss and Sasha Zinshtein. Inside, you’ll find a colorful selection of well-designed décor, playful accessories, lighting, art and pieces by local makers. Whether you’re shopping for yourself or someone else, you won’t regret stopping by.

Casa Ziki
35 Mill Hill Road

Early Terrible

We ended our delightful day in Woodstock at Early Terrible, the wine and cocktail bar and sister property next door to the Mud Club. A twisted column topped with a silver tankard and a peculiar-looking ogre (or perhaps a golem or troll?) peeking out from behind it marked the start of the gravel path that led us there.

The interior is dark and moody, while the patio fits in with the whimsical aesthetic that’s simultaneously rustic and glam. It’s filled with delightful details, from glittering disco balls and weathered wood planks to tufted leather couches and ornate cut-glass chandeliers. 

A sprawling root structure climbs above the bar and stretches outward, leaving you feeling as if you’ve followed Alice down the rabbit hole and tumbled into a magical place.

The cocktail menu offers an imaginative selection of signature drinks. I ordered the Smoke Signals, a blend of Banhez mezcal, a dash of amaro, tamarind purée and pineapple in a glass rimmed with a smoky house-made chili salt, while Wally opted for the Bramble, a refreshing concoction made with gin, crème de cassis and lemon juice. My parents each ordered beer, and the four of us shared a wood-fired sourdough pizza. Note: If you’re visiting on a weekday, don’t get your hopes up — pizza is only served on the weekends.

Early Terrible
45 Mill Hill Road

Feeling Groovy

Woodstock turned out to be our favorite spot in the Hudson Valley. The town’s blend of artistic spirit, quirky shops and laidback atmosphere make it the perfect place to explore and chill. Whether you’re browsing the boutiques or taking in some local art, it’s hard not to fall under Woodstock’s groovy spell. –Duke

Centre Pompidou Málaga: A Modern Art Marvel

El Cubo, as locals call it, a museum located in Málaga’s vibrant port, is anything but boring. This dazzling structure, designed by Daniel Buren, houses a captivating collection of avant-garde art.

The surprising multicolored cube on Málaga’s port is a branch of the Centre Pompidou, Paris’ modern art museum.

When I was in high school, my French class took a trip to Paris, and it was there that I first laid eyes on the Centre Pompidou. The building’s exterior, with its industrial ductwork winding up like a scarlet-bellied serpent, and a pair of cherry red lips spouting water in the fountain, captivated my youthful imagination. 

But if you thought the Centre Pompidou was just that quirky building in Paris, think again. The avant-garde behemoth has spawned a sibling in Málaga, Spain; the city famous for its hometown homeboy, Picasso, and amazing Moorish landmarks like the Alcazaba and Gibralfaro, got a bit of Parisian modern art chic.

“The project was initially conceived as a limited five-year venture.

It has proven so successful, Málaga has decided, with Paris’ agreement, to extend its lease until 2034.”

Various sculptures are put on temporary display outside of the museum.

Why Málaga?

The project was initially conceived as a limited five-year venture between Málaga’s mayor, Francisco de la Torre, and the Centre Pompidou’s president, Serge Lasvignes. The French institution agreed to lend its brand name, curatorial expertise and artworks from its Paris HQ to the chic port city of Málaga in the South of Spain. This cultural experiment provided the perfect canvas for the Centre’s first foray outside France. It has proven so successful, Málaga has decided, with Paris’ agreement, to extend its lease until 2034.

Daniel Buren came up with the whimsical design.

The Colorful Genius and Bold Design of Daniel Buren

The Centre Pompidou Malaga isn’t just a museum — it’s a statement. You can’t miss it. Its design is as bold as its Parisian parent’s. But instead of resembling a building turned inside out, the Pompidou Málaga looks like a giant Rubik’s Cube made of glass was plopped down in the city’s port. It’s the brainchild of French artist Daniel Buren, renowned for his use of bold colors and geometric patterns.

Buren takes an in situ approach, which is a fancy way of saying he integrates his pieces directly into their environments, creating site-specific art that interacts with its surroundings. And that’s certainly the case with El Cubo (the Cube), as the Málaga Pompidou is affectionately called. A transparent, multicolored structure serves as the entrance to the subterranean museum space. Its design is a sharp contrast to the traditional Spanish architecture around it, making it a standout landmark. 

Buren’s use of color and light transforms the cube into a dynamic piece of art, changing its appearance with the movement of the sun and the seasons. It’s as much a work of art as those found within. Try walking by at different times (sunrise or night, in particular) to see how light plays upon the façade.

The museum opened in 2015 for a short stint — but it has obviously done well enough to extend its agreement through 2034.

The Pompidou Málaga’s Opening Act

When it first opened in 2015, the Centre Pompidou Málaga was met with a mix of excitement…and skepticism. Art critics and the public alike were curious about how this Parisian transplant would fit into the cultural tapestry of Málaga. But The Guardian gushed, “The Centre Pompidou in Málaga represents a bold cultural experiment, bridging the artistic ethos of Paris with the vibrant spirit of southern Spain.”

Meanwhile, El País highlighted the architectural contrast: “Daniel Buren’s colorful cube stands as a beacon of modernity against Málaga’s historic skyline, symbolizing the city’s commitment to contemporary art.”

Wally and Duke can find modern art to be hit or miss — but the Centre Pompidou Málaga was filled with cool, thought-provoking works.

Art and Exhibitions at the Pompidou Málaga

But the Centre Pompidou in Málaga isn’t just a pretty cube — it’s a treasure trove of modern masterpieces that would make any modern art lover swoon.

The permanent collection is a curated selection of works from the vast repository of the Centre Pompidou in Paris. It spans the 20th and 21st centuries, showcasing iconic pieces from celebrated artists such as Francis Bacon, Frida Kahlo, Joan Miró — and, por supuesto, Pablo Picasso. 

Lipstick by František Kupka, 1908

Bal au Moulin de la Galette by Raoul Dufy, circa 1943

Children and Lanterns by Tadé Makowski, 1929

These works are arranged thematically rather than chronologically, providing visitors with a fresh perspective on modern art movements and their interconnectedness. The themes often explore major artistic movements and their cultural contexts. You might find rooms dedicated to Cubism, Surrealism or Abstract Expressionism. This approach not only highlights the evolution of styles but also the ongoing dialogue between artists across different periods and geographies.

Hollywood Sleep by Jean Cocteau, 1953

Suddenly Last Summer by Martial Raysse, 1936

During our visit, we caught the temporary exhibition Un Tiempo Propio (or Time for Yourself for those of you who don’t speak Spanish), a spirited rebuke of the relentless demands imposed by our digital calendars. Showcasing the works of 90 artists, the exhibit delved into the theme of leisure, encouraging a pause from the daily grind. It served as a refreshing reminder to reclaim our time and disconnect, if only momentarily, from the buzz of notifications and schedules — a true celebration of the art of relaxation and the simple joys of free time.

We Stopped Just Here at the Time by Ernesto Neto, 2002

One of our favorite exhibits in Un Tiempo Proprio was by Ernesto Neto, the Brazilian maestro of the bizarre: We Stopped Just Here at the Time. This artwork was a captivating display of suspended bags filled with aromatic herbs like rosemary, parsley and thyme. The installation reminded me of a forest of hanging testicles (paging Doctor Freud!), creating a whimsical and immersive environment that invited visitors to bask in the earthy fragrances and stare, mesmerized, at the organic forms swaying gently.

Ettore Sottsass’ Flying Carpet Armchair

Sottsass’ designs are somehow retro and modern at the same time, like this minimal mint green cabinet.

We also enjoyed the Ettore Sottsass: Magical Thinking exhibition, which showcased over 100 pieces of Sottsass’ groundbreaking work. These retro-futuristic items in bright colors reminded me of Fisher-Price children’s toys, highlighting the designer’s playful approach. Sottsass was a key figure in the Memphis movement of the 1980s, which revolutionized design with its bold use of color, geometric shapes and whimsical patterns. The postmodern movement rejected minimalism in favor of a more expressive, emotionally engaging style. The exhibit captured this ethos, blending fun and sophistication in a way that made each piece feel both nostalgic and cutting-edge​. 

The Basilico Teapot

Cherry Model Teapot

it wouldn’t be a modern art museum without a creepy clown.

Discovering the Unexpected at the Pompidou Málaga

Duke and I were thoroughly impressed with the Centre Pompidou Málaga, where we encountered a captivating variety of art that was both thought-provoking and immersive. We spent a delightful couple of hours there, exploring the museum’s strange and intriguing pieces, each offering a unique perspective on modern art. The experience exceeded our expectations and was a refreshing contrast to what we consider the less inspiring exhibitions that the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago has featured in recent years. 

The variety of exhibits at the Centre Pompidou Málaga ensures that whether you’re a seasoned art critic or a curious traveler, there’s something that will capture your imagination and perhaps even challenge your understanding of what art can be. So, the next time you find yourself in Málaga, make sure to descend into El Cubo — you just might discover your new favorite artist or a whole new way of looking at the world. –Wally

There are lots of different areas to explore at the Centre Pompidou Málaga, but they can all be done in a couple of hours.

The lowdown

The Centre Pompidou in Malaga is located in the city’s vibrant port area, making it easily accessible. 

Hours of operation

Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday: 9:30 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Saturday and Sunday: 9:30 a.m. to 8:30 p.m.

Tuesday: Closed (except on public holidays)

Holidays: Open with extended hours; always check the official website for up-to-date holiday hours.

Admission costs

General admission: €9

Reduced admission: €5.50 (available for seniors over 65, students under 26 and large families)

Free admission: For children under 18, unemployed individuals and visitors with disabilities (with one companion)

Special free hours: On Sundays from 4 p.m. to closing, and all day on certain designated dates (such as International Museum Day)

Exit through the gift shop.

Tips for visitors

Advance tickets: It’s a good idea to purchase tickets online in advance to avoid long lines, especially on weekends and holidays.

Guided tours: Consider booking a guided tour to get the most out of your visit. Tours are available in multiple languages and offer deeper insights into the exhibitions.

Accessibility: The Centre Pompidou is fully accessible to visitors with disabilities. Elevators and ramps are available, and wheelchairs can be borrowed at the information desk.

Photography: Photography without flash is allowed in most areas.

Coat/bag check: Leave your bags and coats to make it easier to enjoy the exhibits unburdened.

Gift shop: Exit through the gift shop, where you can pick up some cool souvenirs or gifts.

Centre Pompidou Málaga

Pasaje Doctor Carrillo Casaux
Muelle Uno
Puerto de Málaga
29001 Málaga
Spain

 

Descriptions of God’s Body in the Bible

From his massive member to a horned head, there are plenty of references to God having a corporal body in the Old Testament. Some shocking findings from “God: An Anatomy.”

Perhaps the most famous depiction of God is this detail of the Creation of Adam, painted by Michelangelo on ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

What does God look like? 

Most people nowadays probably fall into two camps: those who say God is incorporeal, an entity without form — and those who imagine him as Michelangelo painted him, a powerful if elderly man with a flowing white beard and a penchant for long white robes.  

Those who think of God as bodiless haven’t paid enough attention to their Old Testament, though. In fact, the first clue is right there…in the beginning.

“So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:27). 

That means God is humanlike — or should I say, humans are godlike?

It’s not so strange that God had a body. All his fellow gods did, from his competition in the Middle East to the pantheons of Ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome. 

Add up all the descriptions of God in the Old Testament, and you get a red-skinned, powerfully built older man.

So what does he look like? Take all the Old Testament mentions of God, add them together and here’s what you get, according to Francesca Stavrakopoulou in her 2022 book God: An Anatomy:

A supersized, human-shaped body with male features and shining, ruddy-red skin, tinged with the smell of rainclouds and incense. His broad legs suggest he was accustomed not only to straining, leaping and marching, but sitting and standing resolutely stiff, posing like a ceremonial statue. His biceps bulge. His forearms are hard as iron. There are faint indentations around his big toes, left by thonged sandals. Beneath his toenails there are traces of human blood, as though he has been trampling on broken bodies, while the remnants of fragrant grass around his ankles suggest strolls through a verdant garden. The slightly lighter tone of the skin on his thighs indicates he was most often clothed, at least down to his knees, if not his ankles. Minute fibers of fine fabric — a costly linen and wool mix — indicate that his clothing was similar to the vestments of high-status priests. His penis is long, thick and carefully circumcised; his testicles are heavy with semen. His stomach is swollen with spiced meat, bread, beer and wine. The chambers of his heart are deep and wide. His fingers are stained with an expensive ink, and there are remnants of clay under his fingernails. On his arms are faint scars left from the grazes of giant fish-scales, and the crooks of his elbows, slightly sticky with a salty oil, bear the imprint of swaddling bands, suggesting he has cradled newborn babies. Traces of the tannery fluid used by hide-workers wind in a stripe around his left arm and down to the palm of his hand — a residual substance left by a long leather tefillin strap.

His thick hair is oiled with a sweet-smelling ointment, and shows evidence of careful styling: the hair-shafts suggest it was once separated and curled into thick ropes, while slight marks on the back of his scalp indicate it has been partly pinned beneath some sort of headgear, and his forehead is marked with the faint impression of a tight band of metal. Although his beard reaches beneath his chin, it has been neatly groomed, while his mustache and eyebrows are thick and tidy. The hair on his head and face shimmers — first dark with blue hues, like lapis lazuli, then white and bright, like fresh snow. And one glance, he has the beard of his aged father, the ancient Levantine god El; in another, it is the stylized beard of a youthful warrior, like the deity Baal. His ears are prominent, and their lobes are pierced. His eyes are thickly lined with kohl. His nose is long, its nostrils broad — the scent of burnt animal flesh and fragrant incense lingers inside them. His lips are full and fleshy, his mouth large and wide. It is at once the mouth of a devourer and a lover. His teeth are strong and sharp, his tongue is red hot. His saliva is charged with a blistering heat. The back of his throat is a vast, airy chamber, once humming with life. Below it is an opening of a cavernous gullet. Shadowy scraps of another powerful being, the dusty underworld king, cling to its walls.

The depictions of Yahweh in the Bible are disparate, but some common themes emerge.

Quite a picture, eh? All these details appear in various books of the Old Testament. Here’s a sampling.

God liked to walk in the Garden of Eden with Adam and Eve … before they dared to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Walking and Talking With God

Later in Genesis, Adam and Eve have eaten of the forbidden fruit and hide from God when they hear him “walking in the garden.”

Enoch, Noah and Abraham go for walks with God as well — as did Moses. Sure, God showed up as a burning bush when they first met, but after that, “the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend” (Exodus 33:11). 

Yahweh first showed himself as a burning bush to Moses, but after a while they became good friends and would often take walks together.

Holy Shit! God’s Ground Rules 

With all that walking, God had to be careful he didn’t step in something unpleasant. 

When the Israelites flee Egypt en route to the Promised Land during the Exodus, God declares, “You shall have a designated area outside the camp to which you shall go; with your utensils you shall have a trowel; when you relieve yourself outside, you shall dig a  hole with it and then cover up your excrement, because Yahweh your God walks in your camp” (Deuteronomy 23:12-14). 

Apparently his omniscience doesn’t extend to knowing how to avoid excrement. It’s heartening to know that God steps in shit just like we do. 

The prophet Ezekiel saw God in a chariot supported by hybrid heavenly creatures.

The Cherubim Chariot 

After the Babylonians destroyed and plundered the Temple, the worshippers of Yahweh surely wondered if their god had also been vanquished. So the book of Ezekiel offers up a scene of Yahweh’s escape. He is seated on his supersized throne, using the Ark of the Covenant as his footstool (!). Cherubim (not the chubby baby angels you’re thinking of but four-winged celestial beings with four faces — that of a man, lion, eagle and cherub) perch upon wheels and bear the throne aloft. 

You didn’t want to be on Yahweh’s bad side; he was prone to violent reactions — including stomping people to death.

God’s Stomping Grounds

But God doesn’t only walk and rest his feet. Sometimes he goes on a murderous rampage. Yahweh marches back from a massacre in the enemy kingdom of Edom: “I trampled down peoples in my anger, I crushed them in my wrath, and I poured out their life blood on the earth,” he tells a sentry in Isaiah 63:6. 

“This is a god who has felt the crunch of bones and skulls under his feet; the warm, wet mulch of human flesh around his ankles; the heart spray of blood on his legs,” Stavrakopoulou writes.

In Isaiah’s vision of God, is that a massive robe filling the Temple — or something more phallic?

God’s Genitals on Display

A couple of prophets even boasted of seeing God’s oversized genitals — and yes, this is all in the Bible. Isaiah, in the middle of the 8th century BCE, entered the inner sanctum of the Jerusalem Temple, where he beheld a surprising sight. 

“My eyes have seen the King, Yahweh of Hosts!” the prophet declares in Isaiah 6:1. “I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, tall and lofty! His lower extremities filled the temple!”

But the Hebrew word he used for “lower extremities” was shul, which actually means “genitals,” Stavrakopoulou informs us. (It’s worth pointing out that many scholars argue that the word actually means the hem of a robe.)

So Isaiah is saying he saw God naked — and, um, let’s just say he was impressed. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised to learn that God’s hung. 

Another prophet, Ezekiel, describes a much stranger encounter: He sees God and focuses on what “looked to be his motnayim” — another Hebrew word for genitals, Stavrakopoulou writes. He looks above and below and sees the rest of the Lord’s body engulfed in flames (Ezekiel 1:27). 

I’m not sure why Ezekiel seems hesitant about if he’s looking at God’s groin or not — perhaps all that fire is blinding him a bit — but heavens knows Isaiah had no doubts about what he was seeing. 

The Ancient Egyptian god Min was usually depicted as having a massive erection.

‘The Imposing Erect Virility’ of the Gods

As shocking as this might seem, depictions and stories of gods having erections were common at the time these Bible books were written. A carving of the Egyptian god Min at Luxor Temple, for example, shows the fertility deity with a massive hard-on as he greets Alexander the Great. 

“In the ancient cultures of southwest Asia [Stavrakopoulou’s non-Western-centric terminology for the Middle East], a sizable penis, and even its occasional overt exhibition, did not render male deities less godly, but appropriately divine. The imposing erect virility of masculine gods was vividly celebrated in these ancient societies and the religious literature they produced,” Stavrakopoulou writes. “[T]he penises of ancient southwest Asian gods embodied a conspicuous and powerful hyper-masculinity deemed essential to the ordering, fruitfulness and well-being of the cosmos and its inhabitants.”

Cain, who killed his brother, Abel, might have been God’s son, not Adam’s!

Cain’s Baby Daddy Isn’t Adam…But God?!

Most of us assume that Adam and Eve had children — but if you look at the Bible, Eve declares that Cain at least was actually the offspring of her and God: “I have procreated with Yahweh!” she shouts in Genesis 4:1. 

“The more literal translation of the Hebrew is rarely seen,” Stavrakopoulou writes. “Most renderings of this verse default to a theologically fudged interpretation, so that Eve is merely presented as claiming that Yahweh has ‘helped’ her to ‘acquire a man,’ as any good fertility god might.”

Yahweh, like the Greek gods, who had sex with many unwilling women, could be prone to lust.

God as a Sexual Predator 

In the book of Hosea, God not only has a body — he actually gets it on with a young woman who’s the personification of Israel. 

“Here, Israel is a capricious teenager whose sexual allure so intoxicates God, he falls to scheming obsessively and possessively to make her his wife,” Stavrakopoulou writes. “‘I will take her walking into the wilderness and speak to her heart … and there she will cry out.’ 

“These words betray more than the romantic fantasy of a love-struck deity,” she continues. “God’s language here marks a shift from passion to threat: In claiming he will ‘seduce’ her, he uses a Hebrew expression more usually employed in the Bible to describe the rape of captive women.”

This idea of God as a sexual predator — or even just a sexual being — has been problematic for centuries, and that’s certainly true with our current sensibilities. 

“Theologically, the sexual grooming and graphic violence God inflicts on his young wife is immensely difficult for some modern-day believers to reconcile with their idealized constructs of God,” Stavrakopoulou says. “But for many Jewish and Christian readers, it is more specifically the graphic portrayal of a sexually actively deity that has proved unbearable: It has been mistranslated, dismissed as ‘mere’ allegory, or simply ignored.”

Foreign books are immensely dependent upon their translations — all the more essential for the Bible, a book so many people take literally. That’s what makes this softening of the original message so alarming. 

“In standard modern translations of the Tanakh [the Hebrew Bible] and the Christian Bible, the graphic sexual imagery of these troubling texts is softened or obscured with sanitized vocabulary and clunky euphemisms,” Stavrakopoulou writes. 

Yahweh knew Moses couldn’t handle seeing him all in his glory — so he offered just a peek of his cheeks.

God Shows Moses His Glorious Backside 

Up on Mount Sinai, Moses asks God to reveal himself: “How shall it be known that I have found favor in your sight, I and your people?” he asks in Exodus 33:16-18. “Please, show me your Glory.”

But God says that Moses can’t handle his awesomeness — he’ll only allow him to see his backside. It’s the same term used elsewhere in the Bible to describe the buttocks of an animal, according to Stavrakopoulou. 

God adds that no mortal could gaze upon his face and live. “In its narrative context, it is a capricious assertion, for Yahweh and Moses have already enjoyed a number of conversations ‘face to face’ — and Moses has survived,” Stavrakopoulou points out. 

Like other deities of the Middle East, Yahweh’s body is engulfed in a dazzling aura: He is “wrapped in light as with a garment” and “clothed with glory and splendor.” 

It’s all too easy to think of these descriptions as hyperbolic — but they’re meant to be taken literally, Stavrakopoulou asserts. 

Whether they were literal or beams of light, Moses came back from a convo with God bearing horns.

The Glory of God Makes Moses Horny

“In Exodus, however, God’s luminescent backside clearly gives off something more powerful than a wondrous afterglow. When Moses finally descends from the Holy Mountain, clutching the Ten Commandments, his own face is startlingly transformed,” Stavrakopoulou writes. “But quite how is a matter of some debate, for the ancient Semitic root of the Hebrew term used to describe this transformation probably means ‘horn,’ but is also associated with light. The earliest translations of this peculiar story indicate that, from at least the 3rd century BCE, Moses was understood to have developed horn-like rays of light, so that his face beamed with a divine radiance. Other ancient scholars would assume Moses’ face literally grew horns — a symbol of the divine elsewhere in the Bible — giving rise to startling medieval images of Moses as a double-horned being. Either way, Moses undergoes a bodily transformation so profound that the Israelites cannot look him in the face and are afraid to go near him. Moses’ visual encounter with God has left its mark on him, rendering him more divine than human.”

Poor Moses never entered the Promised Land — but was it God who took the care to bury him?

God the Gravedigger

Moses seems to have been the Old Testament character with the most face time with God. And that lasted right up until the moment of his death. The poor guy — being a favorite of Yahweh doesn’t get you much. Moses dramatically led the exodus of escaped Israelite slaves out of Egypt, delivered the Ten Commandments and wandered the desert for 40 years. Finally, the time has come to enter the Promised Land. But, in a shocking twist, God shows Moses the beautiful sight of their hard-earned payoff — and then tells him to literally drop dead: “Moses, the servant of Yahweh, died there in the land of Moab, at Yahweh’s command. And he buried him in the valley in the land of Moab” (Deuteronomy 34:5-6). 

“In the book of Deuteronomy, Moses’ gravedigger is God himself,” Stavrakopoulou writes. “Appalled by the idea that God could contaminate himself with the impurity of a corpse — even the corpse of so holy a man as Moses — some Jewish and Christian translators corrected what they perceived to be an error in the text: ‘he buried him’ simply became ‘he was buried’ or ‘they buried him,’ leaving generations of readers to assume that mourning Israelites or weeping angels had performed Moses’ mortuary rites, rather than God himself.”

Baal, one of Yahweh’s biggest rivals in the ancient Middle East

God Gets Horny

It’s an image that wouldn’t sit well with most modern Christians or Jews — especially given its connections to the Devil and demons — but one of the earliest descriptions of God describes him as having horns. “God, who brought [Israel] out of Egypt, has horns like a wild ox!” the prophet Balaam declares in Numbers 23:22. 

“In the Western imagination, a horned being tends to conjure images of the diabolical, and the grotesque. From the man-eating bull-headed Minotaur of Greek myth to the cloven-hooved goat-faced Devil of Christianity, horns have long served as a hallmark of horror,” Stavrakopoulou writes. “But in the world of the very ancient gods, horns were the most prestigious and alluring manifestations of divinity, and most deities would be equipped with them.”

Horns were a sign of power, designating that the gods who sported them “were beings of bullish virility and ferocious strength,” Stavrakopoulou explains. 

There’s a horrific description of a fiery God — right before he gobbles up a roasted king of Assyria.

The Nose Knows: God’s Wrath and a Kingly BBQ

“The God of the Bible was particularly proud of his nose,” Stavrakopoulou tells us. “In his lengthy monologue on Mount Sinai, he reels off a list of his best qualities, not only describing himself as merciful, gracious and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, but ‘long-nosed,’ too.” 

This is a way of saying he has deep nostrils, she says — meaning slower breathing, and by extension, being patient and slow to anger. 

But once that temper raged, you didn’t want to be anywhere near him. 

In the book of Isaiah, a seer spies Yahweh in the distance, his nose ablaze, “his lips full of fury, his tongue a devouring fire; his breath an overflowing stream, reaching up to the neck!” (Isaiah 30:27-28). 

What’s God up to? Oh, just sacrificing an Assyrian king upon a pyre and feasting on his charred corpse.

The ancient Levantine deity El

The Ancient Almighty: God’s Golden Years 

Our current image of God as a powerful older man comes from a portrayal in Daniel 7:9-10 from the 2nd century BCE. As Stavrakopoulou states, “God himself remains a picture of perpetual purity: Enthroned, in fiery splendor, and surrounded by thousands of divine courtiers, he is called ‘an Ancient of Days,’ dressed in robes ‘white as snow,’ with hair ‘like a lamb’s wool.’”

Again, this iconography is borrowed from neighboring deities, including El, whom Stavrakopoulou describes as Yahweh’s father — before Yahweh was retrofitted as the sole true god. El’s (and Yahweh’s) gray hair and beard were seen as signs of immortality and wisdom. 

Unseen and Unsculpted: The Theological Dance Around God’s Corporality

When thinking about this article, I realized something that shocked me: While I’ve seen a few paintings of God — Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel depiction of God (looking suspiciously like Zeus) reaching out to Adam springs to mind — I couldn’t think of a single sculpture of him.

Part of this is due to the fact that the mentions of God as having a body in the Bible make many Christians uncomfortable. They want the only depiction of God as corporeal to be that of Jesus. 

“Those troublesome verses in the scriptures attesting to God’s body would be smoothed, smothered or superseded by new interpretive frameworks and some fancy philosophical footwork,” Stavrakopoulou writes. “A favorite tactic employed by early Christian theologians was simply to reduce all biblical references to God’s body to the symbolic.” 

Even further back than that, after the Jerusalem Temple had been rebuilt in the 5th century BCE, Yahweh’s worshippers understood all too well the vulnerability and lack of transcendence of a corporeal god. 

It was around this time one of the Ten Commandments became “You shall not make for yourself a carved image.”

Once a vividly described giant, God lost his body. 

Are there few statues of God because one of the Ten Commandments forbids “carved images”?

And therein lies the main controversy around God: An Anatomy. The book has ignited a theological firestorm, dragging Yahweh off his lofty pedestal and into the gritty, grimy realm of human physicality. Some scholars are applauding Stavrakopoulou’s daring approach, while others are reaching for the nearest exorcism manual.

Biblical scholar Joel Edmund Anderson isn’t holding back. On his blog, Resurrecting Orthodoxy, he accuses Stavrakopoulou of having a “tin ear to the literary artistry and nuance of the biblical texts,” arguing that her interpretations are overly literal and lack proper contextual grounding. 

So, even though many Christians believe everything in the Bible to be literal, they prefer to skip over references to God’s form — it’s all too close to those pagan deities. Team Symbolic has won out; no one really talks too much about God’s body nowadays. It seems that the divine anatomy lesson is one lecture most would rather miss. –Wally

Museo de Málaga: Art, Archaeology and Awe

Explore the Malaga Museum, a tribute to the past that feels completely current in the Palacio de la Aduana. 

The Malaga Museum has an impressive fine art collection, including Gladiadores/La Meta Sudante (Gladiators/The Meta Sudans) by José Moreno Carbanero from 1882.

Málaga, one of the world’s oldest cities, isn’t short on sunlight, history or art. With its dizzying array of attractions, the city offers much to explore. The Centro Histórico, a pedestrian-friendly area, is home to many notable sites, including the Museo de Artes y Costumbres Populares (Museum of Popular Arts and Traditions), the Renaissance-style Catedral de Nuestra Señora de la Encarnación (Málaga Cathedral) and modern art institutions like the Centre Pompidou Málaga. Nearby, the Alcazaba fortress stands guard on the hillside above a Roman amphitheater, connected to the Gibralfaro Castle by a fortified walkway.

The building that houses the museum is called the Palacio de la Aduana and was the customs house for the busy port.

History of the Museum of Málaga

A standout among these cultural treasures is the Museo de Málaga (Museum of Málaga). Housed in the Palacio de la Aduana (Customs House), this magnificent 17th century Neoclassical landmark is nestled between the verdant Parque de Málaga and the Ayuntamiento de Málaga (Málaga City Hall) in the heart of the Old Quarter.

Its construction was initiated in 1787 under King Charles III in response to Málaga’s growing maritime trade, and was conceived by architect Manuel Martín Rodríguez, who drew inspiration from Madrid’s palatial Real Casa de la Aduana (Royal Customs House). 

“With over 2,000 works of art and more than 15,000 artifacts in its archaeology collection, the museum offers a vast and captivating chronicle of Málaga’s history.”

Although the project actually started in 1791, it encountered several delays, including Napoleon’s failed attempt to conquer Spain during the Peninsular War, which pushed its completion date to 1829.

Nearly two centuries after its construction, the renovated venue reopened to the public, preserving the building’s original character while updating its interior to meet 21st century standards for accessibility. 

The museum unites the collections of the Real Academia de San Telmo (Saint Elmo Academy of Fine Arts) and the Museo Arqueológico de Málaga (Málaga Archaeological Museum) under one roof. With over 2,000 works of art and more than 15,000 artifacts in its archaeology collection, the museum offers a vast and captivating chronicle of Málaga’s history.

A mix of unmarked artifacts, including green glazed pottery and religious statuary, is displayed on wooden shelves inside the Visitable Warehouse section of the Museum of Málaga.

Ground Floor Visitable Warehouse

After paying the admission fee of €1.50 (approximately $1.63) per person, Wally and I began our visit on the ground floor with the Almacén Visitable (Visitable Warehouse), a storeroom of sorts, where objects are organized by time period and displayed in drawers and on shelves and wooden platforms. (It reminded us a bit of the ramshackle Egyptian Museum in Cairo.)

A collection of Hellenistic pottery, including terracotta heads, pig figurines and feet fills one of the display cabinets.

Among the artifacts were ancient vases, pots and fragments of centuries-old marble column capitals, feet, torsos and heads, displayed alongside 19th century oil paintings culled from the Fine Arts collection.

The warehouse is fun to explore, with its jumble of marble architectural fragments, a pair of Christ figures missing their crosses and a cathedral bell.

Look for the scale models, including one of the Roman amphitheater and (we think) the interior of Málaga Cathedral.

Wally and I oohed and ahhed over a scale model of the Alcazaba and Gibralfaro. In another part of the room, a glass display case held several devotional sculptures, including religious images of the Virgin Mary, underscoring the reverence and care with which these objects are treated.

A view of the palatial courtyard of the Museum of Málaga. The classical terracotta busts were added in 1885 to commemorate Queen Isabella II’s son Alfonso XII.

Central Courtyard 

Following our tour of the storehouse, we wandered through the expansive central courtyard, graced with palm and orange trees, a fountain and informational panels recounting the building’s history, including Queen Isabella II’s visit in 1862. Terracotta busts, added to honor her son Alfonso XII’s visit 23 years later, have adorned the uppermost balustrade of the courtyard gallery ever since.

When we visited, there was a special exhibit on the hometown hero Picasso.

Special Exhibit on Picasso

The port city is the birthplace of Pablo Picasso and, during our visit, it was hosting the exhibition La presencia de Picasso (The Presence of Picasso) to mark the 50th anniversary of his death. 

A selection of lithographs from Picasso’s Faunes et Flore d’Antibes series at The Presence of Picasso exhibition.

On a separate note, the Museum of Fine Arts previously occupied the Palacio de Buenavista (Buenavista Palace), but it was unceremoniously packed up and placed in storage in 1997 to make way for the Museo Picasso Málaga (Málaga Picasso Museum).

Fauno Blanco Tocando el Aulós (White Faun Playing the Flute) by Pablo Picasso, 1946

The exhibition featured lithographs from the Faunes et Flore d’Antibes series and engravings from Deux Contes, both drawn from the Fine Arts permanent collection. Wally, a big fan of mythology (and the male form), especially liked the collection. 

A glimpse of what awaits you at the beginning of the Fine Arts section of the museum.

First Floor: Fine Arts

Upstairs (keep in mind that in Europe the first floor is what we Americans would call the second floor), the Fine Arts section covers a broad spectrum of 19th century artworks, including pieces by old masters like Antonio Muñoz Degrain, Bernardo Ferrándiz y Bádenes, Fernando Ortiz y Comarcada, José Gutiérrez de la Vega and Pedro de Mena, among others. It also features works by prominent members of the Málaga School of Painting, such as Alfonso Ponce de León y Cabello, José Suárez Peregrin and Pedro Sáenz Sáenz.

Los Saltimbanquis (The Acrobats) by José Suarez Perigrín, 1932

El Juicio de Paris (The Judgment of Paris) by Enrique Simonet y Lombardo, 1904

Después de la Corrida (After the Bullfight) by José Denis Belgrano, 1890

Estudio de Anatomía Masculina (Study of the Male Anatomy) by Bernardo Ferrándiz y Bádenes, 1862

Tarquin y Lucrecia (Tarquin and Lucretia) by José López García, 1988

Alegoría de la Historía, Industría y Comercio de Málaga (Allegory of the History, Industry and Commerce of Málaga) by Bernardo Ferrández and Antonio Muñoz Degrain, 1870

The first piece you’ll see as you enter these galleries is a maquette, a final study for the ceiling of the Teatro Cervantes by the Valencian-born painter Bernardo Ferrándiz. In 1870, he and Degrain were commissioned to decorate the theater. Ferrándiz depicted himself as Mephistopheles, the demon who barters for Faust’s soul, on the stage set. 

The female figure, possibly a symbol of the city, sits atop a shrine holding a caduceus— a symbol associated with Mercury, the god of commerce and prosperity. Other aspects of the city’s booming cultural and economic success, including agriculture, industry, transportation and fishing, highlight its strategic location as a trading port.

However, to me, some of the most interesting pieces came from religious institutions. Like the Museo de Bellas Artes de Córdoba, this museum’s collection includes significant works of art, images and architectural elements seized from the deconsecrated monastic properties, including the ex-convents and monasteries of the Poor Clares of Santa Clara, San Bernardo, La Merced and San Pedro de Alcántara.

Mudejar ceiling corbels 

Next, you’ll notice a set of four carved oak corbels, or brackets. They originally adorned the ends of timber beams in the Convent of La Merced and became part of the academy’s collections in 1915. These architectural elements illustrated the sins and vices parishioners were expected to renounce before entering the holy space.

Head of Saint John of God by Fernando Ortiz y Comarcada, circa 1755-1765

Fernando Ortiz y Comarcada’s sculptural style was greatly influenced by Pedro de Mena — in fact, for many years, this work was attributed to Mena. However, documents found for the production of four sculptures at Parroquia Santiago Apóstol in Málaga confirmed Ortiz as the artist. This head is the only surviving piece from that series, which was largely destroyed during the protests of 1931. An anonymous citizen saved this from the flames and left it at the parish door in a basket, ensuring that future generations could appreciate its artistic quality.

Ecce Homo by Pedro de Mena, circa 1676-1680

Throughout his lifetime, Pedro de Mena was in high demand, securing a steady stream of public and private commissions across Spain and Latin America. It’s believed that Ecce Homo came from the estate of El Retiro in Málaga and was first owned by Bishop Alonso de Santo Tomás, who hired Mena to carve images for his private oratory while the sculptor was working for the bishop’s order at the Monastery of Santo Domingo.

(Postrimerías) A Moro Muerto, Gran Lanzada, or (Dying Moments) Kicking a Man While He’s Down by Bernardo Ferrándiz y Badenes, 1881

This small painting might seem unremarkable at first glance, but it has an interesting story behind it. The artwork was inspired by an actual event that forever changed the artist’s life. Bernardo Ferrándiz y Badenes had a physical confrontation with Juan Nepomuceno Ávila, a fellow academy member, municipal architect and close friend of the Marquis of Salamanca. The dispute arose because Ávila denied financial support to the San Telmo Fine Art School, where Ferrándiz was the director at the time.

Ávila used the incident to have Ferrándiz expelled from the institution. Ferrándiz subsequently was accused of attempted murder and imprisoned. Although the exact details of the altercation remain unclear, the event left Ferrándiz shaken. The once-prominent artist faced social ostracism, which plays out in his artwork, where he depicted himself as the skeleton of a cat, with Ávila as a mouse. He inscribed the following on the frame: “Fierce king, yesterday I gave you my laws to respect, and today, with death upon me, even you come to trample the dust of what I was.”

Additionally, the museum has a small collection of Spanish modern art up to the 1950s, including works by José López García, José Moreno Villa, Juan Fernándo Béjar and, yes, Picasso. 

This Italo-Corinthian helmet most likely belonged to a high-ranking warrior. It was unearthed in 2012 by archaeologists excavating a site between Calles Jinete and Refino in Málaga’s historic quarter.

Second Floor: Archeological Section 

The second floor (third floor to you Americans) galleries focus on archaeology, with the first two rooms dedicated to the private collection of Jorge Loring Oyarzábal and his wife, Amelia Heredia Livermore, also known as the Marquis and Marquesa de Casa Loring.

The Lorings had a passion for antiques and collecting. One of their most important acquisitions was several pieces from the collection of 18th century Córdoban antiquarian Pedro Leonardo de Villacevallos, which included capitals from Medina Azahara, Umayyad-period tombstones and sculptural relics from Ancient Rome.

A collection of marble busts, and funerary plaques from the Villacevallos collection acquired by the Lorings

This 18th century religious sculpture, depicting the realistic severed head of Saint John the Baptist, is paraded through the streets of Málaga during Holy Week. 

A mosaic fragment depicting Priapus, the son of Venus and Bacchus. Commonly shown with a massive erection and basket of fruit, it’s no surprise he’s a god of fertility.

The remaining halls cover a vast historical timeline, showcasing how each civilization — from prehistory through the Phoenician, Roman, al-Andalus and Christian Reconquest periods — contributed to the city’s cultural mosaic. In recent decades, artifacts unearthed during construction and in excavations carried out by the University of Málaga have been added to the collection.

A detail of the center of a 1st century Roman mosaic depicting the goddess Venus surrounded by a menagerie of birds.

Speaking of mosaics, a 1st century floor panel depicting the birth of Venus, the goddess of love, sex and beauty, takes center stage in the museum’s Roman galleries. Discovered in 1956, it was found lining the floor of a Roman villa in the nearby town of Cártama. This impressive mosaic measures 13 by 20 feet (4 by 6 meters). It shows the naked goddess reclining on a giant scallop shell above a couple of dolphins.

The 2nd century Roman statue known as La Dama de la Aduana, discovered while digging the foundations of the museum in 1791, welcomes visitors at the entrance.

A Trip Back in Time at the Museo de Málaga

To sum up our experience, the Museo de Málaga was more than just a tourist attraction. It was a journey through epochs that celebrates Málaga’s multifaceted identity and enduring spirit. Its artworks and archaeological objects are well organized and clearly marked in both English and Spanish. As you walk through its halls, the city’s colorful history comes alive. –Duke

Museo de Málaga

Plaza de la Aduana 1
29015 Málaga
Spain

 

The Joyful, Colorful World of Randyland in Pittsburgh

From the imagination of Randy Gilson: how this haven of whimsy and reclaimed objects has helped revitalize the Steel City.

Randy Gilson, the mad genius behind the folk art spectacle Randyland

Nestled in the heart of Pittsburgh’s Mexican War Streets neighborhood is the vibrant and colorful landmark known to locals as Randyland. The historic district was developed in the mid 19th century, shortly after the Mexican-American War — which is why its streets are named after battles and generals from the war.

“In 1995 Randy purchased the building on the corner of Jacksonia and Arch Streets for $10,000.

He used his credit card.”

Rubble, rubble: Randy working on Randyland in the ’90s

The History of Randyland

The story began when its imaginative creator, Randy Gilson, moved to the Central Northside neighborhood in the early ’80s. Randy saw the district’s potential, despite its decline, and became a community activist. He started clearing trash and converting city-owned vacant lots into green spaces. Fueled by a singular vision and a knack for repurposing discarded objects into art, Randy embarked on a mission to create a public space that embodied joy and positivity.

In 1995 he purchased the building on the corner of Jacksonia and Arch Streets for $10,000. He used his credit card. But there was no stopping his vision: to transform the space into a haven of creativity. Over the following decades, the whimsical outdoor oasis of Randyland emerged.

When Randy creates his artwork, it looks like he gets as much paint on his pants as he does on the house.

What started as a single house adorned with colorful murals has blossomed into a sprawling art collection. Found objects — everything from plastic pink flamingos to mannequin heads to bottle caps — are given a new lease on life, meticulously incorporated into the ever-evolving landscape. Whimsical sculptures welcome visitors, their painted surfaces reflecting the playful spirit of the place. 

Local residents and volunteers rallied behind Randy’s vision, donating materials, time and expertise to help bring Randyland to life. Over the years, Randy has created numerous pieces of art and has planted more than 800 trees and 50 vegetable gardens around Pittsburgh.

Families mill about Randyland during the Mexican War Streets House & Garden Tour.

Bringing Together the Community

Randyland’s artistic style is a delightful combination of folk and outsider art. There’s no adherence to established artistic conventions; the beauty lies in the sheer exuberance and the personal touch evident in every detail. The three-story house itself is a canvas, its bright yellow exterior adorned with fantastical scenes and characters.

The whimsical wonderland of Randyland

But Randyland is more than just a visual spectacle. It’s a space that fosters a sense of community. Randy, with his infectious enthusiasm, is a constant presence, engaging with visitors and sharing the story behind his creation. The museum has become a gathering place for locals and tourists alike, a vibrant counterpoint to the industrial backdrop of Pittsburgh.

Step this way! A cutout of Randy greets visitors to Randyland in Pittsburgh.

The impact of Randyland extends far beyond its physical boundaries. It has played a pivotal role in the cultural revitalization of the North Side, inspiring other institutions such as the Mattress Factory, a contemporary art space, to flourish in the area. And its fame has transcended geographical borders. Randyland had been featured on viral listicles and in a steady stream of social posts, thanks to its numerous photogenic vignettes.

Mac, who sadly passed away, helping his partner, Randy upkeep the attraction. Their hard work has helped revitalize the Mexican War Streets neighborhood.

Not All Rainbows and Unicorns

However, Randyland’s journey hasn’t been without its challenges. The extensive use of found objects means constant maintenance and repair. And the recent passing of Randy’s longtime partner, David “Mac” McDermott, who played a crucial role in the attraction’s operation, left a void. 

Yet the spirit of Randyland remains undimmed.

Randy’s work never ends — so while the attraction is free to visit, consider leaving a donation.

Visiting Randyland

The museum is a nonprofit organization, with donations from visitors forming the backbone of its financial support. Volunteers play a vital role in keeping the installations fresh and vibrant. You can also buy Randy’s merch in his store.

The museum is open every day of the week from 10 a.m. until 5:30 p.m. but may be closed during winter due to the weather.

If you’d like to experience the magic of Randyland yourself, find the perfect place to stay. Sites like Cozycozy make it easy to search for accommodations near Randyland and other Pittsburgh attractions, ensuring a comfortable and convenient stay in the Steel City. –Tímea Nguyen

There’s lots of fun, artsy things to buy at the general store.

“Fueled by a singular vision and a knack for repurposing discarded objects into art, Randy embarked on a mission to create a public space that embodied joy and positivity.”

You can’t miss Randyland, a fun activity for kids of all ages.

Randyland

1501 Arch Street
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15212
USA

 

Pittsburgh Is Anything But the Pits

Mansions, Monuments and Museums of the Plaza de Jerónimo Páez in Córdoba

While exploring the historic quarter of Córdoba, Spain, admire the Palacio de los Páez de Castillejo and Casa del Judío before you stop in the archaeological museum.

It’s easy to understand why Córdoba’s entire historic quarter earned its UNESCO World Heritage Site designation in 1985. As Wally and I explored the narrow cobblestone streets of la Judería, the city’s former Jewish quarter, our wanderings led us to charming plazas that opened up to reveal historic homes and restaurants with inviting outdoor seating, where you can sit and relax with the locals. 

Among these squares is Plaza de Jerónimo Páez, named after a descendant of the influential Cordobesan family responsible for the Renaissance-style Palacio de los Páez de Castillejo and the equally historic Casa del Judío. Having endured years of neglect, the plaza was renovated in the 1990s, when the archaeological museum was expanded.

During the city’s era of Roman occupation, known as Corduba at that time, this square served as the entertainment district, boasting one of the largest theaters in the empire. The partial remains of this historic structure are now displayed beneath the modern Archaeological and Ethnological Museum of Córdoba, located next to the atmospheric 16th century Palacio de los Páez de Castillejo.

From palace gardens to private residence to school to museum, the Palacio de los Páez de Castillejo has had a rich history.

Palacio de los Páez de Castillejo

What initially caught our attention as we walked through the square was the gloriously decayed sandstone façade of the Palacio de los Páez de Castillejo family — aptly named, considering their surname, Castillejo, translates to “Little Castle” — which is essentially what this home was.

A pair of life-size marble korai, female figures dressed in long tunics, and a Corinthian capital with acanthus leaves creates a striking vignette.

This lovely Roman mosaic includes motifs such as interlaced Solomon’s knot, vines, pomegranates and crescent-shaped pelta shields.

One of the many beautiful Mudéjar-style niches with scalloped arches within the palace courtyard — and the equally dashing Wally. 

The residence was renovated in the 16th century by Luis Páez de Castillejo and stands on the grounds of what were once the gardens of Ybrahim Ben Nacer Alfaqui’s palace. In 1538, he commissioned the prominent Spanish architect Hernán Ruiz II to oversee the redevelopment of the main courtyard, Renaissance-style façade and sculpted railing of the main staircase. Ruiz II collaborated with his father, Hernán Ruiz the Elder, on the contentious construction of the Capilla Mayor within the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba.

The silhouettes on the cloth added a modern art feel to this area of the courtyard.

Besides serving as the Páez de Castillejo residence, the building was used as a school at the end of the 19th century, known as the Polytechnic Academy. And in 1959, it became the Archaeological and Ethnological Museum of Córdoba.

This impressive sculpture, known as the Thoracata of Córdoba and named after a type of Roman battle armor, depicts the massive torso of a hero — possibly Aeneas in his escape from Troy — wearing an intricate breastplate adorned with a pair of griffins.

Its exterior is similar to Ruiz II’s work on the Puerta del Puente, the principal gateway to the Roman Bridge in town, and, like the monument, was designed in the style of a triumphal arch. Among its notable features are a pair of porticos supported by Doric columns, with heroic figures positioned between them. Above the entablature, classical figures hold the family coat of arms. This imagery aimed to immortalize the Páez de Castillejo family as the living embodiment of discipline, loyalty and self-sacrifice to the people of Córdoba. 

This staircase features a sandstone railing designed by Hernán Ruiz II as well as a Roman mosaic depicting rearing horses drawing a chariot.

Be sure to go through that gorgeous gateway — it’s free and only takes a short while to stroll around the courtyard.

Initially, Wally and I stood there, gawking and uncertain about entering, but after we saw a man speaking to the guard stationed at the entrance, we decided to ask about the building. The guard informed us that it’s an extension of the modern archaeological museum and welcomed us to take a look around the interior courtyard. We walked around the first courtyard, which is dedicated to Roman archaeology, including mosaics and sculptures. However, unlike the adjacent institution, the artifacts on display here are not clearly marked.

Although it’s not open to the public, the exterior of Casa del Judío is worth pausing to take a look at.

Casa del Judío

Over the centuries, the enigmatic building located across from the Palacio de los Páez de Castillejo has been inextricably linked to the Castilian royal family and the generations of noble lineages connected to them, including the Sousa, Haro, Armenia and Cárdenas families.

Originally a Mudéjar palace, the stately manor is also called the Palacio del Duque de Medina Sidonia, or the Palace of the Duke of Medina Sidonia. For, it was within these walls that the bastard son of Juana de Sousa and Henry II of Castile, Enrique de Castilla y de Sousa, aka the first duke of Medina Sidonia, was born.

While eating at La Cavea, we spotted a cool couple in front of the Casa del Judío.

Although it’s not open to the public, you can still admire its ceramic-tiled roof, vibrant fuchsia bougainvilleas and square tower with a hipped roof enclosed by a latticework screen. To the left of the doorway, sheltered by greenery, is a bronze bust perched atop a marble plinth immortalizing the Roman poet Marcus Annaeus Lucanus (39-65 CE), better known in English literature as Lucan. 

Lucan was the nephew of the philosopher-statesman Lucius Annaeus Seneca (Seneca the Younger). He attracted the favorable attention of the Roman emperor Nero but conspired with Gaius Calpurnius Piso in a scheme to assassinate Nero and install Piso as his successor. Ultimately, its failure led to Lucan’s arrest and his subsequent suicide at the age of 26. 

Today the home is more commonly referred to by locals as la Casa del Judío, or in English, the Jew’s House, in reference to Elie J. Nahamias, a Judeo-Greek businessman and its most recent owner, who passed away in 1994. Nahamias was a descendant of the pre-exile Sephardic communities that inhabited the Iberian Peninsula and assembled an impressive library of printed books and manuscripts spanning six centuries of Jewish history. His collection is held by the Library of the Alliance Israélite Universelle based in Paris, France. And although the property is privately owned by his children, you can still admire its beautiful exterior.

A cute location and a good option if you want a snack or drink while visiting the archeological museum — but otherwise you can find better food elsewhere in town.

Café-Bar La Cavea

The center of the square is taken up with a casual resturant, with tables placed under the shade of trees (with white umbrellas an additional barrier from the heat when needed), all sitting amid broken remnants of Roman columns. When we stopped by, there was live music, with a performer taking up station by the fountain.

Beware choco! Although our Spanish friends say it’s actually good, this one was rubbery and flavorless. If you really want to cringe, do a search for “cuttlefish.”

While the café gets points for its setting, the food didn’t impress us — especially since we ordered calamari but where told they had choco instead, which is very close. Imagine our dismay when we discovered that it not only looked like and and was practically the size of a bleached, deflated football, it tasted like one, too. (Wally had also made the mistake of Googling what cuttlefish look like, which didn’t do him any favors). I was recovering from heat stroke, so he choked down as much choco as he could before giving up.

Detail of an intricately carved Mudejar relief featuring sebqa work, a decorative technique characterized by the repetition of geometric and vegetal forms.

Hidden Gems

Our wanderings through the historic Plaza de Jerónimo Páez offered glimpses into Córdoba’s rich history, through its ruins, artifacts and storied mansions. This square is no longer the bustling entertainment district it was when it was home to one of the largest theaters in the Roman Empire. But it still captivates visitors with its antique structures and inviting energy. Be sure to admire your surroundings before you head into the archeological museum, which is worth visiting. –Duke

Plaza de Jerónimo Páez