By Randy Jackson—

On June 19, 1867, on a hill outside Querétaro called the Hill of the Bells, Emperor Maximilian, appointed by Napoleon III to rule a country that had never wanted him, faced a firing squad. His execution reverberated through Mexican and European history. Yet how that moment was understood was shaped not by those who witnessed it, but by those who painted it. In Europe, that response was immediate. In Mexico, it would take decades, passing through a classroom, before it found its voice on the great public walls of the Revolution.

In Paris, Édouard Manet’s series of paintings on the execution, collectively known as The Execution of Emperor Maximilian, demonstrated the power of art to shape historical memory. Painted from written accounts, they portrayed the event as a condemnation of Napoleon III’s imperial folly and were subsequently banned. In Mexico, the effects were slower and paradoxical. The execution did not silence Maximilian’s court painter; it freed him to walk into a classroom and change the course of Mexican art.
When Maximilian’s court collapsed, his retinue fled to the coast. One man, however, walked in the opposite direction, not toward a ship, but toward a classroom in the Mexican National Academy of Fine Arts.

Santiago Rebull
That man was Santiago Rebull, the official court painter to Emperor Maximilian, appointed to use art as an instrument of imperial legitimacy, to make a foreign emperor look like he belonged.

Rebull was born in 1829 to a Catalan father and a Mexican mother. His talent was recognized early. He won first place at the Academy of San Carlos in 1851 with his painting La Muerte de Abel. That victory earned him a scholarship to study in Rome, where he spent seven years, and what he learned there would shape Mexican art, passing through his hands to the students who would later paint the Revolution.

In Rome, at a Catholic arts school, he learned the techniques and principles of the Nazarene Movement. The Nazarenes believed art should serve a moral or religious purpose, and their major project was to revive the medieval art of fresco painting. It was a tradition built for walls, designed to tell stories to anyone who stood before them.

Rebull returned to Mexico in 1859 and, within two years, had risen to Director of the Academy of San Carlos. In 1865, he painted the official portrait of Emperor Maximilian – Retrato de Maximiliano. The Emperor was so pleased that he appointed Rebull as court painter and awarded him the Order of Guadalupe, the Empire’s highest honour.

Within two years, the firing squad on the Hill of the Bells ended that empire. Rebull returned to the classroom carrying everything Europe — and the Empire — had taught him.

The Protégé: Rivera at San Carlos
Diego Rivera was born in Guanajuato in 1886, nineteen years after the firing squad on the Hill of the Bells. When he arrived at the National Academy of Fine Arts at San Carlos as a student at the age of ten, Santiago Rebull was still teaching there.

As director of the Academy and as an instructor who took personal interest in the young Rivera’s progress, Rebull brought his influence to bear beyond technique. He transmitted the Nazarene conviction that scale gave art its purpose. Frescoes were consequential, not just because of their size, but because their ambitions were monumental. Art was meant to instruct, to elevate, to speak to anyone who stood before it. Not for palace staterooms, but for the public walls.

As important as Rebull was to the painting style Rivera came to create, there were two other notable instructors at the Fine Arts Academy of San Carlos.

Félix Parra was a trailblazer in depicting Mexico’s pre-Hispanic past with the dignity usually reserved for emperors. Parra’s painting, Episodes of the Conquest, depicted the brutality of the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs. For a young Rivera, it was likely the first time he saw Mexican history treated as something proud and worthy of monumental art.

The other notable instructor was José María Velasco, arguably the greatest landscape painter in Mexican history. With paintings like The Valley of Mexico from the Hill of Santa Isabel, Velasco taught Rivera how to organize a massive, sprawling horizon into a coherent, balanced composition. It was a skill that would serve Rivera well when his canvas became walls and mountains and valleys were replaced by the epic history of Mexico.

By the time Rivera left the Academy at the age of twenty, he had spent half his life under the tutelage of these old masters. He had become a formidable talent recognized by these men, significant artists in their own right. Rebull famously remarked of his student: “He draws as well as I do, and he has a better sense of colour.”
But his education was not finished. Like Rebull before him, Rivera left for Europe on a Mexican government scholarship, spending years in Spain, France and Italy. What he found there, the Cubists of Paris, the great fresco cycles of the Italian Renaissance, only deepened what Rebull had taught him.

The art that would come to define Mexican national identity, defiant, indigenous, and revolutionary, returned home with Diego Rivera. Mexico gained something unexpected from the defeat of the French-appointed emperor. Hidden in plain sight on those great public walls, in the very conviction that art belonged to the people who stood before it, was the ghost of a court painter who had once made a foreign emperor look like he belonged.

Randy Jackson blends local reporting from the perspective of a seasonal Huatulco resident with explorations of life and change in Huatulco, Oaxaca and Mexico.