A Church

After what seems like months away from my own personal drawing board, I've recently made a creative inroad or two. I've returned to my usual muse, Mater Ecclesia, for a few graphic thoughts on the relationship between tradition and modernity. The program chosen is that of a small parish church (perhaps seating 250-300 people).

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I was inspired by a number of historical precedents in the development of this scheme. There are allusions to the Ottonian Hallenkirche of the former Holy Roman Empire. The material patterning hearkens to the playfulness of Siena Cathedral, while the alternating stone surrounding the altarpiece is a small (and very toned-down) homage to Mario Botta - one of the preeminent postmodern masters - and his chapel at Mogno, Switzerland. American Art Deco sensibilities play out in the relative streamlining and minimizing of detail throughout. The image of Christ used for the altar mosaic comes from the Medieval Codex Bruchsal. 

The sanctuary follows a very traditional layout, making it ideal for both the celebration of the Traditional Latin Mass, or a Novus Ordo Mass said ad orientem. Permit me a small digression on the orientation of liturgy. Notwithstanding all of the sound theological reasons for facing toward God as a whole community during worship, having the altar arranged in the more traditional manner often works so much better from an architectural standpoint. A freestanding altar necessarily requires a larger sanctuary, which, depending on the size of the church, can distort the cohesiveness of the sanctuary as a whole. In short - a freestanding altar has a higher probability of getting visually lost in a sea of objects. In this case, I have contrasted an ornately vested altar against a slab of gray stone, so that the eye is naturally drawn toward it, then to the tabernacle, the crucifix, and finally to the Son of God, occupying what in Old Testament theology would be termed the Mercy Seat.  

On a more mundane note, this project was entirely developed in SketchUp, with only the shadows and lighting added later in Photoshop. It's a technique I've been working on for about a year now, and I think I've finally been able to strike an appropriate balance.

On Grotesquely-Dancing Architecture

"Based on such uncertain, shaky, and non-existent cultural foundations, it has not taken long for the structures of much contemporary architecture to assume either the lugubriously ridiculous appearance of a hilariously grotesque Brueghelian dance; or to appear like a sky-reaching duel between aseptic Towers of Babel made of steel, glass, and special materials which, by the first story have lost the reason for their daring apart from guilty and naive construction." - Claudio Silvestrin

 

The Wedding Dance, Pieter Brueghel

Addition to the Royal Ontario Museum, Daniel Libeskind

 

Mr. Silvestrin is an acclaimed Italian-British architect who will be at CUA for three weeks this semester as the Walton Distinguished Visiting Critic. He will be specifically working with the studio I am taking, which focuses on sacred space and cultural expression in architecture. He is an avowed minimalist, which is something that immediately arouses suspicion in my mind, but, as evidenced by the quote above, I think he and I are coming from the same direction when it comes to diagnosing the problem of contemporary architecture. It will be an interesting studio indeed.

Koloman Moser in Dusseldorf

Koloman Moser was an important artistic figure of the Vienna Secession - the Austrian variant of Art Nouveau. His most famous work is perhaps the group of stained glass windows he designed for the Church Am Steinhof, the magnum opus of the architect Otto Wagner. Of interest is this unexecuted scheme for the interior decoration of the Church of the Holy Spirit in Dusseldorf. The iconography is quite beautiful and calls to mind the restraint of the Beuronese school.

View toward the sanctuary

Section through the sanctuary and nave

View of the entrance wall and the choir loft

Something vaguely Byzantine

A little sketch project of the interior of a somewhat Byzantine or Romanesque church. I tend to use the terms interchangeably, as they refer to basically the same architectural movements in the Western and Eastern Roman Empire, respectively. Of course, there are distinctions to be made. As a rule, Byzantine architecture has a deeper focus on the surface and its ornamentation, while Romanesque tends to be focused on massing of architectural elements. The two can form interesting hybrids, though, with Byzantine surface treatments (mosaic, etc.) grafted onto a Romanesque body. And, that's basically what I attempted here.

A few notes are in order. The ceiling is heavy timber and the walls are stone - preferably of the warm, sandy color often found in Romanesque construction, especially in Germany. The nave is rather undecorated, save for a mosaic frieze that runs around the top of the walls, and the windows, which would be stained glass. The sanctuary is dealt with in a detail drawing below.

The sanctuary of any church should be the most rigorously thought-out in terms of iconography and graphic organization. It is the meeting place of heaven and earth during the liturgy, and its artistic scheme should reflect this nexus. In this particular design, I have divided the iconography among three vertical zones.

The first zone is from the vaulted ceiling to the tops of the windows. This zone represents heaven, and is centered on a mosaic image of Christ in Majesty, surrounded by seraphim. The panels to the left and right depict the Twelve apostles, gathered around the heavenly throne. The floral patterns to the far right and left recall the perfection of creation and the restoration of Eden in the New Jerusalem.

The second zone is that of the windows, which represent God's dealings in human history, through the person of Jesus Christ. Windows depicting the Nativity, the Transfiguration, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection, and Pentecost show the working of God throughout the timeline of our earth. The bottom third of the middle three windows is taken up by a depiction of the Last Supper, which graphically connects the image of the Crucifixion with the altar below.

The altar is the focal point of the third zone: that of God's continuing work in the life of humanity. The central crucifix and tabernacle recall the throne of God depicted above, while the gathering of priests and other ministers around the altar recalls the gathering of the Apostles to the throne of Christ. The altar itself is a fairly straightforward model that recalls many of the altars built in this country in the period between 1870 and 1910 or so.

These three zones work organically in the context of the liturgy. The mass, an event taking place at the altar in real time, re-presents the historic sacrifice of the Cross depicted in the central window, and reminds us of the glory of heaven that we are journeying toward.

Churches are theology in stone, and we should strive to have them reflect the divine order of creation instituted by God. We should not make churches mute buildings that we fill with our own meaning. Neither should we be superficial about the way we decorate or adorn our churches. The church building should be a gesamtkunstwerk, a total work of art, where all things within drive home a unified message.

Some Travel Posters

Yesterday, I was seized with an art attack and, in the productive fury that followed, I produced two 15x20 paintings of which I am rather proud. They are the first in an eventual series of paintings of Australia that hearken back to old travel posters (and postcards) of the early 20th Century.

This first painting is of the town of Byron Bay and its lighthouse. Byron was only fifteen minutes up the road by bus from Lennox Head, so I visited rather frequently. It has an absolutely beautiful beach with some fine hiking trails up the the lighthouse and the point pictured at the bottom left. Incidentally, that point is the most easterly spot on the Australian continent. In the bay are the Julian Rocks, pictured at the left of the lighthouse. This was a popular SCUBA and snorkel location for many of our Australian group. 

Artistically, I am pleased with how this one turned out. The red lettering is probably something I won't ever do again as it was a very tedious task to keep the hue vibrant (since this is all watercolor). However, I am particularly happy with the water. The shading of the waves is convincing. 

The second poster is shown above. This image takes the form of an imagined advertisement for the devilishly-delicious banana pancakes found at the cafe of the Lennox Head Surf Lifesaving Club. The pancakes, topped with ice cream, bananas, and syrup, are shown in the foreground. A hint of sunrise and the 'head' of Lennox fill out the background. I was a little leery of the color palette on this one, but I think it turned out decently. Though it is not realistic at all, I do like how the water turned out, with the hint of pink near the horizon. This one might get taken in to Photoshop and touched up a bit, particularly the lettering on the bottom. 

The series will continue with a painting of King's Park in Perth and the Great Ocean Road. I should have a customized set of painted memories pretty soon here if I keep my brushes busy

Liverpudlian Lutyens

In my estimation, one of the great tangential tragedies of the Second World War and the Great Depression it followed, was the end it put to good traditional design projects. Funds for projects became scarcer during the economic downturn, and after the European modernist architects had been dispersed in the postwar era, many noble project were simply discarded in favor of cheaper, more industrial, more modern, designs. The most monumental victim to this trend was Sir Edwin Lutyens' design for the Catholic cathedral of Liverpool.

Plans for a Cathedral in Liverpool date to the mid-nineteenth century, when the Catholic population swelled due to the Great Potato Famine in Ireland. Edward Welby Pugin, son of the preeminent Gothicist A.W.N. Pugin, was called on to design the structure. He finished only the Lady Chapel, which now serves as a parish church in its own right. Pugin's design was predictably Gothic, and would have more or less matched the style of the Anglican cathedral, which is quite fine in its own right.

As a visual aside, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the Scottish master of the Arts and Crafts Movement, submitted his own design to the Anglican design competition, which is not without its merits. It has a muscular, sculpted quality about it that one can find echoes of in the architecture of Bertram Goodhue in early Twentieth-Century America.

I digress. Back to Lutyens. Lutyens was commissioned in 1930 to design the Catholic cathedral on a site not more than a half mile from the then newly-constructed Neo-Gothic Anglican cathedral by Giles Gilbert Scott (shown in the first image). Lutyen's proposal was a massive, vaguely Byzantine structure that would have been the second-largest church in the world. The dome would've been the world's largest, outdoing St. Peter's by some thirty feet. Below are two images showing the proposed cathedral in its urban setting. In the first, you can clearly see the architectural challenge it would have been to Scott's Gothic Anglican cathedral.

Thankfully, Lutyens' original scale model, in wood, survived the War and is preserved to this day. The model more clearly shows the immense proportions of his grand design.

Impressive, no? Lutyens, in the tradition of the great cathedral-builders of old, most likely believed that this project would outlive him for several hundred years. Though it is very unlikely to be built as planned, the sheer grandeur and subtle artistry involved in such a mature design are likely to continue to inspire architects. I think the real power in Lutyens' design was his ability to be grand without being gaudy. There is a control and restraint in the design that I think is admirable.

Lest we end this post on a high note, we must continue with the telling of the story. Lutyens' design was scrapped after the war due to its astronomical costs (estimates of what it would take to build such a structure today typically run into the £990,000,000 range), and a third design competition was held. The winning built design for the Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King is shown below.

I can hear the Anglicans laughing from here. 

Love justice, you that are the judges of the earth

"Love justice, you that are the judges of the earth. Think of the Lord in goodness, and seek him in simplicity of heart: For he is found by them that tempt him not: and he shows himself to them that have faith in him." - Wisdom 1:1-2

One of my favorite corners of the Bible is that occupied by the seven wisdom books - Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, Wisdom and Sirach. There are many finely-polished gems to be found in this region of the scriptures.

The Judgement of Solomon by Nicolas Poussin

The Daily Niblet: A Burial at Ornans

"A Burial at Ornans" by Gustave Courbet

We discussed this painting today in my Honors Humanities class, and how it showed an ordinary scene - a burial - on a scale that was typically reserved for grand historical paintings. This painting was completed in 1850, and marked the transition in French art from Romanticism to Realism. I rather like it.

This is one of my favorite orchestral works of all time (save, of course, anything by Mozart). It just has such power and emotion. Particularly astute listeners may notice the tune of "O God Beyond All Praising" in the midst of the composition.

Visibilium Omnium et Invisibilium

This is a drawing I did for the 37th Annual KRob Architectural Delineation Competition, which I was encouraged to enter by one of my professors. The subject matter is a sort of abstract hall of Gothic pillars and vaults. Light emanates from somewhere in the distance, casting strange shadows on the floor. It's a bit surrealist, and detail is deliberately avoided. This is not a real place.

The title, I think reveals a bit more about the work. I chose the phrase "Visibilium Omnium et Invisibilium" as the title of the piece. This phrase comes from the Nicene Creed and is translated as "All things, visible and invisible" (or, as it is currently rendered in the mass, "All that is seen and unseen"). The title adds another layer of surrealism, given the implied infinity of the view. The viewer is meant to feel that this huge hall could encompass all that is visible and invisible. Perhaps it's a portrait of the universe.

It will get a bit of touch-up before I send it off to the competition to be judged. Let me know what you think!

How not to honor someone...

Yeah. I dunno where to even start with this. Even thinking about this statue is tempting me to anger. This, in case you didn't hear, is the latest "tribute" to the beloved memory of Pope John Paul II. This statue is currently gracing the front lawn of Rome's Termini Rail Station, one of the chief arrival points for visitors to the city. Imagine yourself as a pious pilgrim, finally arriving in the Eternal City, stepping out of the station into the brilliant sunlight, being greeted by this hulking aesthetic catastrophe. The thing is UGLY. Period.

I was in Indianapolis this past weekend, and, among other virtues, the city is known for its quantity and quality of monuments. They all pay tribute to great men/women/events without paying tribute to themselves or their artists. In short, they are dignified, just as we wish to recall the times or people memorialized. John Paul II was a dignified man, alive with the dignity of Christ. In fact, he spent vast swaths of his papacy spreading the Gospel message of the dignity of each human person; from the Poles under Soviet oppression, to the unborn, to the elderly, to the workers, and to young people. And, we repay his beloved and dignified memory with something that bears a strange resemblance to a door-less, green port-a-potty.

It may be "politically incorrect" to complain about the decline of Western civilization, but with "art" like this littering the streets, the fact of the matter becomes more and more apparent. Rampant and unchecked individualism, combined with an adolescent love of rebellion has lead to artists creating works that glorify themselves instead of object itself. Art becomes an "original product" rather than a thing of beauty. And we end up with things like this - the Vicar of Christ looking like something vaguely fascist and sci-fi at the same time.

Here ends today's rant.

Neo-Gothic Distractions

Readers may recall my post concerning the church of St. Vincent Ferrer in New York City from last week. In a spirit of Gothic revival that inspired that ecclesiastical monument, I have designed a church similar. Shown is a section-cut through the nave of the church so that the apse (the rounded end of the church where the sanctuary is located) is visible. Inspiration was drawn from the Chapel of Versailles (though that chapel is in fact Baroque) and the Sainte Chapelle - the crowning glory of the French Gothic. At the center of the sanctuary is a large freestanding altar, while a secondary high altar with the tabernacle is located at the far edge of the apse. The altarpiece, imagined as a carved wood installation, reaches upward toward the windows which represent heaven. The crucifix is located at the crown of the altarpiece, where the figurative heaven and earth meet (as Christ's sacrificial act reunited us with God). Niches to the left and right of the altar - above the gallery arches - would contain images of the Twelve Apostles.

The presider's chair and altar server's stools are located to the left of the altar, while a carved wooden ambo (more popularly, though incorrectly, known as a pulpit) sits to the left of the altar, projecting into the nave on a raised platform.

This is my first true attempt at anything in a Gothic style, and I feel like I may have tried to incorporate too much. However, I have always been drawn to the Gothic's spiritual foundations as a style that wished to make present the church as the heavenly Jerusalem coming down from heaven. More to come...

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Additional Church Design

Here is a section view of the previously doodled church of "Our Lady of Joy" which can be found in the post immediately below this one. As I mentioned in the post concerning the church's exterior, this particular design has been an exercise in Art-Nouveau and Gothic forms. The interplay of hard and soft, organic and regular, and historic and new were explored. The intent was to create an idea that draws from the vast patrimony of ecclesial art and architecture in the Western world, and extends those concerns into the modern world. While working on this very quick design, I was reminded of one of the most important documents of the Second Vatican Council, Gaudium et Spes - which is subtitled "The Church in the Modern World. This is not a church of the modern world, but the church of Christ made present in the modern world.

The particulars of layout, symbolism and overall design will now be dealt with. The altar, the focus of the entire action of the church gathered in a liturgical celebration, is prominently placed front-and-center in the chancel. It is crowned by a canopy, termed a ciborium or a baldacchino. This gives vertical emphasis to the otherwise horizontal altar. On the front of the ciborium canopy is inscribed the phrase "Ecce Agnus Dei" which translated means, "Behold, the Lamb of God" (c.f. John 1:29). The ciborium is crowned by the four winged creatures from the Book of Ezekiel, which represent the symbols of the Four Evangelists: Matthew (winged man), Mark (winged lion), Luke (winged ox), and John (eagle). They surround the statue of the Risen Christ atop the canopy. The tabernacle, related intimately to the altar, is placed against the wall directly behind the altar, beneath a large crucifix. The relationship between altar, tabernacle, and crucifix is visually maintained, reinforcing the sacrificial nature of Christ's crucifixion, as well as the presence of that sacrifice in the Eucharist - made present in the mass and retained in the tabernacle.

The ambo (pulpit) is located to the left of the altar, and is large enough to command the dignity required for proclamation from the word of God. It is not merely a podium, but a structure that has a sense of gravitas and importance. The priest's chair is located to the right of the altar, facing inward toward the ciborium, rather than toward the people. This is to focus all participants, including the priest, on the events happening at the altar, the work of Christ, rather than the personality of the priest.

Two niches round off the back of the chancel (or sanctuary: the area where the altar is located, rather than the Protestant understanding of the word which implies the entire worship space). The niche on the left is occupied by a sculpture of the Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and Mother of the Church. The right niche is dedicated to St. Joseph, patron of the Universal Church. Two side chapels off to each side are designed for private prayer. One is dedicated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the other to Sts. Peter and Paul.

The large window bears explanation as well. The central figure is that of the Virgin Mary with the Child Jesus. The imagery is taken from the Book of Revelation 12:1, "And a great sign appeared in heaven, a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars." The Lord and the Blessed Mother are flanked by two angels, each holding an instrument of Christ's passion (c.f. the Icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help). Two angels on the lower right and left of the window each hold a censer, and the incense smoke rises upward to the center. These angels represent the eternal liturgy of heaven, as described in the Book of Revelation. The dove, symbol of the Holy Spirit, crowns the top of the composition.

The total arrangement of the sanctuary seeks to impart a sense of the transcendental nature of the mass on the worshipper. The events of the Church Militant that take place within this sacred architecture are intimately linked to the actions of the Church Triumphant in heaven.

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