The Haunting and Horrific Mummy Museum of Guanajuato

The surprisingly popular Museo de las Momias is filled with naturally preserved corpses, dried out and twisted into gruesome positions. Their wide-open mouths are enough to make visitors scream. 

There’s a museum filled with naturally preserved corpses in Guanajuato, Mexico — and it’s a popular attraction with locals and warped tourists alike.

While researching a day trip from San Miguel de Allende, Duke said, “There’s a mummy museum in Guanajuato—”

“Say no more!” I interrupted him. “I’m sold.”

It’s just the kind of perverse spectacle that made us name our site The Not So Innocents Abroad. 

“This woman had wakened under the earth. She had torn, shrieked, clubbed at the box-lid with fists, died of suffocation, in this attitude, hands flung over her gaping face, horror-eyed, hair wild.”

— Ray Bradbury, “The Next in Line”

And we’re not the only ones into this type of gruesome excursion. The parking lot was full, and there was a line to get into the museum. All told, we had to wait about 20 minutes to purchase tickets. 

“The mummies of Guanajuato bring the biggest economic income to the municipality after property tax,” Mexican anthropologist Juan Manuel Argüelles San Millán told National Geographic. “Their importance is hard to overstate.”

Meet the oldest mummy at the museum: Dr. Remigio Leroy, buried in 1860 and exhumed five years later.

Many of the mummies still have their hair and teeth — and dried sacs where their eyes have oozed out.

Our tour guide spoke in Spanish — most of the visitors were locals as opposed to fellow gringos. Our Spanish is nowhere near good enough to follow what he was saying, but we trailed after the group, snapping photo after photo. 

The mummies are pale and desiccated, twisted into horrific poses, their arms crossed over their chest or fingers bent at unnatural angles. The dried skin has flaked off in many areas, looking like a wasp nest, though on a few the skin is pulled taut and smooth. On some, the eyes look as if they’ve oozed out of their sockets to become dried sacs. Quite a few still have their teeth; you’ll see tongues protruding from others. Some still wear dusty clothes, pulled from their graves before the fabric had time to rot away. 

Many still have their hair, wild manes or neat braids. We passed a mummy that had a large patch of gray pubes, which made us groan and then giggle. 

This mummy still sports a patch of gray pubes.

One somber section is devoted to babies, eerie infants dressed in gowns and caps, looking like dreadful dolls. 

But what you notice most are the mouths. They’re open in what appears to be an eternal scream. They’re screaming, as if they knew what their ignominious fate would be. 

So, how did the mummies end up here?

If you’re buried in Guanajuato and no one pays your burial tax…you could end up a mummy at the museum!

Exhumed and Exploited 

Unlike a cemetery in the United States, where you buy a plot of land for perpetuity, the gravesites in the silver mining town of Guanajuato had a burial tax. If a family didn’t pay up, the corpse had to vacate the premises to make way for a paying customer. 

The bodies at Santa Paula cemetery were moved to an underground ossuary — what happens to be the current site of the Museum of the Mummies. 

Check out those cheekbones! This is considered to be the best-preserved mummy at the museum.

Those commissioned with the gruesome task of removing the corpses were shocked to discover that many were well preserved. Turns out that the deep crypts, devoid of humidity and oxygen, provided the ideal conditions to prevent decomposition. The bodies had dried out naturally, transforming into what are now known as the mummies of Guanajuato. 

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Gravediggers lined up the mummies and charged the public a few pesos to see them. Early viewers would break bits off of the mummies or nabbed name tags as souvenirs. 

The macabre practice continued for 90 years, until 1958. Ten years later, the city opened el Museo de las Momias de Guanajuato, and 59 of the original 111 mummies are on display. 

And so the tradition continues — though the museum now charges 85 pesos (less than $5). We sprang for the additional section, which turned out to be a kitschy collection of spooky spectacles in the vein of Ripley’s Believe It or Not!

One of the dioramas in the bonus room at the end.

Thought to be Asian, this mummy is referred to as the China Girl — and is the only one with its original coffin, despite being one of the oldest specimens in the collection.

Mummies Dearest 

The first of the mummies dates back to 1865 and is that of a French doctor, Remigio Leroy. As an immigrant, he had no one to keep up his burial tax. 

One unfortunate soul, Ignacia Aguilar, had a medical condition that greatly slowed her heart, and her family rushed to bury her (not unusual in warm climates). Ignacia was eventually unearthed, her mummy lying face-down — and the ghastly truth was discovered: Due to injuries on her forehead and the position of her arms, she’s believed to have been buried alive. 

The corpse on the left is believed to have been buried alive, while the guy in the middle drowned.

And, alongside its mother, there’s a 24-week-old fetus, believed to be the youngest mummy in existence. 

Analysis of the mummy showed that this woman was 40 years old and malnourished when she died while pregnant. Her fetus is thought to be that of the youngest mummy in existence.

Death on Display

The museum may be popular, but it also comes with its share of controversy. Aside from the questionable ethics of showcasing the forgotten dead in a freakshow of sorts, some scientists say that storing the mummies upright, as many are displayed, hampers preservation. 

But this display of death is just part of the culture. 

“For Mexicans, this isn’t bizarre or weird,” local guide Dante Rodriguez Zavala told Nat Geo. “We have a comfort level with death — we take food to our dead loved ones on Day of the Dead and invite mariachis into the cemetery.”

One of the scariest of the mummies

Pretending to be a mummy at the end

But for some, like writer Ray Bradbury, the experience is haunting. Bradbury, traumatized by his viewing of the mummies in 1945, wrote a fantastic, creepy short story about them called “The Next in Line.” It’s in his collection The October Country and will stick with you long after you finish reading it. The tale is the perfect companion piece to a visit to the Museum of the Mummies. 

Much better than the schlocky horror flick Las Momias de Guanajuato (The Mummies of Guanajuato). This movie from 1972 is part of the luchador genre, starring three wrestlers from the time — Blue Demon, Mil Máscaras and Santo, the Silver Masked Man — saving the town from a resurrected sorcerer (and fellow wrestler) named Satan and his army of the undead. –Wally

Museum of the Mummies of Guanajuato

Explanada del Panteón Municipal
Centro
36000 Guanajuato
Guanajuato
Mexico

 

Instituto Allende: The Influential Art School That Shaped San Miguel de Allende

This art school and event space holds a special place in the charming town’s transformation. Stop by to see the cool murals and refuel at Murmullo café.

Duke and Wally fell in love with the interior courtyard at the Instituto Allende.

The hulking adobe and fieldstone Instituto Allende is a bit outside of the historic city center of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Located on the southwest edge of the Centro, this art school was originally built in 1736 as the summer manor for the influential de la Canal family. 

The Instituto Allende teaches a variety of fine arts, including sculpture.

San Miguel de Allende Goes Artsy 

After Mexico’s War of Independence in 1910, and the decline of silver mining, which had brought San Miguel de Allende its fortune, the colonial town faced an uncertain future. Credit for undertaking its transformation into an artists colony has largely been given to U.S. expat Stirling Dickinson, who became director of the Instituto Allende in the ’50s. 

Yet this is only part of the story. Native son and former Guanajuato governor Enriquez Fernández Martínez and his American wife, Nell Harris, were the instrumental force behind the art school’s founding. Their enduring legacy was carried on by their son Rodolfo, and his daughter Zara is the current director.  

However, it was not the first academic art school in SMA. Peruvian artist and diplomat-in-exile Felipe Cossío del Pomar, received support from President Lázaro Cárdenas to transform the 19th century convent of the Order of the Immaculate Conception, known locally as Las Monjas (The Nuns), into la Escuela Universitaria de Bellas Artes, the University School of Fine Arts. (The building is now occupied by the government-run cultural center known as the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramírez “El Nigromante.”) 

Sterling Dickinson helped open up San Miguel de Allende as a center for the arts.

Class Act: Dickinson Comes oN the Scene 

Dickinson’s arrival in 1937, at the invitation of Chicago Lyric Opera tenor and Hollywood actor José Mojica, helped shape the future of San Miguel de Allende. He was transported from the train station to the Jardín, the town’s main square, outside of La Parroquia church, in the wee hours of the morning by a mule-drawn cart. When he saw the cathedral’s spires rising out of the mist, he uttered, “My God, what a place!” We couldn’t agree more.

Days later, Dickinson decided to stay and purchased the ruins of a former tannery on a hill overlooking the town, which he converted into his home. The property and land cost a mere $90. Mojica was leading a coalition to promote San Miguel as a magnet for cultured tourists. Film stars, composers, singers, intellectuals, local politicians and artists showed up regularly at his soirées.

The Expressionist works of David Leonardo Chávez cover much of the Instituto.

After its founding, the Instituto Allende became part of the University of Guanajuato, offering master’s degrees in fine arts, and began to gain international recognition. By 1960 it had grown both in size and scope and also offered a bachelor’s program in fine arts. Enrollment at the school continued to rise, and the town’s cultural reputation attracted tourists and expats.

Wally couldn’t get enough of Chávez’s fantastical paintings.

Dickinson came from an affluent Chicago family and had a knack for public relations. His passion for the arts and the culture of San Miguel itself laid the groundwork for promoting the burgeoning school. A 1948 Life magazine article described San Miguel as a “G.I. Paradise,” and given the relatively affordable rents — $10 per month — it’s no surprise that veterans queued up for an opportunity to attend college here. 

As a teacher at the Instituto, Dickinson became known for his Aspects of Mexico course, which combined lectures and experiential field trips. He attempted to foster a relationship built on mutual respect for indigenous Mexican culture and history among his students (to various levels of success).

Out back, you can wander around the beautiful campus and see the various classrooms.

Uncommon Grounds: A Walk Around Campus

Wally and I stopped by the main entrance of the Instituto on a Friday afternoon and found its massive wooden doors locked tight. Wally knocked on the door, and a janitor instantly opened it — only to inform us that it was closed to the public for a couple of days.

The institute is now split into two buildings: one for classes and a café, and another for weddings and other events. Unfortunately, we were unable to see the murals created in the 1950s by John DeMelim and James Pinto. 

We were able to enter the school building, though, through the administrative offices, which had an exuberant mural by contemporary Mexican Expressionist David Leonardo Chávez that crowns the ceiling and part of the walls. The artwork is rich with jewel tones and patterns depicting stylized swimmers. 

This mural of swimmers is one of the first you’ll see when you enter through reception.

Not a bad place to get a degree in art, eh?

While wandering into the adjoining space, we paused to admire more of the painterly works of Chávez, which covers the walls. Beyond, a few students were scattered throughout the leafy park-like courtyard, sitting in the grass and enjoying the dappled afternoon sunlight. Stone paths bisect the grounds leading to pennant-shaped signs pointing students to the various workshops and studios, including ceramics, drawing, jewelry, painting, printmaking, sculpture and weaving. The school also offers a range of Spanish language immersion classes. 

A colorful mural by the bathrooms out back

The Instituto was originally the summer residence of a wealthy family.

After taking a few photos, Wally and I exited on the far side of the campus, where a small group was setting up for an event in the enclosed egress. A young woman told us that this was for Rodarte, a bazaar for artists, makers and local designers from around Mexico to sell their works. The Instituto has always had a philanthropic component since its inception in 1950. Revenue from the event gives back to the community by providing art supplies for low-income students and teachers in the surrounding area.

The main section of Murmullo is chic and minimalist — but we chose to eat in the colorful mural-covered courtyard.

Murmurs and Musings at Murmullo Café

We left the grounds and had a snack at the charming Murmullo café, which is carved out from the Institute property. Our lively server recommended we split the falafel, which Wally and I ordered and agreed was quite possibly the best we’ve ever had. 

Quite possibly the best falafel pita we’ve ever had

Duke and Wally had a delightful lunch at Murmullo — great food, drinks, setting and service.

You couldn’t ask for a cooler setting to enjoy a coffee, beer or bite to eat.

They also serve coffee, which was the perfect excuse for us to caffeinate with iced skim lattes, as well as beer and kombucha. The café has three different seating areas, two indoors and one outdoors. We chose the open-air courtyard, surrounded by Chávez’s fantastical work. The fare and the setting make it worth a visit. Try a coffee, a local microbrew and the falafel. You won’t regret it. –Duke

Instituto Allende

Ancha de San Antonio 22
Zona Centro
San Miguel de Allende
México

 

What to Know Before You Go to San Miguel de Allende

10 travel tips for a trip to SMA, concerning everything from navigating the cobblestone streets, avoiding a potential late-night mugging, taking a taxi, and enjoying free music and art. 

San Miguel de Allende is so charming it’s easy to forget that you still have to play it safe.

I find it hard to imagine that most visitors to San Miguel de Allende won’t have a marvelous time. But, that being said, there are some easy things you can do to help make things go more smoothly.

“A group of friends headed back to their hotel around 2 a.m., but two of the young women got separated.

Before they knew what was happening, they were being attacked.”

Learn how to pronounce it correctly.

Phonetic spellings aren’t the easiest, but it’s really just the last part that would trip up most foreigners. Try saying the town like this: San Mee-ghell day Ah-yenday. 

It’s quite a mouthful, which is probably why some abbreviate it to SMA or simply shorten it to San Miguel. 

Watch your step. 

As charming as the cobblestone streets are, they’re uneven. It’s hard enough to navigate a trip around the historic town center in the best of circumstances, but when it rained while we were there, the stones became surprisingly slick — all the more dangerous because San Miguel de Allende has quite a few hills.

The sidewalks are narrow in most areas, made of local paving stones, with steps up to front doors and dips down for parking all along the way. It’s easy to imagine a quick slip that would result in a sprained ankle. 

I can’t imagine being elderly or mobility-impaired here, and I’m confused how anyone could safely retire in such a hilly town where every step is a potential pratfall. So, reconsider high heels, tractionless sandals or flip-flops unless you’re inside.

Play it safe — and minimize your chances of getting mugged.  

Yes, there’s drug-related violence happening in parts of Mexico. And we don’t want to be on the hook if something atrocious happens — but we’ve made quite a few trips to Mexico in recent years and have always felt safe. 

I mean, most people wouldn’t think twice about a trip to Chicago, where we live, even though there’s an alarmingly high rate of people getting shot. Much like how you should avoid certain neighborhoods in Chicago, there are areas in Mexico to steer clear of. The U.S. State Department offers travel advisories for Mexico on a region-by-region level.

That being said, after our perfectly delightful stay in San Miguel de Allende, we got a startling wakeup call that reminded us never to let our guard down.

The young woman sitting next to us on the plane back complimented our bracelets and asked if we had a nice time in San Miguel. We gushed about our trip and then asked about her stay. Her face became serious, and Duke and I both started feeling awkward, knowing something dramatic was coming. 

“I got mugged,” she said, showing us a large area of bruising on her arm. We listened to her story, eyes wide.

The young woman was in town for a wedding at the Rosewood, one of the fancier chain hotels on the outskirts of town. On a Thursday night, she and a group of friends had been out drinking at the bars. They headed back to the hotel around 2 a.m., but she and a girl friend got separated. Before they knew what was happening, some guy grabbed her.

“I was struggling and fighting back,” she told us. “But then I stopped to ask myself why I was doing that.” 

She got off better than her friend. Her assailant punched her right in the face, breaking her nose. 

The men took the girls’ purses and cell phones — and the incident ruined the trip and left the young women feeling vulnerable and violated. 

Time and time again, we hear about muggings happening to people stumbling home drunk from the bars. (Our friend Kevin, who lives in Oaxaca, gave us similar warnings.) So, please, if you want to go out and have a good time, take a taxi home. Much like in the States, muggings increase late at night on side streets.

Take a taxi when you can — but figure out the cost before you get in.

Duke and I found SMA to be a very walkable city (if a slightly precarious one — see the second tip). If you’re staying at one of the large hotels farther out, I suppose you could hop in a green taxi to get into el Centro. Just agree on your price beforehand. We didn’t taxi around town too much, but you shouldn’t pay more than 100 pesos (5 bucks) a trip.

Skip Uber — and be prepared to fork over a substantial sum for day trip transportation. 

If you’re going for a longer ride outside of town (to the quirky Chapel of Jimmy Ray, La Gruta hot springs, the church of Atotonilco or the city of Guanajuato, say), you’ll have to arrange a driver. Uber isn’t the amazingly easy and affordable option it is in Mexico City. When we visited at the end of 2022, our drivers canceled on us or the app declared that no rides were available. 

A round-trip to Guanajuato was $160, but that involved hiring a driver for the day, from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. We got dropped off at the Mummy Museum, wandered by foot along Calle Tepetapa and Avenida Benito Juaréz, then took the funicular up to the overlook. As we headed back down, we texted our driver, and he picked us up near the funicular ticket booth.

So, unfortunately, your best option sometimes is to fork over ridiculously high amounts to get most places. Our hotel-arranged airport pickup, for instance, set us back $128 (though it was an hour-and-a-half ride). 

Not wanting to pay that much when we went back to the airport, we simply went down the street to the taxi stand we noticed along Plaza de la Soledad. The first driver who pulled up said he’d take us to Querétaro Airport for about $60 — half what we paid previously.

Carry change with you for the bathroom — and know which one you’re supposed to go in. 

There are public bathrooms scattered throughout town — but as mentioned in our article on tips for Oaxaca, you’ll have to shell out some pesos to use them. Elsewhere, we’ve found baños typically cost about 5 pesos; here it was often 10 to 12 pesos (we’re still talking about less than a dollar). 

Speaking of baños, if you see a door with an M on it, that doesn’t stand for “men.” It’s “mujeres” — the word for “women” in Spanish. Hopefully this saves some men from the awkward situation of walking into the women’s room. The men’s room will have an H on it for “hombres.”

Enjoy free live music. 

In the evening, mariachis take over the main square, el Jardín de Allende, in front of the big church. It’s a sporadic affair: Sometimes a lone trumpet player will break out into a tune; sometimes a line of six men will play a song for a group of people sitting on the wall in front of San Miguel Arcángel. 

You should definitely devote some time to hanging out in the Jardín in the evening, maybe having a drink at one of the corner cafés, and enjoy the free show.

Climb the hill to the Mirador for a view of the town. 

It’s a cool vantage point to see the city center and the surrounding sprawl — just not an amazing one. It’s quite a hike up to the Lookout, and the trip down the slippery, uneven stones can be hard on the knees. Plus, you’ve got to constantly dodge cars on the narrow streets. 

That being said, if you’re in reasonably good shape and have some extra time in SMA, we do recommend making the trek up to the Lookout. 

Bring an umbrella. 

When it rains, water flows from canales, spouts that jut out a few feet — pouring down smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk. And even hours after it has rained, those spouts are still dribbling out water. 

Admire the art — even if you’re not there to make a big purchase.

Whereas Oaxaca is rooted in folk art traditions like the wooden creatures called alebrijes, SMA has a history of fine art. You’ll pass numerous spots showcasing sculptures and paintings, and we didn’t feel any pressure from salespeople in the galleries and high-end shops we popped into.

If you follow these tips and avoid trouble, you’re sure to have an amazing time in San Miguel de Allende. It’s not hard to see why so many American and Canadian expats have decided to call this magical city home. –Wally

Graycliff: Frank Lloyd Wright’s Ode to Lake Erie

This impressive estate perched above the water was built for Isabelle Martin and shows the birth of Wright’s organic architecture.

Frank Lloyd Wright built Graycliff, a summer residence for the Martins, from 1926 to 1929 — just in time for the family to lose their great wealth.

Frank Lloyd Wright had to grow on me. Actually, more accurately, I had to experience his work firsthand to develop an appreciation for it. Because, to me at least, his exteriors can seem monolithic, the windows small, the horizontal planes somewhat uninteresting. 

But when you enter one of his homes, it’s like you’ve entered a magical realm — the unassuming wardrobe that opens into the fantastical realm of Narnia, if you will. Wright transports you to another world, a cozy space where nature is invited in, often in surprising ways. You develop a great respect for the thought and vision that went into each of his homes. The environment connects to the site with a palette inspired by, and often using, materials sourced from the immediate area. 

“When the Martins complained about the additions, Wright replied, “You don’t need them — but the house does.””

Our docent, Gail, was extremely knowledgeable about Graycliff and its colorful history.

The Martin Family and the History of Graycliff

Graycliff was the lakeside haven and summer home of Isabelle and Darwin Martin. Darwin was a wealthy executive at the Larkin Soap Company and first met Wright at his Oak Park studio in 1902 to discuss the commission of a Larkin Administration Building. He later commissioned Wright to design and build the home that would become Graycliff. The estate is perched atop a 50-foot bluff overlooking Lake Erie in the town of Derby, New York, about 20 miles south of Buffalo. In the distance, you can see the Point Abino Lighthouse and the Welland Canal in Canada. 

The Larkin Soap Company was a massive mail-order business, and Darwin one of the highest paid executives at the time (worth the equivalent of $40 million nowadays). This accounts for his ability to build not only Graycliff but the family home in Buffalo (known as the Martin House) with Wright — an architect notorious for not letting a budget get in the way of his vision. 

But all of that changed when the stock market crashed in 1929, ushering in the Great Depression. Darwin had heavily invested in a number of his son’s business ventures, including 800 West Ferry, a luxury apartment high-rise in Buffalo. Due to these underperforming investments, the Martins’ fortunes eroded. 

Darwin sustained a series of mild strokes and a more serious episode on December 17, 1935, resulting in his death. 

It was reported that upon hearing of Darwin’s death, Wright stated that he had lost his best friend and most influential patron. Over the years, Darwin loaned Wright approximately $70,000. None of it was ever repaid. 

Isabelle continued to spend summers at Graycliff until about 1941. When she could no longer afford to keep the main house open, she moved into the apartment above the garage in the Foster House, before passing away on February 22, 1945 at the age of 75. 

Wright probably never imagined a modern sculpture sitting on the lawn at Graycliff — but we like to think he’d approve.

Wright’s Vision for Graycliff

Construction of the estate began in 1926 and was a gift from Darwin to Isabelle, upon his retirement from the Larkin Soap Company. The Martins were able to spend their first summer there in 1929, though the grounds weren’t completed until 1931. 

The complex comprises the main house, a sunken boiler house (called the Heat Hut) and the Foster House, originally conceived as the chauffeur’s quarters, so named because it was used as the summer residence of Isabelle’s daughter, Dorothy Martin Foster, her son-in-law, James, and their two children. 

Graycliff is named for the natural feature that forms the overlook it’s perched upon, and despite sounding a bit dour, the house is actually bright and airy. Not only did Wright want to provide views of Lake Erie, he had another reason to fill the house with natural light: Isabelle suffered from scleritis, a condition that causes chronic eye pain and light sensitivity. According to correspondence sent from the Martins to Wright, Isabelle needed a place that was flooded with “light and sunshine” — the opposite of their city home, which was dark and difficult for her to navigate. 

The view of the lake through the home was destroyed for a while when the Piarist priests put their chapel here.

The Piarist Priests: The Other Owners of Graycliff

In the 1950s, the Martin descendants sold the property to the Piarist Fathers, a Roman Catholic teaching order from Hungary. The Piarist edict being education for every child, they formed Calasanctius High School in Buffalo and needed residences for 24 priests and a boarding home for 48 underprivileged students.

When the priests purchased the property, they also needed a chapel to accommodate the large Hungarian community in the area. So they tore out a wall to create a new entrance and replaced the windows of the cantilevered porch with colored glass — thereby cutting off the view of the lake through the house and destroying Wright’s main vision for Graycliff. 

The story goes that when Wright was 91, he visited Graycliff, unannounced, with some protégés. 

The architect pulled up, and the head priest, recognizing the fancy car, ran out to greet him. Taking one look at the alterations, the first thing Wright says is, “Who did this? This is not my work.”

“We needed a chapel,” the priest stammered.

“Well, I can design you one,” Wright said. 

Ignoring the priest, he turned to his colleagues and said, “Come on. I’ll show you the house.” And in they walked, uninvited. 

Wright never got to design that chapel, as he died a few months later. But he’d be happy to learn the property has been restored. 

Isabelle liked to create flower arrangements, so Wright planted a cutting garden for her in front of the home.

The Cutting Garden

Our tour began with a walk through Isabelle’s garden. She was noted for her flower arrangements, so Wright designed gardens to accommodate her hobby. 

Eventually, the Martins hired landscape architect Ellen Biddle Shipman, renowned for her naturalistic style, to revise Wright’s landscaping scheme. Shipman enhanced the garden for Isabelle, giving her flowers that would bloom in rotation from spring through fall. 

The site also includes pine trees, which reminded Isabelle of summers at the Lake Placid Club in the Adirondack Mountains. 

Beyond the cutting garden were the vegetable gardens, orchards for apple and pear trees and grapevines. 

The house was approached from a diagonal driveway, which faced the sunset and helped make the narrow home appear larger.

The First Glimpse of Graycliff

Our initial view of the house took place between two stone markers, the original location of the driveway that led to the house. 

The family owned eight and a half acres, but the plot where they wanted their summer home was two and a half acres. Further complicating matters, the spot atop the limestone bluff was just 250 feet wide. That’s very narrow for a 6,500-square-foot house. 

But there was nothing Wright liked so much as a challenge. And one of the cool, oh-so-Wright elements is that you approach Graycliff at an angle. The Martins bought the adjoining property from their next-door neighbors, the well-to-do Rumseys. The driveway branches off of the Rumseys’ and perfectly faces the setting sun, which would be a vision for visitors arriving for a summer soirée. 

The turnabout was made of yellow gravel — to complement the gold of the setting sun, of course. 

Approaching from an angle had an added bonus: It made the narrow façade seem more stately and grand. 

But the house itself wasn’t the main focus: Wright wanted the first glimpse to be of the lake; that was the true star of the show.

Horizontal lines almost always play a prominent role in Wright’s designs. For him, they draw a parallel to the ground, and in particular at Graycliff, the horizon and the surface of Lake Erie. The house becomes one with nature. 

The roof is made with cedar shake shingles, each hand-painted. Wright didn’t like gutters, so the house doesn’t have any. He never was one to let practicality get in the way of aesthetics. 

By creating a glass box of sorts, visitors could see through the home’s rectilinear form right out to the lake. At the time Graycliff was built, the area was undeveloped farmland, with nothing obstructing the view of the water. 

The driveway curves around an artificial pond, but that wasn’t part of Isabelle’s plan. Once again, she wanted something that would evoke her beloved Adirondacks, and she requested a small hill covered with bushes and low trees. But Wright cleverly played the money card, and insisted that the pond would be less expensive. The idea is that this water feature would be an extension of the lake. Wright almost always got his way.

A large part of Wright’s design aesthetic involves incorporating colors and materials from the surrounding area. At Graycliff, sand from the shores of Lake Erie was mixed into the stucco to add another layer of texture, and the home’s red roof is meant to evoke the ferrous oxide in the Tichenor limestone on the cliff behind the house that bleeds a rust color. 

Sand from the beach was added to the stucco façade and inspired its yellow hue. The cliff’s limestone, bleeding a rusty red that carries into the color of the roof, was also used to build the home.

Another design motif favored by Wright was cantilevers — and at Graycliff, he wanted to evoke the layers of limestone on the bluff. 

His plans called for various additions, but his clients weren’t sold. 

“The Martins were concerned about money, and they said to him, ‘We really don’t need this balcony; we don’t need the stone porch; we don’t need the porte cochère. Just a little awning would be great,’” our guide Gail tells us. “And then they go away on a trip — and when they come back, all that’s in process.”

When the Martins complained about these additions, Wright replied, “You don’t need them — but the house does.” Ever the egotist, Wright was always right, and he bristled whenever someone questioned his vision. 

Stay by Sarah Braman, 2022, on the grounds of Graycliff

Sarah Braman: Finding Room

When we visited Graycliff, monumental modern sculptures by Sarah Braman were scattered about the grounds. These large geometric shapes made of concrete and brightly colored glass added a vibrant element of visual interest to the landscape. We enjoyed them, and hope that Wright would have appreciated them as well.

Duke peeks out of Sit, a 2022 sculpture by Braman — the first of her works we saw during our visit to Graycliff

Wally takes the name of the sculpture, Sit, literally.

That being said, we could have done without a couple of the ones inside the house. We’d have preferred to see the living room set up as it would have been when the Martins lived here — not emptied of some pieces of furniture to make way for Braman’s smaller-scale sculptures of domestic items and found objects, which struck us as disjointed. 

The client actually wanted a hill here with trees — but Wright insisted on a small pond that would connect to the lake out back.

Entering Graycliff

Upon arrival, we passed through the porte cochère and entered the foyer. Immediately, you’ll notice one of Wright’s signature architectural techniques, known as compression and release. In the entry, the ceiling is low, and the smaller scale of the room creates a tension that propels you to move beyond it, into the larger living room, an open space with higher ceilings. To create the expansive double-height space, Wright used beams from nearby Bethlehem Steel. 

Unlike Wright’s Prairie-style homes, which were concentric, with one large room off of which the others flowed, Graycliff is rectilinear. One room follows another, and Wright used compression to define transitions between these spaces without walls. By this time, he was moving into a style he referred to as organic architecture.

The stucco-covered walls used on Graycliff’s exterior continue into the interior, and provide a visual connection between the outdoors and indoors. 

When the Graycliff Conservancy purchased the property in 1999, very few of the original furnishings remained. Many are reproductions, including the willow and reed pieces throughout the home. This type of furniture was very popular during the late ’20s and is thought to be similar to what Darwin and Isabelle saw when they vacationed in the Adirondacks. –Wally 

Wright felt fireplaces were the heart of a home, and this one was built in the Adirondack style.

A Room-by-Room Tour of Graycliff

The Living Room

The living room is center stage. Floor-to-ceiling windows and doors open onto the front terrace and the backyard and span the length of the house. These walls of glass provide gorgeous views of Lake Erie and fill the interior with plenty of natural light. The focal point of the room is the monumental Adirondack-style stone fireplace with a mantle that nearly covers the north wall. Wright believed that the fireplace was the heart of the home. An unusual feature to this type of hearth is that logs were stacked on end, vertically. As a fire burned, it created a dramatic plume of flames. 

One of the few materials used in the home that was not sourced locally was the cypress heartwood flooring from Florida — most likely chosen for its durability and beauty.

Curl up with a good book in the Fern Room, a cozy nook off of the living room.

The Fern Room

Adjacent to the living room is a cozy nook that served as a library and is known as the Fern Room — a great spot to curl up with a good book and admire the incredible views of the lake. The ceiling is lower here to establish a more intimate space. The floor is covered in flagstone that came from the city of Buffalo, which was, at the time, replacing its stone walkways with concrete. 

Wright proposed that the window glass meet at the corners so as not to obstruct the view, but the Martins didn’t see the need for that additional expense. (He would later get his way at Fallingwater, a home built for Edgar and Liliane Kaufmann between 1936-1937 in Mill Run, Pennsylvania.)

The Sunporch

Beyond this, the floorplan flows into the sunroom, with rubber floor tiles. Originally a screened-in porch, cypress-framed windows were added to shield occupants from the intense winds coming off the lake. 

The room functioned primarily as a music room. Isabelle had a paid companion who lived at Graycliff by the name of Cora Herrick, though the children called her Aunt Polly. She played the piano — one of the few original pieces of furniture remaining in the home. According to Gail, Darwin wrote in his diary how much he loved hearing music being played while he was working at his desk above. 

Diners had great views at Graycliff — and got to avoid errant sparks flying out of the fireplace.

The dining room at Graycliff is around the corner from the living room.

The Dining Room

On the other side of the living room is an area that served as the dining room. 

The table is positioned parallel to the wall so that guests could easily turn to enjoy the view of the lake — and also to avoid the errant sparks and embers that occasionally popped out of the fireplace. 

All six bedrooms are found upstairs.

The Staircase

A cascading waterfall staircase made of maple leads to the home’s bedrooms on the second floor. This type of passage consists of two parallel flights of stairs joined by a landing that creates a 90-degree turn. 

A dramatic window with a diamond shape at the top of the stairs

The architect’s signature use of rhythmic repetition can be seen in the home’s details. Wright noticed that the local limestone breaks off in geometric forms, so he gave a nod to these in subtle ways: octagonal door knobs and a diamond-shaped window at the apex of the staircase as well as light fixtures. This brings order and visual harmony to Graycliff. 

Poor Darwin got stuck with the worst bedroom of the bunch.

Darwin, a workaholic, converted his porch into an office.

Darwin Martin’s Bedroom

Upon climbing the stairs, Darwin’s bedroom can be found to the right. Not only did Darwin not share a room with his wife, he was also assigned the worst of the bunch, to our minds. It’s smaller than most of the other bedrooms, though it does contain a small bathroom and sleeping porch.

Darwin converted the porch into an office, as he was a notorious workaholic.

The bedrooms feature one of the innovations at the time: olive knuckle hinges patented by Stanley Company that allow a recessed door to open all the way flat to the wall. 

This sparse hallway led to the bedrooms and the back staircase.

We really liked Braman’s Her House (2019), which sat in Isabelle’s room, as it evoked the larger pieces on the lawn.

A guest room next to Isabelle’s room offered twin beds — and gorgeous views of Lake Erie.

Isabelle’s room had its own bathroom, a door out to a balcony and a walk-in closet — unheard-of in a Wright home!

Isabelle Martin’s Bedroom 

At the top of the stairs and looking to the left is a monastic gallery, which has a similar set of windows as the living room below, and leads to a private wing with bedrooms. The first is a nice guest room, with Isabelle’s bedroom next door.

Wright despised closets. However, Isabelle was the client of record for the house and insisted he provide her with one. Her bedroom includes a walk-in closet where the bathroom was originally planned. But Isabelle wanted her bathroom to have a window, so it had to go on the lake side and required Wright to cut a hole into the chimney to accommodate her request. 

A private terrace is accessible from Isabelle’s room, and she probably spent evenings there as direct sunlight would have been too much for her eyes to bear. 

She might have been the hired help, but Aunt Polly sure had nice digs at Graycliff.

Aunt Polly’s Room 

While she did get a nice bedroom, Aunt Polly was technically the help. Her room is a transitional space from that of the immediate family to the staff. 

Cora remained in service from 1911 until Isabelle’s death in 1945. In 1929, when the Martins could no longer afford to pay her, Cora stayed on for room and board. After their mother’s death, the children took care of their dear Aunt Polly. 

Even the servants had cute rooms at Graycliff.

The servants had their meals in a sunroom at the back of the house.

This cool sink came from Europe and was used exclusively by Isabelle for her flower arrangements.

The Pantry and Kitchen 

Farther down the corridor are two bedrooms for the staff, as well as the back staircase that leads down to the staff sunporch and kitchen area.

The hammered metal sink in the pantry was imported from Europe and was used solely by Isabelle to arrange flowers from her cutting garden. The cook had to use the one in the adjacent kitchen, which faced the front yard instead of the lake. 

On display within the built-in cabinets, another Wright trademark, behind Isabelle’s sink, are Larkin Soap products, including Buffalo china. Elbert Hubbard was Darwin’s brother-in-law and started the Arts and Crafts Roycroft movement in East Aurora, New York. He suggested to Larkin that consumers would be incentivized to purchase their product if they received a piece of china along with it. He was right, and the pottery ended up being quite successful. 

In the cabinets, there’s also the Martins’ red and white wedding china and Indian Tree pattern china, which were gifted to the conservancy by the couple’s grandchildren. 

Here’s the sink the cook used in the kitchen off of the pantry.

The stovetop and oven were all part of one piece of furniture.

The small yet functional kitchen contains another original piece, a hulking fridge from the Jewett Refrigeration Company, along with a freestanding prep station, sink and porcelain-glazed stove. 

The Heat Hut held a boiler to heat both Graycliff and the Foster House. Then the priests used it to store wine and honey.

The Heat Hut

Sitting between the main home and the Foster House is the sunken red-roofed Heat Hut. The structure once held an oil boiler that provided steam heat to both houses. According to Gail, the Piarist priests used it to store wine and honey from the bees they kept on the property. 

The Foster House, part of the garage at the Graycliff estate, was originally used by the chauffeur and his family.

The Foster House

The apartment above the garage was built for the chauffeur and his family. The original design was flipped so that the cantilever balcony would afford its inhabitants unobstructed views of the lake. 

Shortly after the stock market crashed, the Martins couldn’t afford to keep the chauffeur out at Graycliff, so they sent him back to Buffalo, and their daughter Dorothy, and her husband, James Foster, moved in, spending summers there with their two children until 1941. 

Wally and Duke on a balcony of the Foster House

There are quite a few bedrooms in the Foster House — but not much else, aside from a small sitting room and kitchen.

After Darwin’s death and the family’s financial troubles, Isabelle moved into the Foster House, staying in what was the gardener’s room, which had its own bathroom. The ever-particular woman liked to sit on the balcony — but she didn’t appreciate seeing the cars pull into and out of the garage. She contacted Wright, who acquiesced and moved the garage doors to the side and extended the wall.

Wright extended a wall to block out the view of cars coming and going from the garage for Isabelle.

“And she says, ‘While you’re at it, can you make me another bedroom up there?’” Gail tells us. So the apartment now has four bedrooms and a couple more balconies. Isabelle seems to have been the one person who could charm Wright into altering his original plans.

The seating out back helped hide the servants carrying picnic items down to the beach and back.

The Esplanade 

Wright’s idea for the esplanade was to build a reflecting pool, cascading terraces and steps that led all the way down to the beach. But when the architect left the premises, Darwin contacted his friends at Bethlehem Steel to request a metal tower with steps like those his neighbors had. Not as pretty as Wright’s vision but certainly practical. It deteriorated, so there’s no longer any way down the beach.

Duke, Poppa and Wally enjoy the gorgeous day at Graycliff.

The access to the stair tower was visible, though, and again Isabelle complained about the view. When she was out on her terrace, she could see the servants coming and going. She felt this was unseemingly — that’s why they had a rear staircase, after all — so Wright constructed the overlook seating in such a way that the help could go about their business while remaining out of sight. 

Saving Graycliff 

When the Martin family decided to sell the property, the person who wanted to buy it was a developer who built the condominiums that are now next door. He planned to demolish Graycliff — who needs a historic home when you can get top dollar for lakefront condos? 

Thankfully, a group in Buffalo came to the rescue, forming the Graycliff Conservancy. In 1999 they received a grant, and the conservancy was able to purchase the property. 

The renovations began, wrapping up in 2019 and costing about $10 million. 

There are plans to build a new eco-friendly visitors center to replace the current one, which was built by the priests as a gymnasium for the children.

Restored back to its 1926 splendor, Graycliff exemplifies Wright’s philosophy of living in harmony with nature. If you’re in the Buffalo area, stop by for a visit. As with all of Wright’s homes, they have to be seen to be fully appreciated. –Duke

Frank Lloyd Wright’s Graycliff

Graycliff

6472 Old Lake Shore Road
Derby, New York 14047
USA

 

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Read more: 

The Fayban Villa and Its Connection to Frank Lloyd Wright

Casa Hoyos Boutique Hotel in the Heart of San Miguel de Allende

With so many places to stay in San Miguel de Allende, you could make your base the cinematic Casa Hoyos, which pays a stylish homage to its storied past, hosts the trendy rooftop bar Bekeb and is within walking distance of the major sites of this charming Colonial city. 

Bright colors and a Deco-meets-Modern design make Casa Hoyos feel like something out of an Almodóvar film. Those eclectic throne-like armchairs come from the Mexico City design studio Comité de Proyectos. 

The building that stands at Mesones 14 in San Miguel de Allende has a colorful past dating back to the 17th century. It’s now Casa Hoyos (the last part is pronounced “Oy-ohz”), a boutique hotel that pays homage to its origins. The property was acquired by Julián Hoyos in 1938 to house both his family and his business. It was here that he established a grain and seed bank. In 1947 he added the city’s first cambio de moneda, or currency exchange, to serve the arriving expats. It operated until the mid-60s. Locals affectionately gave the property the nickname “Banco del Frijol” or “the Bean Bank.”

The home has belonged to the same family for four generations, and under the supervision of Julián’s great-granddaughter and hotel founder, Vianney Torres, reemerged in 2020 as Casa Hoyos. 

Wally hangs out in the swinging chair in the hotel’s front courtyard.

Staying Power

In November 2018 Wally and I stayed at the Ignacia Guest House in the pedestrian-friendly Colonia Roma neighborhood of Mexico City. The accommodations were a collaboration between architecture firm Factor Eficiencia and Andrés Guitiérrez’s interior design firm A-G Studio. I loved the mix of traditional and contemporary style, not to mention the curation of handmade artisan pieces found throughout the former manor, a love letter to its beloved housekeeper Ignacia, who lived and worked at the house for more than 70 years. 

I’ll admit it, I’m a fan of Guitiérrez’s. When the time came for us to find the perfect place to stay in San Miguel de Allende, and I saw that Casa Hoyos was another one of his projects, the decision for me was easy.

If you visit in the warm season, you can cool off in the rooftop pool.

Because the original home is a historic property, every detail of its restoration was regulated and submitted for approval to the National Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH). UNESCO also oversaw aspects of the renovation, as the town center was designated a World Heritage Site in 2008. 

When it came to selecting color for the façade, INAH requires that all buildings in San Miguel de Allende abide by specific standards–in this case, a particular palette of burnt red, orange and yellow. The hotel’s exterior is covered in a rich red ochre called vasija. 

Circular porthole-like interior windows create fun viewing (and photo) frames.

Rebuilt to Last 

One afternoon we met up with Enrique Garcia, the hotel’s director of operations and marketing, outside the hotel office, which was the original location of the kitchen. I was admiring the well-worn pink stone of the courtyard beneath our feet. Enrique told us that each of these stones was quarried in the hills outside of San Miguel de Allende and, because of UNESCO oversight, required precise documentation and numbering before they could be removed and put back exactly into place. 

Standing outside the office is a beautiful Moorish-looking structure with niches that now hold candles. When I asked Enrique about it, he smiled and told us that it was known as an aguamanil and was used for placing hot clay pots to cool after they were removed from the stove. 

This piece, called an aguamanil, stood right outside the family’s kitchen and was a place to put hot pots for serving.

The courtyard also contains the hotel’s kitchen and breakfast area, which is currently run by As de Guia, as well as a couple of other businesses: Tropa Gallery and Neithan Herbert, a women’s clothing boutique. 

Breakfast from As de Guia consists of fruit, yogurt, granola, toast and coffee.

The light complimentary breakfast consisted of fresh fruit, including cantaloupe, apples and papaya, served with a dollop of yogurt and granola, along with coffee, toast and freshly squeezed orange. if you’d like something heartier, you have to  order from their à la carte menu. 

Looking down at the back lobby with its bright red couches

Like Being on the Set of an Almodóvar Film 

The boutique hotel was built in the second courtyard, where grain warehouses once stood. But the real visual wonder comes when you walk through the passageway leading from the courtyard to the reception counter. The remains of an original brick wall give way to lofted wooden beams and a modern aesthetic — a striking contrast to the Colonial-style buildings just outside its wooden doors. Rooms range from singles, doubles, junior suite and master suite. 

I looked around and remarked to Wally that I felt like I was in an Almodóvar film. The objects and colors of his sets evoke an exuberant mood, much in the same way that Guitiérrez uses color. 

See you around, Wally!

Circling back with you Duke.

Informed by an exchange of ideas with Torres about the home’s history, Guitiérrez and his creative director, Mayela Ruiz, designed a pared-back atrium that forms the center of the space. A hybrid of ’50s Mexican Modernist and ’20s Art Deco, its walls are enveloped in raw concrete — a stark contrast to the graphic pop of glazed yellow ochre tiles and black grout revealed through the curved openings of the surrounding arcade. Andalusian-style balconies typical of a Spanish home complete the design, a reference to patriarch Julián, who moved to San Miguel de Allende from Spain during the Mexican Revolution. 

The tilework Virgin of Loreto looks down (and keeps an eye on?) the honesty bar on the first floor.

During the day, sunlight fills the lobby with a warm glow and features a trio of ’50s-inspired salmon pink Felix sofas with red cushions, a collaboration between industrial designer Christian Vivanco and Monterrey, Mexico-based manufacturer Los Patrones. The unattended honesty bar is stocked with a selection of artisanal mezcals, tequilas and whiskey.

Observing the scene from her second-story perch is the Virgin of Loreto, the patron saint of the Hoyos family and nearby Templo del Oratorio de San Felipe Neri. The hand-painted tile mural was sourced from the town of Dolores Hidalgo, which like Puebla, specializes in tin-enameled Talavera pottery. I didn’t manage to get a good photo of it, but the piece below the Virgin was repurposed and originally served as the exchange house counter. The understated encaustic black cement floors anchor the space and draw the eye up to the tiled walls, the color of maize, a wink to its former life as a grain and seed warehouse. 

Welcome to Casa Hoyos! Concierge extraordinaire Christopher can help you organize outings.

Additional references to the Hoyos family can be found in the hotel’s logo, a pair of serpents from the heraldic family coat of arms, echoed in the details of the arcades’ pale pink and black tile-edged arches and its rounded Deco elements, such as interior windows and lobby portholes.  

The bed in the master suite

Home, Suite Home

Alex, a porter at the hotel, met us upon our arrival and whisked our luggage up to our room. 

We stayed in room 12, the master suite, which was outfitted with a king-size four-poster bed and black and natural woven rattan pieces designed by A-G Studio. The walls and ceiling are covered in a soothing shade of pastel pink. 

Adding to the vibe was a squat gunmetal table lamp by Editora Nacional sitting atop a console with spiral turned legs, one of the aforementioned pieces designed by A-G Studio. On the wall above this hangs a wool tapestry designed by Mexican artist Meli Ávila. 

The LED light rings in the bathroom help put you in your best light.

The bathroom has burnt orange walls, recessed ceiling lighting, a jacuzzi tub big enough for four people and a rain shower. On our first evening there, Wally indulged in a luxurious bath and emerged entirely relaxed. As a bonus, there are two sinks, a pair of circular mirrors with LED lighting rings and botanical body care products by Loredana. 

A fun neon sign on the rooftop terrace

Raising the Bar

On the rooftop terrace of Casa Hoyos is Bekeb, led by master mixologist and owner Fabiola Padilla, who previously honed her skills at Cosme and Diego in New York City. Its name is a palindrome and refers to the Tzontil word bek, which means “seed.” 

Bekeb cocktail bar becomes quite the hotspot on weekend nights.

The thread connecting each cocktail is that they’re all based on roots, plants and flowers. Padilla pairs endemic herbs such as hoja santa and cedrón to infuse traditional Mexican spirits such as mezcal, sotol and racilla. 

The gorgeous view from the rooftop at Casa Hoyos. Here you can see nearby Plaza de la Soledad — along with three of the many churches in town.

Two of Bekeb’s signature cocktails: the Carijillo Allende and the Guava Tiki

Fresh herbs used in cocktails are kept in skull containers at Bekeb.

On our first visit, I tried the signature Bekeb cocktail, which was served in a cool handmade earthenware tumbler, and Wally tried the Milk Punch Vol. 2. I also tried the Carijillo Allende, and Wally the Guava Tiki on the evening before we left. The Carijillo consisted of espresso, cacao liqueur and banana liqueur, garnished with star anise. It was the perfect drink to imbibe as we watched the sun set behind the tiled domes of the Iglesia de San Francisco. 

If you’re looking for something to eat before dinner there’s a tapas menu, and a DJ spins on the weekends, when the bar becomes a trendy hangout. 

Wally and Duke relaxed on the rooftop terrace after a long day exploring the quaint town of San Miguel de Allende.

Home Base

We loved calling Casa Hoyos home. We’ll not soon forget the kindness of the hotel’s chief concierge, Christopher Granados, who took the stress out of coordinating our visit to the Chapel of Jimmy Ray in Cieneguita and a day trip to Guanajuato. 

Its prime location in the heart of the city made it easy for us to set out for the day to explore its sights. It’s a short walk along the cobblestone streets to the lively Jardín de Allende and the spectacular Neo-Gothic Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel, the city’s main parish church. –Duke

Casa Hoyos

Mesones 14
Zona Centro
37700 San Miguel de Allende
Guanajuato
Mexico

 

Pilgrimage to Marfa, Texas

Seeking spirituality in the mystical town that modern artist Donald Judd helped build. 

Sleepy Marfa, Texas: Try the sotol at the Marfa Spirit Co. (on the left) and get your caffeine fix at the Sentinel coffee shop (to the right).

On Sunday we wake to our alarms set for 7:30 a.m. We crawl out of bed, run to the bathroom, throw on clothes — no time to brush teeth or make coffee. We’re not leaving town just yet. In fact, this is one of the reasons we arrived in the first place. I draw the bedroom curtains open in a panic. Phew. Okay, we’re okay — we have time. The sky is still an indigo gradient spreading across the Davis Mountains in the distance. And of course it is: The sun doesn’t rise until 7:50 something. 

We’re headed across town to the Chinati Foundation for an annual sunrise viewing of Donald Judd’s 15 untitled works in concrete. 

A ranch horse outside of Big Bend National Park

“It’s all about the light.”

— A random mom to her child, at the Chinati Foundation

All sense of anxiety — to be on time — flees once we arrive. Folks park their cars along the main road leading to the foundation’s gates. People seem to be getting out of their cars and making their entrance in slow motion. Maybe they’re hungover from the free booze at the arena last night. Maybe they also had to skip the coffee this morning. Or maybe this place is just demanding our slow presence, asking us to be aware. 

The 15 works in concrete are actually 15 separate arrangements of concrete rectangular prisms stretching north to south in a straight one-kilometer line. There are 60 boxes in total. Each unit contains the same dimensions, 2.5 by 2.5 by 5 meters, and is built with concrete slabs 25 centimeters thick. Each work plays with shape and light — some with units arranged into triangles and others into rectangular patterns; some with three in a group, others with six. Throughout the works, the individual units showcase variety. Some are completely closed boxes and others allow light and air to permeate: sometimes on the long sides, sometimes on the short ends. 

The light changes everything when viewing Donald Judd’s untitled concrete works in Marfa, Texas.

There’s a stillness in the air this morning. Not creepy or eerie. Just still. Calm. As we descend the path leading to the sculptures — every step leaving new, prickly grass burs stuck to our boots — I can tell the sun has broken above the horizon. I can’t see it behind the pony wall of clouds, but I know it. The once-indigo sky is getting brighter and lighter by the moment. Fog in the distance is becoming more obvious and the dew on the desert grass is catching the light. 

Judd’s works, finished in 1984, can be found on a former military compound.

Once we get down to the long line of concrete boxes, I know I want us to walk south. There’s a small hill at the end. It’s the only place on campus where you can see all 15 works at once. On a mission, in a race against time — I wasn’t sure how quickly the sun would rise above the clouds — we led the march atop the hill. And then we just stood there. Watching other observers and observing ourselves. Resting. Waiting. I wanted this perspective for when the light rose above the clouds and spilled out onto the land and through the sculptures. 

The gorgeous scenery in nearby Big Bend National Park

Donald Judd’s Mission and My Personal Pilgrimage 

For a long time I’ve struggled with what it means for something to be spiritual or to be a spiritual person. I’ve identified as nonreligious since my early 20s, shortly after coming out. I think growing up in an evangelical family made me believe that anything spiritual was inherently related to God. And when I left the Southern Baptist church, I had no intention of going back or being associated with religion ever again. I didn’t want to talk about spirituality, much less think about it — it was all tied up in terrible church experiences.

Though, the first time I watched the sun creep above the horizon, stretch its golden light across the surfaces of the Judd pieces and pour a warm glow throughout the Texas desert, it clicked. I thought, “This is spiritual.”

The entrance to the Chinati Foundation’s John Chamberlain Building

Throughout his career, Judd was interested in ideals of autonomy (a key principle of minimalism), both for the artist and for the artist’s works, hence his anti-museum philosophy and developing this middle-of-nowhere campus for creating and showing his work and that of his contemporaries. For the sculptures, though, a driving concept was his interest in space — how an object takes up and contains space and how an object can be permanent and site-specific. Or as Judd put it, he was interested in “specific objects.” I interpret “specific” to mean both mathematical but also unique to the space in which the object resides.

All of Judd’s sculptures demand your awareness of the space around them, either through scale, texture, color, reflective qualities, placement or some mixture of attributes. 

I’m so drawn to the concrete works because they practically beg you to fall in love with the light and land around them. The Brutalist forms cast geometric shadows, sharp lines amid desert grasses, prickly Texas dirt and a soft view of the Davis Mountains on the horizon. It’s an emotional juxtaposition asking you to consider yourself against the land, by way of the art itself. It’s a manmade proposition with an unavoidable spiritual consequence. 

Inflection Point by Darren Almond (2022) frames the entrance to the Hetzler Marfa gallery property.

If you get the opportunity to visit Marfa, here are tips from someone who has visited five times since 2015.

4 Tips to Get the Most Out of Marfa

1. Get the full Judd experience.

Some people are drawn to Marfa by the quirky allure of a small art town in the middle of nowhere, or by the iconic Prada Marfa installation (26 miles outside of town, LOL), or by the rentable bohemian trailers and yurts of El Cosmico. And many of them have no clue about the Chinati Foundation or who Donald Judd was. It’s sad not just because they’re missing out on a key contribution to modern art history, but also because without Judd’s arrival, Marfa would likely still be in collapse after Fort D.A. Russell was decommissioned in 1949 (the main site of Judd’s campus).

The Judd Foundation

I love visiting Marfa during the annual Chinati Weekend, when the foundation opens its doors to the public for self-guided tours, and the town’s shops and galleries hold special hours for the influx of visitors. 

Outside of that early October weekend, I do recommend visiting when Chinati hosts a sunrise or sunset viewing and also making an appointment for a full collection tour (a four-and-a-half-hour experience).

Caleb’s husband, Brennan, reading the exhibition guide at Ballroom Marfa gallery during Chinati Weekend Open House in 2022

The Judd Foundation — the organization charged with preserving Judd’s living and working spaces, libraries and archives in NYC and Marfa — also provides rich tours of the artist’s other sites throughout town.  

Slow down and forgo your expectations. You’re on Marfa time.

2. Know that Marfa operates on Marfa time, and the town is always changing.

Planning for trips is not in my nature. I hate it. But your trip to Marfa needs planning. For one, there is a limited number of places to eat, drink and stay (see also: gentrification in Marfa). Second, that list of places is always changing. If you read a list of things to do from this year, I can guarantee it will be outdated in less than 12 months. And finally, a business’ hours of operation are far from predictable. We passed a bookshop with a posted sign reading, “Hours: We Give Up! Check: FB, IG and Marfa Group” (a private forum on Facebook). That’s the vibe everywhere — don’t trust Google, or even a business’ website. Check their social.

Sunrise in Marfa, Texas, from Caleb and Brennan’s Airbnb

3. Dress for the desert.

Think of those early fall days when you’re excited to wear layers. Because that’s what you’ll need: layers. Hot days and cool nights, because desert. Buy your cowboy hat before you visit. They’re cheaper outside of town. And consider making the two-hour drive south to Big Bend National Park. If you go, be prepared for a hike, literally.  

Horses seen on a run just west of town

4. Realize that getting there is a beautiful trek. 

Jenny Moore, Chinati’s former director, said, “You can get from New York to Paris, seated and eating dinner, faster than you can get from New York to Marfa. So, you got to make the commitment to come here.” That’s the truth. The two closest major airports, El Paso and Midland-Odessa, are each about a three-hour drive north. Whether you fly into El Paso or make the six-and-a-half-hour drive from Austin, Interstate 10 is bound to be on your route, taking you through the Chihuahuan Desert. Take it all in: the grasslands, the basins and plateaus; and watch the sky reach from one end of the Earth to the other. –Caleb Fox

Families playing by the Rio Grande river at Big Bend National Park

One of Caleb’s favorite desert plants, the ocotillo, at Big Bend National Park

 

Day of the Dead Ofrendas 2022

The Día de los Muertos ofrendas at the National Museum of Mexican Art focused on victims of COVID as well as gun violence, including the students and teachers killed in Uvalde.

Día de los Inocentes (Holy Innocents Day) by Claudia Álvarez, 2010. The sculpture represents the story in the New Testament where King Herod orders the massacre of all children under the age of 2 in an attempt to kill the baby Jesus.

The Mexican tradition of honoring loved ones with an ofrenda is something every family should adopt. These homemade altars are typically adorned with marigolds, photos, and items the deceased person would appreciate, including their favorite foods and beverages (empanadas and a margarita on mine, por favor). But even if you don’t create one at home, you can see artistic interpretations if you’re in Chicago.

Sometime around mid-October, Duke and I head to the Pilsen neighborhood to see the Day of the Dead ofrendas at the National Museum of Mexican Art. 

The original concept of the exhibit was to honor people in the USA who had been murdered. 

“In the last decade, we have been overwhelmed with the amount of mass shootings on an annual basis that there have been far too many for this exhibition,” reads the sign at the start of the exhibit, proclaiming, “Enough is enough!”

This year, the 36th Day of the Dead installation, covers not only senseless gun violence — including a moving memorial to the victims of the Uvalde school massacre — but Mexican actors who passed away and those lost to COVID and suicide.

Ofrenda to artisans who died of COVID

A photo of one of the artists memorialized in the ofrenda, Tiburcio Soteno Fernandez, with the tools of his trade and his iconic mermaid alebrije.

An ofrenda to Mexican cinema by the Puerto Rican Antonio Martorell

La muerte allá donde la vida no vale nada (Death, Where Life Has No Worth) by Alejandro Cortés, Dolores Gómez Navarro and Jorje Negrete. Note the upside-down ofrenda, pointing to Mictlan, the underworld of the ancient Mesoamerican peoples.

An ofrenda to the Latinx victims of the Uvalde, Texas shooting at Robb Elementary School. It was created by students at Bernard Moos Elementary School in Chicago.

Ofrenda a los Arrancados (Ofrenda to the Uprooted) by Carlos Flores. He used “bandit signs” to pay tribute to the working-class people of color who disproportionally lost their lives to COVID.

This ofrenda, created by the Ukrainian Institute of Modern Art, pays homage to weavers of the war-torn country.

Ofrenda to Nieves Orozco Field, an indigenous dancer who modeled for Diego Rivera

Molds used to make sugar skulls for Day of the Dead

Skeletons go hand in hand with Day of the Dead, as do sugar skulls.

Año de los Muertos (Year of the Dead) by Eric Romero, 2020

A Tree of Life with Mexican rites and rituals by Israel Soteno, 2007

If you’re in Chicago in the fall, you should definitely stop into the National Museum of Mexican Art (it’s free!) to see their ofrendas. ¡Feliz Día de los Muertos! –Wally

Preserving the Magic of the Amazon

The largest rainforest on Earth cleans our air and water. But it’s rapidly being destroyed. Here are 3 ways you can help save the Amazon Rainforest — including an ethical visit. 

The largest rainforest on the planet helps keep our air and water clean.

As the world’s biggest rainforest, the Amazon has several functions crucial to our planet’s environmental health. Alarmingly, it’s also one of the foremost victims of the climate crisis. In 2022 alone, 430 square kilometers of the Amazon was destroyed. That’s over 126 times the size of Central Park in New York City.

The Amazon, which produces one-fifth of the Earth’s oxygen, is being cut down at an alarming rate.

Why We Need the Amazon Rainforest

While it comprises only 2% of the world’s landmass, the Amazon is responsible for producing 20% of the oxygen on the planet. One of its primary functions is to sequester carbon — or, in other words, gather large amounts of carbon dioxide and convert them to oxygen. Carbon sequestration benefits us by cleaning air and water sources. The process can even control flooding. This is why the Amazon is rightfully known by the moniker “the Lungs of the Earth.”

Unfortunately, the forest and its inhabitants continue to struggle against several issues. The foremost challenge it faces today is rapid deforestation due to agriculture, mining, logging and construction. 

Ultimately, assertive legislation is key to reversing the damage done to the Amazon. This was made clear when Brazil’s deforestation policies in the mid-2000s eased the rate of destruction in the rainforest, according to a study by the University of Arizona. 

Yet, while policies play a crucial role in saving the Amazon, there are many ways for you as an individual to contribute to its preservation.

A satellite image that shows the deforestation of the Amazon — the same image from less than a decade ago would have been all dark green.

3 Ways to Help Save the Amazon

In Brazil, beef is raised for consumption on land that was once part of the Amazon.

1. Practice mindful consumption. 

The majority of deforestation efforts come about due to the production of items like paper, wood and beef. 

Minimize your use of paper to help reduce the demand for its production. You can also check for an FSC label to find out if your paper was sourced ethically and doesn’t threaten endangered animals that rely on trees for survival.

Brazil, where 60% of the Amazon is located, is also a major producer of beef. The biggest beef producer in the region, JBS S.A., raises cattle from deforested Amazon land. On the whole, around 70% of the Amazon is deforested to raise cattle for beef. While not everyone wants to be a vegetarian, you can reduce consumption to help decrease the demand for beef production.

Consider volunteering for groups like the Rainforest Action Network that protest against the stealing of indigenous lands and the deforestation of the Amazon.

2. Connect with advocates and organizations. 

There are countless grassroots organizations and initiatives dedicated to preserving the Amazon. For instance, the Rainforest Action Network (RAN) successfully pushed Burger King to stop using rainforest beef. 

You can join local groups in your area or support larger ones like the RAN or Amazon Watch. They can use your help in their efforts to call out and boycott businesses that support deforestation in the region.

If you want to visit the Amazon, make sure you go through a group that focuses on preservation of this valuable natural resource.

3. Make an ethical trip to the Amazon. 

If you want to see Amazon for yourself, be sure to do so in an ethical and respectful manner. After all, just like the Daintree Forest in Australia, the Amazon is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site. To visit the Amazon ethically, look for accommodations that work with environmental preservation initiatives. These providers offer guides and activities that immerse you in the Amazon’s biodiversity. And you might even end up lending a hand to their preservation efforts!

These adorable critters, known as squirrel monkeys, are just some of the wildlife you could see in the Amazon.

The paper and beef industries are destroying the largest rainforest on Earth. Do your part to help stop these atrocities.

The Amazon and its rapid degradation is of urgent concern. As it is responsible for several processes that keep the environment in good health, everyone should be involved in helping preserve it. –Alyson Yesha Corbett

Agave Mythology and Pulque Folk Tales

Mesomaerican legends, including Mayahuel and Ehécatl’s doomed love, drunk Tlacuache the possum and 400 rabbits suckled on pulque.

Mesoamerican myths are pretty crazy. Take the fertility goddess Mayahuel, who lactated pulque, which intoxicated the 400 rabbits she gave birth to.

Aside from being a source of sustenance, the agave, or maguey as it’s referred to in Mexico, was revered and respected as a sacred plant by the ancient peoples of Mesoamerica. 

The desert succulent is distinguished by a rosette of strong fleshy leaves that radiate from the center of the plant. Fibers from its tough spiny leaves were used to make rope or fabric for clothing, and the barbed tips made excellent sewing needles. Devotees and priests would pierce their earlobes, tongues or genitals with the thorns and collect the blood as an offering to the gods. An antiseptic poultice of maguey sap and salt was used in traditional medicine and applied to wounds. The plant is also the source of pulque, a beverage made from its fermented sap, and many years later, distilled as mezcal and tequila. 

Agave being used to treat a head wound

As a final act, the maguey poetically blooms in the final throes of its life cycle. A mutant asparagus-like stalk emerges from the center of the plant, reaching 25 to 40 feet high before it flowers and dies. 

Drink of the Gods

In Aztec times, the milky and sour mildly alcoholic beverage was highly prized and strictly limited to consumption by a select few, including priests, pregnant women, the elderly and tributes offered up for ritual sacrifice. The priests believed that the resulting intoxication put them in an altered state and allowed them to communicate directly with the gods. The consequences of illegally imbibing outside of this group were so serious that the convicted faced death by strangulation. 

So what are the myths and folklore stories about agave and pulque? As with myths around the world, there are multiple variations, and while researching stories about agave I found myself falling down a rabbit hole. I couldn’t quite decide what the definitive versions were, so here are my interpretations.

The gorgeous (personally we don’t see it) Mayahuel was rescued from her evil grandmother, then torn apart and fed to demons, before eventually becoming the first agave.

The Legend of Mayahuel, Whose Lovely Bones Became the First Agave

When the universe as we know it was formed, so too was a ferocious and bloodthirsty race of light-devouring demons known as tzitzimime. It was said that life ebbed from their fleshless female forms. They were easily recognizable by their shiny black hair, skeletal limbs ending in clawed hands, and blood red tongues resembling a sacrificial knife wagging from their gaping maws. Their wide-open starry eyes allowed them to see through the darkness. 

The tzitzimime were ferocious demons who sucked light and life from this world.

These monstrous beings ruled over the night sky and wore gruesome necklaces loaded with severed human hands and hearts — trophies from the steady diet of human sacrifices required to appease them. 

The tzitzimime cloaked the earth in darkness, and in return for ritual bloodshed, permitted the sun to rise and move across the sky. It’s a fair guess to say that a large number of lives were lost, as the Aztecs believed that if darkness won, the sun would be lost forever, the world would end, and the tzitzimime would descend from the skies and gobble up humankind. 

The tzitzimime demons were insatiable for sacrifices of human blood.

Hidden in the sky among the tzitzimime was a beautiful young maiden by the name of Mayahuel. Mayahuel was imprisoned by her grandmother, Tzitzímitl, the oldest and most malevolent demoness of the brood.

Tzitzímitl’s insatiable desire for human sacrifice angered Ehécatl, the god of wind and rain. 

One evening he rose up into the night sky to confront her, but instead discovered Mayahuel. Struck by her beauty, he immediately fell in love and convinced her to descend from the heavens to become his paramour. 

Ehécatl, god of wind and rain, tried his best to save poor Mayahuel from Tzitzimitl.

When Tzitzímitl discovered that Mayahuel was missing, she exploded into a violent rage and commanded her demon servants to find her granddaughter. The pair assumed the form of trees and stood side by side so that their leaves would caress one another whenever the wind blew.

Time passed, but their disguise was no match for the furious Tzitzímitl. The sky turned gray with clouds that heralded a major storm, followed by lightning and thunder. When the evil spirit finally found Mayahuel, she tore her from the ground and fed her to her legions of tzitzimime. 

The skeletal demoness Tzitzímitl with her necklace of severed human hearts and hands

Ehécatl was unharmed. He avenged Mayahuel’s death by killing Tzitzímitl and returned light to the world. Still overcome with grief, he gathered the bones of his beloved and buried them in a field. As his tears saturated the arid soil, Mayahuel’s remains transformed and emerged from the earth as the first agave. After getting a taste of the elixir that came from the plant, Ehécatl decided to share his creation with humankind. 

For some reason, the possum god Tlacuache was responsible for creating the course of rivers. They’re curvy because he got drunk on pulque.

The Tale of Tlacuache: Why a River Runs Its Course

Another Mesoamerican tale connects pulque with the creation of rivers. According to the story, Tlacuache, a possum god, was responsible for assigning the course of rivers. While going about his day foraging for food, he happened upon an agave. Using his human-like hands, he dug into one of its leathery leaves. A sweet honeyed sap oozed from the cuts, and Tlacuache stuck his snout into the maguey and lapped up the liquid with glee. 

After having his fill, he returned to his den and dreamt of returning to the plant the next day. Tlacuache had a remarkable talent for finding food and remembering exactly where it was found. What he didn’t know, though, is that the nectar had fermented overnight and now contained alcohol. The marsupial accidentally overindulged and became intoxicated. Finding himself disoriented, he stumbled and wandered this way and that, until he eventually found his way home. 

Over time, Tlacuache’s circuitous meandering was reflected in his work. Any river in Mexico that bends or doesn’t follow a straight line was due to Tlacuache drinking pulque and plotting the river’s course while he was tipsy. In fact, some say he was the very first drunk.

Suck on this: The fertility goddess Mayahuel didn’t have milk in her breasts — she had pulque.

Pulque Breast Milk and being drunk as 400 Rabbits

Last but not least is the fantastical story of the mythical 400 drunken rabbits whose behavior even Beatrix Potter would have found excessive. 

In Aztec mythology, Patecatl was the Lord of 13 Days and the credited discoverer of the squat psychedelic peyote cactus. One evening, he and Mayahuel, who in this story is a fertility goddess, had a no-strings-attached tryst, resulting in an unusual pregnancy. Months later, the proud mother bore a litter of 400 fluffy little bunnies. 

Naturally, being the goddess of the agave, Mayahuel’s multiple breasts lactated pulque, which she used to nourish her children. It’s safe to say that her divine offspring didn’t understand the concept of moderation and were frequently found in various states of inebriation. 

Mayahuel had a one-night stand with the Lord of 13 Days — and ended up having a litter of 400 rabbits!

The 400 rabbits each depict a different stage of inebriation.

The siblings were known as the Centzon Totochtin and represented the varying degrees of intoxication one can attain while under the influence of alcohol. One of the children, Ometochtli (Two Rabbit), a god who represented duality, was associated with that initial burst of courage that comes after a couple of drinks. Conversations feel more important, and everyone around you becomes more attractive. His brother Macuiltochtli (Five Rabbit) was one of the gods of excess — the equivalent of having too much of a good thing, and waking up the next day with a pounding headache. 

Ometochtli, or Two Rabbit, was the god of the courage you get after a couple of drinks — and the start of beer-goggling.

This fellow is going to regret being like Macuiltochtli, or Five Rabbit, and drinking to excess. He’s gonna be hungover tomorrow.

If you’re drunk as 400 rabbits, you’re beyond wasted.

For the Aztecs, the concept of infinity started at 400. A couple of drinks is OK; consuming your body weight in booze not so much. Moral of the story: If you drink more than you can handle, whether you’re a small animal or otherwise, you’ll be carried away by a colony of 400 rabbits. –Duke

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Learn How Mezcal Gets Made

Another drink made from the agave, mezcal is much more artisanal than tequila, with numerous factors influencing the taste of each batch — and that’s what makes it so interesting.

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Who Really Wrote the New Testament?

Many, if not most, of the Scriptures were written by people falsely claiming to be the apostles or other leaders of the early Christian church, says biblical scholar Bart D. Ehrman. That means a lot of books of the Bible are actually forgeries.

The book of Mark, like the rest of the Gospels, was written anonymously. Why, then, do we believe they were products of the men that bear their names?

If your answer to any conundrum is, “It’s one of God’s miracles,” then this article is not for you. I seek the truth in facts — fully admitting that as we gain more and more knowledge, our previous beliefs can shift. 

I don’t subscribe to the school of thought that blind faith can solve any mystery. I think about what is scientifically feasible, what archaeology and history research reveals, and base my judgments from there. Virgins do not give birth; men are not raised from the dead; and illiterate peasants do not write well-argued religious tracts.

“Most of the apostles were illiterate and could not in fact write.

They could not have left an authoritative writing if their souls depended on it.”

— Bart D. Ehrman, “Forged”

All that being said, this post is not about my beliefs. These are the findings of Bart D. Ehrman in his 2011 work, Forged: Writing in the Name of God — Why the Bible’s Authors Are Not Who We Think They Are. 

“Most of the apostles were illiterate and could not in fact write,” Ehrman declares. “They could not have left an authoritative writing if their souls depended on it.” 

Bart D. Ehrman was once an evangelical Christian who took everything in the Bible literally. Now he’s a biblical scholar whose works, like Forged, offer shocking truths about the supposed word of God.

So who wrote the New Testament, then? Most of the texts were composed by people with extensive schooling — that is, undoubtedly, members of the upper class elite.

Why would someone lie about writing these works? “Quite simply, it was to get a hearing for their views,” Ehrman explains. “If you were an unknown person, but had something really important to say and wanted people to hear you — not so they could praise you, but so they could learn the truth — one way to make that happen was to pretend you were someone else, a well-known author, a famous figure, an authority.”

Here are four shocking revelations about who actually wrote the New Testament (or, perhaps I should say who didn’t write it):

Peter and Paul had differing views of Christianity, but both were chosen as the “authors” of forged books in the Bible to lend authority to the writings.

1. Ancient writers forged writings to address infighting among early Christian groups.

Many people think of Christianity as always having been a well-defined, cohesive religion — as if the books of the New Testament were handed down from on high like the tablets of the 10 Commandments Moses received. But the truth is, the fledgling religion was a big old mess for hundreds of years.

“Christians in the early centuries of the church were in constant conflict and felt under attack from all sides,” Ehrman writes. “They were at odds with Jews, who considered their views to be an aberrant and upstart perversion of the ancestral traditions of Israel. They were at odds with pagan peoples and governments, who considered them a secretive and unauthorized religion that posed a danger to the state. And they were virulently at odds with each other, as different Christian teachers and groups argued that they and they alone had a corner on the truth and other Christian teachers and groups flat-out misunderstood the truths that Christ had proclaimed during his time on earth.” 

So, numerous writers turned to forgery to give more weight to their arguments — and nowhere was that more prevalent than among varying factions of early Christians. Those works favored by church leaders centuries after Jesus were chosen to become the New Testament. Those that were deemed heretical (such as, say, the Gnostic Gospel of Judas), were not only left out but hunted down and destroyed in an effort to totally obliterate their teachings.

The book of Jude was written too late to have been authored by Jesus’ brother.

The New Testament book of Jude, for example, claims to be written by Jesus’ brother. But the author is talking about false teachers (which he strangely calls “waterless souls” and “fruitless trees, twice dead, uprooted”) who have infiltrated the religion and need to be rooted out — something that didn't happen until much later than Jude’s lifetime.

James was the head of the first Christian church, but couldn’t have written the book of the New Testament that bears his name.

And the book of James was supposedly penned by another of Jesus’ brothers, this one the head of the first Christian church, in Jerusalem. But not only was this book written after James’ death, the author is fluent in Greek and its rhetoric. Even if the timing worked out, the historical James, Ehrman says, was an Aramaic-speaking peasant who almost certainly never learned to read.

The New Testament itself declares that Peter was illiterate — so how the heck could he have written all those Bible books?

2. Peter was an illiterate fisherman who died years before 1 and 2 Peter were written.

Like the book of James, the book of 1 Peter was written by someone who was very well educated, spoke Greek and practiced rhetoric. 

What do we know of Peter from the Bible? He was a fisherman from the town of Capernaum in Galilee. Archeological and historical records reveal that “Peter’s town was a backwoods Jewish village made up of hand-to-mouth laborers who did not have an education,” Ehrman writes. “Everyone spoke Aramic. Nothing suggests that anyone could speak Greek. Nothing suggests that anyone in town could write. As a lower-class fisherman, Peter would have started work as a young boy and never attended school.”

In fact, in Acts 4:13, Peter and his companion John are described as agrammatoi, a Greek word meaning “unlettered” — that is, illiterate.

There’s also the issue of timing. Tradition holds that Peter was martyred in Rome under Nero in 64 CE. But the author of 1 Peter alludes to Rome as “Babylon” — that is, the destroyer of Jerusalem and the Temple. The Romans didn’t destroy Jerusalem until 70 CE, six years after Peter died. 

Peter, like all of the apostles, believed that Jesus’ Second Coming would take place during his lifetime.

In addition, the author of 2 Peter comes up with a defense as to why Jesus hasn’t returned as the Messiah. To God, “one day is as a thousand years and a thousand years are as one day.” So time is relative and just be patient.

But such an argument wouldn’t have been necessary for a disciple writing so soon after Jesus’ crucifixion. The Second Coming was predicted “within this generation” (Mark 13:30) and before the disciples “tasted death” (Mark 9:1). At the time Peter lived, Jesus could have still been right on schedule.

Paul actually did write some of the books of the New Testament — well, seven of the 13 attributed to him.

3. Good news! More than half of the letters attributed to Paul in the New Testament are authentic.

That means, of course, that six of the 13 are forgeries, though. Almost all biblical scholars agree that these seven letters were indeed written by the apostle Paul: Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians and Philemon. 

In the other books of the Bible attributed to Paul, there are words and phrases and writing styles not found in those that have been verified. And there are points made about Paul’s religious philosophy that just don’t jibe with what we know about his beliefs. For instance, the man was anti-marriage (even though he himself got hitched). In 1 Corinthians 7, Paul preaches that people should remain single. Why worry about procreation when the Rapture is going to happen any day?

But in the Pastorals (as 1 and 2 Timothy and Titus are referred to), “Paul” is insisting that church leaders be married. Side note: Why has this not become an argument to end the tradition of priests being celibate?

Scholars agree that at least a couple of the letters Paul wrote while under house arrest in Rome were actually penned by him.

Which brings us to another problem of timing: When Paul was alive, there weren’t any church leaders. His view was that every Christian was endowed with a supernatural gift (healing, say, or speaking in tongues) and all were equal: “In Christ there is neither slave nor free, neither male nor female,” he declares in Galatians 3:28.

Paul believed Jesus’ Second Coming would happen unexpectedly, “like a thief in the night” (1 Thessalonians 5:2), and he would be around to experience it. It wasn’t until a generation or more later, when people were still waiting, that some found it necessary to think more long term and offer up excuses. 

“The author of 2 Thessalonians, claiming to be Paul, argues that the end is not, in fact, coming right away,” Ehrman explains. “There will be some kind of political or religious uprising and rebellion, and an Antichrist-like figure will appear who will take his seat in the Temple of Jerusalem and declare himself to be God.” 

How could the same Paul declare in 1 Thessalonians that Jesus’ return would happen soon and suddenly, and then in 2 Thessalonians renege on that and state that a whole series of events had to take place first? 

And in Ephesians, there’s also an issue with Paul’s biography. The writer includes himself as someone who, before meeting Jesus, was guilty of “doing the will of the flesh and senses.” But that doesn’t fit with the man who says, in undisputed letters, he had been “blameless” when it came to the “righteousness of the law” (Philippians 3:4-5).

An angel is said to have whispered the words of the Gospel to St. Matthew. But it turns out there’s evidence Matthew didn’t actually write the book of the Bible named for him.

4. One-third of the authors of the books of the New Testament — including the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John — were actually anonymous. 

In fact, those texts remained anonymous for about a century. It wasn’t until around 180-185 CE that the Gospels were definitely named for the first time, by a church father and heresy hunter named Irenaeus. 

And how did those authors get chosen? To lend the Gospels authority (and help assure they made the cut when choosing what would go into the New Testament), the writers were declared to be two disciples and two close associates of disciples. 

Matthew, for instance, was a Jew, and tradition held that he had written a Gospel. So the first was assigned to him since it was deemed the most “Jewish.” 

Church leaders ascribed authors of the Gospels about 100 years after they were written — anonymously, no less. There’s no evidence Mark actually wrote the book that bears his name, for example.

The second Gospel was determined to be by Mark on the scantest of evidence; he seems to have been chosen because of his connection to Peter. 

When you hear the reasons the Gospels were assigned authors, like the book of Luke, you’ll realize how flimsy the evidence really is.

The author of Luke also wrote the book of Acts, where he proclaims to be a companion of Paul’s. “Because Acts stresses that Christianity succeeded principally among Gentiles, the author himself may have been a Gentile,” Ehrman writes. “Since there was thought to be a Gentile named Luke among Paul’s companions, he was assigned the Third Gospel.” So it goes.

John, the son of Zebedee, was assigned the Gospel with his name by process of elimination.

John, meanwhile, was supposed to be written by “the Beloved Disciple” it mentions (John 20: 20-24). In early tradition, the closest apostles to Jesus were Peter, James and John. Peter was named elsewhere in the book, and James had already been martyred. So that left John, the son Zebedee, as the author of the fourth Gospel.

Not the most convincing of evidence — but the Gospels couldn’t remain anonymous if they were going to become part of the Bible.

But wait — there’s more. In addition, Ehrman writes, “The anonymous book of Hebrews was assigned to Paul, even though numbers of early Christian scholars realized that Paul did not write it, as scholars today agree. And three short anonymous writings with some similarities to the Fourth Gospel were assigned to the same author, and so were called 1, 2 and 3 John. None of these books claims to be written by the authors to whom they were ultimately assigned.”

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For biblical literalists, this evidence must be disturbing. Not only does it show that the New Testament contains lies, it makes us question the very beliefs at the core of what we know as Christianity. 

That’s something to take up with God — or, perhaps, Ehrman. As he writes, “The use of deception to promote the truth may well be considered one of the most unsettling ironies of the early Christian traditions.” –Wally

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