Contemporary tile fixes intermingle with original adobe construction to maintain the romanticized notions of the Spanish Missions at Mission San Miguel Arcángel.
Matthew Gush
Years spent exploring the Americas and documenting Pre-Columbian civilizations’ remains eventually brought my work back to Southern California. Through my travels I saw how advanced these societies had become, only to be confronted with the complications that few knew about or understood. Growing up in Whittier as a product of California’s public school system, I inherited the notion that American History started with a blank slate at 1492 and in fourth grade received the romanticized indoctrination of the Alta California mission system. It wasn’t until I started grappling with the colonial underpinnings of this continent that I realized my work with the past segued from the historical to the contemporary—colonization significantly accounting for why these societies were destroyed and why their legacies continued to be suppressed.
My subsequent exploration of the Alta California missions system exposed layers of complexity and irony. How could Mission San Antonio de Padua, sitting so rustically idyllic in the rolling green hills of central California, be the home of a mass grave of Natives? How could these architecturally simple yet striking places be the vehicles of cultural destruction and, ironically, salvation? How does Junípero Serra propagate such a sprawling system, yet harm the people he was trying to save? How do we understand the pain and suffering inflicted in and around these missions, yet still celebrate modern Quinceñeras or weddings in them?
It is easy to be seduced by the romanticized façades of these places, but even more important to understand their complexities and relevance for understanding contemporary California, the land where we dwell. Native history and the missions matter: from the role the missions played in the destruction of Native lives and culture during the Spanish conquest and colonization of Alta California, to the mission revival, and their function as expressions of faith today. We must look at these places and understand their complexities and contradictions, in hopes of more critical conversations that might serve as vehicles of understanding California.
Mission Soledad, with its simple yet poignant architectural lines, was a nexus for the subjugation of indigenous coastal peoples.
Visitors to Mission San Juan Capistrano explore the ruins of the mission church that was destroyed in an 1812 earthquake.
Nestled in a fertile valley surrounded by farms, Mission San Juan Bautista remains a home to a large modern parish.
An idealistic fountain gurgles in a secret garden tucked away behind the chapel at Mission San Fernando Rey de España.
An altar at Mission San Fernando Rey de España showcases ideals of western thought.
Now surrounded by a modern neighborhood subdivision, portions of the original La Purisima Mission.
Native inspired flower and nature motifs decorate the mission walls at Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa.
An animal hide dries in the sun at Mission La Purisima as an example of life during the mission days.
The sun sets on Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo, the resting place for Saint Junípero Serra- the founder and a complicated figure in mission history.
Crumbling in the elements, adobe walls at Mission San Antonio de Padua contain a mass grave of Native Californians.
Shining midday sun illuminates the gardens planted around Mission Santa Clara de Asís.
Mission San Buenaventura was personally dedicated by Saint Junípero Serra.
Mission San José’s church features angel cut-outs and other whimsical elements.
Non-native palm trees decorate the exterior façade of Mission San Gabriel Arcángel, contributing to the romanticized notions of California’s Spanish past.
Votive candle offerings burn in Mission Santa Cruz’s church.
Mission San Francisco de Asís, the oldest surviving structure in San Francisco, has been consumed by the urban mass that it created.
Light streams through a window in Mission Santa Inés.
A statue of Saint Junípero Serra is shown with an indigenous Californian, highlighting the complicated facts behind this contentious relationship.
A sharp statue of the Virgin Mary adorns an alcove in Mission San Diego de Alcalá.
Modern traffic streams by Mission San Luis Rey de Francía.
Candles burn in offering to the Virgin Mary in the chapel of Mission San Juan Capistrano.
The last light of the evening sun illuminates a bell tower of Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo.
Oaxacan Folklorico dancers prepare to perform inside Mission San Gabriel Arcángel.
Contemporary religious services continue at Mission Santa Bárbara.
The first of the Alta California missions, Mission San Diego de Alcalá opens for an evening mass.
Note
This photographic essay is part two of a diptych on the Alta California missions. For part one, see Matthew Gush and Robert M. Senkewicz, “Seeing California’s Missions Today.”
Matthew Gush is the university photographer at California State University, Fullerton, and is the Boom California 2017-2018 Photographer in Residence. His work focuses on Pre-Columbian Native America and chronicles interjections of Colonial Empires. For more of his work see https://www.humanexp.co/.
Copyright: © 2018 Matthew Gush. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/.
