reorganisation and destruction of irish catholic churches
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An article on the monastery of Novy Dvur from the blog Always Distinguish(ed).
ab ambiguitate ad claritatem. :The Renewal of Religious Life and Architecture
Monday, March 16th, 2009
So, it’s been a while… again. But, here’s a bit of a subject that I have neglected for a bit. That is, until I discovered this gem on an architecture blog (I forget which one). The “gem†is English minimalist architect John Pawson’s (b. 1949) Cistercian Monastery of Novy Dvur in Bohemia in the Czech Republic—the monastery’s website can be seen here.
Give it a look see, but lest you complain that it is too austere or blank, remember that’s the way the Cistercians do it.
Be sure, also, if you are still intrigued after viewing the photos, to read Pawson’s essay about the design of the monastery. This, I think, tells you more about the design than the pictures will.
 Now, to the main topic swimming around in your minds. Does he (meaning I, myself) like this?
Well, you knew, I hope, it wasn’t going to be that easy… (Never deny…)
With that said, I can hear the objections now to the picture I chose to show here: it looks like something from Star Trek, like some inter-galactic council about to meet. Where are the Christian symbols, for instance?
“Some of the vocabulary of Novy Dvur may be new – the cantilevered cloister, for instance, has no literal precedent in Cistercian architectural history – but my aim has been to remain true to the spirit of the twelfth century blueprint, to express the Cistercian spirit with absolute precision, in a language free from pastiche and charged with poetry.â€
The “Cistercian spirit†is not for everyone, nor is minimalism. But, as Pawson points out so concisely, in life as well as architecture, there is a beauty in simplicity that is unmatched by the crowding of superfluities and ornamentation. One could easily contrast the austerity of Pawson’s minimalism with the extravagance of the Baroque. One might also be tempted to choose between them, to say “I prefer†one to the other. One might also be led to believe that simplicity in design is really proof of a lack of imagination or skill. However, as many an architect will attest, and perhaps first among them Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, simple architectural details are often more difficult to realize than complicated ones. Why? Consider the complexities of construction, the delays, the inefficiency, the myriad professions on the jobsite that must be coordinated, the intricacies of accurate measurement, the difficulty of “getting it just right†and making things line up… for all the technology we have these days, making a truly straight line is still nearly impossible in construction. Further inspection into minimalist design reveals the real driving force behind the forms and materials: the play of light and space. This is of the essence of architecture—to create space and to illuminate it. In such an environment the tiniest of subtleties become massive design elements. The shape of a corner, the detail of how a wall meets the floor, all fill roles with which they are not commonly associated.
So, you might be saying “That’s great… you mean to tell me that these minimalist designs are actually the most complex and beautiful of them all, surpassing even the baroque in attention to detail? And, of course, all of this is lost on the lay observer.â€Ã‚ Well, to a certain extent, yes! I couldn’t appreciate the delicacy of Vivaldi’s Requiem Mass as well as some of my more musically inclined brothers can. Likewise, I wouldn’t expect them to immediately take delight in the simplicities of Pawson’s architecture.
What’s my personal verdict. Well, it is a critique as any architectural critique goes: Pawson is a master at minimalism, without a doubt, but he is also an architectural force to be reckoned with. Though one could not fully appreciate (or abhor) the full reality of the monastery at Novy Dvur without experiencing it in person, I believe it is safe to say from the material presented that Pawson exhibits a deft hand at design and with respect to the building as a monastery (aesthetics ‘aside’) has succeeded in creating a space well-proportioned to the life of a Christian monk. Is it beautiful? Without a doubt it expresses with clarity and precision the truths of monastic life and spirituality. Is it tasteful?  I don’t deny that I would have liked it to be clearer about what it is… but this is the language of symbols, something that architecture has struggled with for the past century. In that respect, I have some compassion for the design and Pawson, because I think that he has attempted to incorporate Christian symbolism in what is undeniably a very rigorist modern tendency to avoid what is classified as ‘pastiche’. Now, every architect might have his own notion of what consists of pastiche, but it is the contemporary problem par excellence in my opinion. The question is: how much can it look like the past without being unoriginal? It is the deadly flaw of modernism: the unswerving and uncompromising desire for originality.
And the subject line of the post? The Renewal of Religious Life? I thought it would be important to highlight that a project like this can’t come to pass without a few things in place first, most importantly, monks to live in the monastery. You look at the pictures and you notice quite a few young men. On the monastery website there are a few photos of what looks like a profession of vows or reception of the habit taking place in the chapter room (with the Patroness of the Americas and the unborn, Our Lady of Guadalupe, conspicuously watching over).
Pawson writes in his essay:
“The new Cistercian monastery of Novy Dvur is one of the less documented consequences of the fall of communism in former Czechoslovakia. For those with religious vocations the Velvet Revolution of 1989 brought not only political freedom, but the chance to travel abroad in pursuit of a contemplative way of life which no longer existed at home.â€
It seems that a particular Cistercian Abbey in Burgundy by the turn of the century (that is, 2000) had admitted a dozen or so monks from the Czech Republic after the fall of Communism. The wealth of vocations led the abbey to consider what one might call a “monastery plant†back in Bohemia.
The only way we will see a renewal of Catholic architecture is with a prior renewal of Catholic vocations (of all kinds, religious, sacerdotal, and familial). Only with a renewed and reformed Catholic culture will Catholic architecture be able to follow a still rather undetermined path towards a brighter, richer, more beautiful future.
From the blog Always Distinguish(ed).
ab ambiguitate ad claritatem.A Christian Critique of Minimalism
Saturday, March 21st, 2009
This is going to be fairly straightforward, actually. I’d just like to draw your attention to a contrast. For those of you who read my post about John Pawson’s monastery of Our Lady of Novy Dvur and saw the clean, polished, magazine-quality photograph of the chapel that I posted (from the Novy Dvur website)—and especially for those of you who did not like it—you might appreciate this photograph that I found on Flickr, taken by Lorenzzo. For copyright reasons I can’t post it to the blog, but I recommend that you go see it and compare it to the one in this post (on the right).So, go check out the one on Flickr. You’ll see the chapel in a whole different light. And why do I call this a Christian critique of minimalism? Well, minimalism is almost like the newest kind of dualism. Consider the (in)famous motto of minimalism: “Less is more†attributed to Mies van der Rohe. The implication in architecture has a tendency to drive one to a puritan-like rigorism that produces buildings that only look good when they are not occupied and used by people. Consider even the magazine photo above: yes, it has the monks in it, but you might notice that conceptually the monks appear more as an extension of the space, an ornament to the furniture, than as the owners and users of the space. What I delight in about the photo on Flickr is that it shows you how the space is actually used. Suddenly you see benches that appear in front of the choir stalls, clearly not designed for the space, a couple of folding chairs, flowers in front of the altar, the appearance of a presider’s chair along with accompanying stools, and not the most flattering of daylighting.
The punchline to the minimalist enterprise, it seems to me, is that humans are not minimalists. We accumulate things, we get things dirty, we don’t all do the same things, we don’t all pray the same way, we don’t all look the same, we have bodies, for heaven’s sake! This is why I called minimalism almost a kind of dualism. There seems, to me, an underlying message that we must blot out the material world because it is uncontrollable. There’s another photo of the chapel at Novy Dvur that I have seen that lacks all the usual liturgical furniture you would expect in a monastery oratory: choir stalls, altar, ambo, tabernacle, etc… you only see the blank walls, the bare forms, the play of shadows and light. You lose all concept of scale (there are, of course, no humans in the picture) and it becomes a meaningless composition, perhaps pleasing to the eye. It is a strange worship of shadows.
Now, all of this is said in contrast to the ‘praises’ I sang of the monastery in the last post. I think there is something lovely about it, but it is the same thing that is lovely and romantic about a monk’s life to someone who is not a monk. That is to say, the contemplative life, though it may appear so to the observer, is not minimalist, it’s ascetic, and in this life the distance between the two is like the east from the west.An article recently published in the Osservatore Romano by noted art historian Dr. Sandro Baragallo on the qualities to be sought in a new church:
A gloria sua e non per capriccio mio
di Sandro Barbagallo da L’Osservatore Romano 31.01.2010
Il Servizio nazionale italiano per l’edilizia di culto ha presentato in una mostra a Roma progetti di nuove chiese elaborati per un apposito concorso. La rassegna si tiene nella Sala 1 presso il convento dei padri passionisti alla Scala santa; e si tratta della quinta edizione di un concorso nazionale, indetto dalla Conferenza episcopale italiana (Cei), che in questi dieci anni ha esaminato centoundici progetti, suddivisi tra le diocesi di tutta Italia.
Come dice il responsabile dell’organismo della Cei monsignor Giuseppe Russo, “anche questa volta sono stati invitati a concorrere architetti che si sono distinti per capacità , esperienza e competenza nell’ambito della progettazione”.Ci si domanda quali dovrebbero essere le caratteristiche richieste alle nuove chiese. Prima fra tutte la riconoscibilità , poi una qualità formale, infine una buona qualità dell’impianto liturgico. Senza dimenticare naturalmente di proporre progetti ben inseriti nel contesto urbano. Fatte queste premesse, visitiamo la mostra.
Forse a causa di un allestimento che si avvale di uno spazio insufficiente, i progetti presentati alla Sala 1 si arrampicano sui muri, superando i due metri di altezza, per poi precipitare ad angolo retto sul pavimento. Si capirà come la lettura dei progetti, anche per i più esperti addetti ai lavori, diventi quasi indecifrabile. Avviene così che le architetture più complesse si confondano con quelle più banali e tutto l’insieme risulti di difficile interpretazione.
Bisogna ammettere che negli ultimi dieci anni la Chiesa italiana ha fatto uno sforzo di modernizzazione, dimostrando un coraggio fuori del comune nel bandire concorsi che l’avrebbero esposta a critiche a causa della forte visibilità . Ma se sbagliando si impara, forse basterebbe attenersi ad alcune regole generali.Per esempio ricordare che per secoli la Chiesa, intesa come spazio architettonico, è stata non solo un luogo di preghiera, ma anche di aggregazione, quindi con una funzione di “accoglienza”. Perché oggi, solo per l’ambizione di modernizzarsi, dovrebbe mostrarsi respingente?
Inoltre, perché in nome della modernità una chiesa non dovrebbe essere riconoscibile dall’esterno, come lo sono invece gli altri luoghi di culto in tutti i Paesi del mondo, dalla moschea al tempio buddista?
Perché dovremmo sostituire nel nostro immaginario collettivo di cattolici l’idea confortevole di “chiesa” con audaci architetture post-moderne senza nemmeno una croce a indicarne la “destinazione d’uso”?
Solo una piccola percentuale dei progetti presentati (come risulta dalla mostra di Roma) reca una croce sulla sommità . Tutti gli altri, a detta degli stessi architetti, contano sul particolare di alcune campane inserite a decorare la facciata oppure sull’effetto-sorpresa!In quanto poi all’intervento dell’artista all’interno, perché non ricordare gli egregi esempi del XX secolo che vanno da Matisse a Manzù, da Rouault a Greco? Artisti, questi, né accademici, né tradizionali. Come si può inserire in una chiesa la statua di una Madonna bifronte – da un lato caucasica e dall’altro africana – oppure una Trinità rappresentata da una madre e due figli piccoli, andando contro tutte le regole della tradizione e dell’iconografia cristiana? E vogliamo parlare dell’improbabile Cristo Risorto, mimetizzato in un ectoplasma giallo zolfo, da inserire sull’altare maggiore di una della chiese vincitrici del concorso?
Senza essere per principio contrari a una concezione non figurativa della rappresentazione artistica bisogna sottolineare che una cosa è la decorazione per la decorazione e un’altra l’arte sacra.
Quest’ultima deve obbedire alle regole iconografiche tradizionali e, pur rimanendo attuale, deve essere facilmente identificabile.
In quanto al liturgista, giustamente presente in ogni progetto, ci si chiede perché non gli si accordi più autorità in modo da indirizzare le velleità dell’architetto e degli artisti.Concludendo, la Chiesa ha dimostrato nel tempo di saper scegliere i propri artisti e di saper lasciare quindi traccia della propria grandezza e autorità . Questa responsabilità , egregiamente assolta nei secoli, continua oggi ad essere più importante che mai.
Per questa ragione bisogna forse diventare più cauti, scegliendo commissioni più severe ed esigenti, maggiormente preparate e attente alle necessità dei fedeli che, oggi più di ieri, hanno bisogno di essere incoraggiati a ritrovare le radici della propria appartenenza alla tradizione culturale e spirituale.
Ed è forse il caso di ricordare che in molte chiese, importanti per la ricchezza dei capolavori da esse contenuti, compare la scritta: Omne propter magnam gloriam suam. (“Tutto per la sua grande gloria”).@Praxiteles wrote:
The punchline to the minimalist enterprise, it seems to me, is that humans are not minimalists. We accumulate things, we get things dirty, we don’t all do the same things, we don’t all pray the same way, we don’t all look the same, we have bodies, for heaven’s sake! This is why I called minimalism almost a kind of dualism.
. . . . That is to say, the contemplative life, though it may appear so to the observer, is not minimalist, it’s ascetic, and in this life the distance between the two is like the east from the west.
Very interesting there Praxiteles :)You don’t normally come out with stuff that I instantly agree with.
I don’t know about the ascetic or the ‘contemplative life’, but there’s long been two branches of minimalism at work in church architecture, the minimalism of avowed poverty [the Cistercian monastic model] and the minimalism of the Calvinist intervention.
the Grote Kerk in Haarlem painted by Pieter Saenredam in the mid 17th century after it had been ‘cleansed’ by the CalvinistsBoth are reasonably valid sources for contemporary inspiration and both are defined by what they’re not; they’re not encrusted jewel boxes. I think this is also exactly what Mies was on about with his ”less is more”. The point with Mies is that you have to be familiar with ‘more’ before you can appreciate ‘less’.
The concept works as a contrary position, a detox antidote, but when it becomes imposed as a mass doctrine, it loses it’s power and we’re just left with less.
In a sense ”less is more” was a brilliant concept, stripping away all the unnecessary accretions to let the clarity of the architecture reveal a cool purity, but the more ‘less is more’ was adopted as a doctrine during the modern movement the lower the ambient temperature dropped, eventually to a level that wouldn’t support life.
Minimalism, by definition, is an extreme position, it is intended to challenge us to look at our condition and be ashamed.
Personally I refuse to be ashamed.;) Conveniently, I take my clutter as an affirmation of my humanity.
And here we have list of 100 top architecture blogs compiled by :Always Distinguish(ed).
ab ambiguitate ad claritatem.Tom Dunne was chatting about this new website on his newstalk radio show during the week.. http://www.britishpathe.com/index.php
I just had a quick look …it has lots of Irish content, but it’s a facinating website for many reasons.
IRELAND SENDS ITS THANKS TO FATIMA SHRINE
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St Brendan’s Church, Birr, Co. Offaly
Here is an interesting on on a window in Birr:
STAINED GLASS WINDOW UNVEILED IN IRELAND
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St Brendan’s Church, Birr, Co. Offaly
This pre-puginian Gothic church was begun in 1817. the site was donated by teh Earl of Rosse and the foundation stone laid by his son Viscount Oxmantown. The architect was Bernard Mullan.
St Brendan’s Birr Co Offaly
Some interesting details about the this church:
Dean John Scanlon PP (1903 – 1916)
Major renovations costing £7,200 were carried out by Dean Scanlon between 1910 and 1917. W.H. Byrne, Dublin was Architect for the project. It is interesting today to examine the costs of building at the time. The following works were carried out: Repairs to a stone pinnacle by Daniel Carroll (Seffin), D. P. Hoctor (Green Street) main contractor was paid £3,378. McLaughlin’s (Dublin) carried out work to the ceiling, steel roof supports were installed costing £1,800, Joseph Egan (Chapel Lane) pointed the exterior walls for £140, Gas lighting £160, 8 large and 4 small cut -stone windows £910, Hodginson (Limerick) painting and decoration £406, roof and ventilation £152.
Interesting also to note Hodginson’s of Limerick also worked on this church which has a fine ribbed ceiling of a type similar to those installed by the Pain brothers in the North Cathedral in Cork and in St. Patrick’s, fermoy, and St. Patrick’s, Dungarvan.
St Brendan’s, Birr, Co. Offaly
Indeed, as suspected, the chancel window is by A.W.N. Pugin:
Fr. John Spain PP (1836 – 1848)
The appointment of Fr. John Spain led to the second phase in St. Brendan’s devel*opment. He extensively remodelled the church adding the galleries and the building’s greatest treasure the west-facing window behind the high Altar. This is especially precious, as Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin (architect of London’s Houses of Parliament) designed it. It was manufactured in Newcastle-on-Tyne, packed in crates, protect*ed by straw and transported to Birr. It was installed in 1842 as the stone above the window signifies. This according to Monsignor Ignatius Murphy’s `History of the Diocese of Killaloe’ makes it the oldest stain glass window in the Diocese. Fr. Spain also invited the Sisters of Mercy to the town. Their founder Ven. Catherine McAuley attended Mass in the church during the winter of 1840-1841. Fr. Spain died of famine fever in 1848 and is buried at the north side of the altar.
Some examples of the beautiful work of the Russian Orthodox iconographer, Gregory Krug:
Pentecost
The Descent into Hell
The Burial of Christ
Some notes on Gregory Krug can be found here:
http://www.aidanharticons.com/articles/20THICON%202.pdf
And an assessment of his work:
“Father Gregory Krug dedicated his entire life to painting icons. He chose iconography in stead of the adventure of modern art for the icon represented his own ascetic labour, prayer and contemplation. This art ment for him the most courageous act of a human being: the revelation of God in his whole glory”.
Romainmotier
A picture of the two storied Gallilee chapel placed before the main entrance to teh abbey church
Romainmotier was founded in the middel of the 5 century by ST Romain and is the oldest monastery in Switzerland. In was destroyed in the 6th century by the Alamani and rebuilt in 632 by Félix Chramnélène who subjected its monks to the Rule of St Columbanus. It received Pope Stephen II in 753 who placed it ubder the protection of the Holy See.
Another view of the Galilee chapel from what was the cloister:
The Galilee Chapel at Durham Cathedral
The Galilee Chapel was built by Bishop Hugh le Puiset between 1170 and 1175. Puiset originally began building at the east end of the cathedral but when huge cracks appeared in the stonework, they were taken as a sign of disapproval from St Cuthbert himself and the work moved to the west end, overlooking the precipitous drop to the river. The chapel was intended for use by women, whose presence Cuthbert, enshrined at the east end, was said to dislike – perhaps the reason for his inferred displeasure.
The name of the Galilee Chapel alludes to Christ’s journey from Galilee to Jerusalem for the events leading up to his crucifixion, a journey symbolised by the monks gathering there before re-entering the cathedral for the mass. Its walls were painted with images of St Cuthbert and Oswald, King of Northumbria in the early 7th century. From 1370 the chapel was the busy home of Bede’s shrine and, later, the consistory court and the beginnings of Durham School
This atmospheric watercolour was painted by Blore in the 1820s. He was fortunate to have the opportunity: in 1795, the ‘improving’ architect, James Wyatt started the demolition of the Galilee and was only stopped by a pioneering preservation lobby.
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