This eighteenth-century Spanish mission church sits near
the Sangre de Christo Mountains, below which lies a large, fertile plain
and the Rio Grande. The Pueblo Indians have occupied the region for
nearly a thousand years. The first Spanish explorers arrived in northern
New Mexico in 1540 to convert the natives to Catholicism and occupy
reliable agricultural lands. The village of Ranchos de Taos was settled
by the Spanish in 1716. The Ranchos church, San Francisco de Asis, was
completed in 1815. It is an example of Franciscan Old World architectural
ideals combined with New World building techniques.
The Ranchos church became a favorite theme among artists visiting the
area in the early part of the twentieth century, especially photographers
Paul Strand and Ansel Adams and painters Georgia O’Keeffe and
John Marin. Although many artists concentrated on the façade,
most chose to depict the simple shapes of the apse, with its buttresses,
at the back of the church. Their images have helped make this view an
icon of New Mexican religious buildings.
As O’Keeffe became familiar with a subject, she continually condensed
and eliminated what she saw to create wonderfully abstract images. For
her Ranchos church series, O'Keeffe's approach was unique:
Through color and brush stroke she stresses the identification
between the adobe of the church and the ground on which it sits—and
of which it is made. The organic quality in the swelling, irregular
planes of the building suggests a natural origin for the monument, rather
than a built one. O’Keeffe’s paintings of the little mission
church evoke a faith that is rooted in the native soil. 
The Ranchos church is made of adobe. For O'Keeffe this must have been
more like painting a landscape than an architectural form. Her nearly
monochromatic palette serves to unite the ground with the building and
further identifies it as a natural form silhouetted against a cloudy
sky.
More than forty years after she created her paintings of the adobe
church, O’Keeffe wrote:
The Ranchos de Taos Church is one of the most beautiful buildings
left in the United States by the early Spaniards. Most artists who spend
any time in Taos have to paint it, I suppose, just as they have to paint
a self-portrait. I had to paint it—the back several times, the
front once. I finally painted a part of the back thinking with that
piece of the back I said all I needed to say about the church. I often
painted fragments of things because it seemed to make my statement as
well as or better than the whole could. And I long ago came to the conclusion
that even if I could put down accurately the thing that I saw and enjoyed,
it would not give the observer the kind of feeling it gave me. I had
to create an equivalent for what I felt about what I was looking at—not
copy it. 
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