A CLIFF CHAPEL IN PORTUGAL - Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Rocha

West of Faro in Portugal, on the southern coast near Armação de Pêra, standing high over its beaches, is a sandstone outcrop that has been weathered over the years to become a prominent, ochre-coloured peninsular – a stubborn weathered cliff wedge projecting out into the Atlantic Ocean. Storms and waves have shaped, and continue to reshape this unique mass. The plan form of this special place has the profile that one can see as a reptile’s head, but there is nothing snakish about this headland. It stands out differently from the rugged, rounded protrusions framing the shoreline that look more like layered, cavernous rubble than a structured, geological mass: but all cliffs carry warning signs, telling folk below to keep their distance, such is their fragility and unpredictability.

Pieces of rock are falling all the time, even from this prominent, projecting peninsular. Here, there are warning signs too, along with the dramatic evidence of fragmentation: perimeter walls enclosing the plateau area are left balancing dangerously over voids, and have been fenced off for public safety, for this rock mass does attract crowds. It is the site of a chapel, the Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Rocha. This chapel in Portugal, on the Algarve coast, stands high on the southern cliffs and dominates the region. One could say that it is ‘iconic.’ One mention of the chapel, and folk can locate themselves in relation to it: it marks the coast and defines its identity. Cars and buses deliver visitors on the cliff top, while boats carry tourists below: all want to see this location. The tourist spiel below can be heard from the chapel above where the crowds of visitors come and go in an endless toing and froing.

The place not only attracts tourists, it is also a popular place for weddings and other celebrations. Looking across to the chapel outcrop from a nearby edge, one observes that there are always people around the chapel. Sometimes this might be a scattering of one or two visitors; at other times it is a crowd, either an orgsanised busload of tourists meandering around, or large a group gathered there to participate in some formal ceremony. The sound usually defines the difference, either chatter or song; the sound carries over the cliff tops. It is astonishing how one outcrop with one small building on it can become such a unique location, such a special place. It is not as though the Algarve is short of such rock outcrops or churches: this one has something particular about it beyond being just different, with just a chapel.

The chapel can be seen from afar as a small white gabled mass with a pointed conical roof. One knows what one is approaching - somehow the building can be easily read as a chapel - but the place still comes as a surprise. One steps into this special zone over a threshold: the transition is definite and definitive, with the gateway opening up into a flat, sandy rock courtyard space with a small white service building off to one side, near a tiny old tree. A low white wall with a rounded top marks the edge profile. The chapel closes the vista along the open clifftop area, giving this forecourt an intimacy from which the surrounding beaches, cliffs and ocean can be appreciated. Its scale of acquaintance surprises: that such simplicity can be so engaging leaves one wondering, intrigued. One is always looking for more.

The Oratory, Sainte Marie de La Tourette

 Sainte Marie de La Tourette - Le Corbusier

Chapelle du Rosaire, Vence - Matisse

As one moves towards the chapel, its forms become more scrutinized, but they remain basic. The centrepiece that is off-centre is the octagonal cone that reminds one of Le Corbusier’s La Tourette monastery – its oratory. The simple gable makes one recall Matisse’s chapel at Vence, the Chapelle du Rosaire. The chapel is not only a small building, it is also extremely simple. One keeps looking for a complexity that is not there other than in its meaning and feeling. As one passes the first white mass on the side of the chapel, one sees the lovely set of quaint steps that rise up to a small roof terrace and the bell that is cleverly integrated into a raised portion of wall at this junction. Here the courtyard space narrows down to a snug squeeze, but quickly widens again into the space fronting the chapel. The chapel sits askew on the axis of this peninsular creating zones of various sizes between the building and the perimeter wall.

One finds oneself standing in a tiny stone-paved courtyard directly outside the set of three arches that open up into the chapel, into a covered space with a stone floor and a tiled decorative dado. Two bench seats are provided here if one chooses to pause. The glass doors are closed, but they display the enclosed sacred space below the octagon that glows with Rococo gold. This is the altarpiece: classic Portuguese richness.

The area is special, but sadly it does not mean that the vandals leave it alone. Beautiful blue, decorated tiles have been ripped off the walls, possibly for souvenirs, and names have been crudely scratched into the plaster. A bin for trash is provided but is not always used. The naive columns give the place a lovely Romanesque innocence. The size of the chapel still astonishes.; its simple grandeur suggests something bigger.

As one turns to leave this portico, the western view along the coast is framed by the arches. It is very moving. Strolling out into the open space, one turns south to face distant Morocco over the horizon and walk down a slight slope to the very tip of the outcrop, leaving the intimate forecourt of the chapel. The views are stunning; the exposure exhilarating. The perimeter wall is beautifully curved and defines the subtle variations in the edge; but it is also a seat, adding a generous offering to visitors, suggesting that folk might pause to peruse this promenade and its place. The sense of the rock is felt by the feet as they pass over the worn, uneven ground. There is something both structured and naive with this area, a duality that touches on the sacred and the profane. One can see the place as a grand lookout, or as a place for contemplative retreat. Does one become a tourist or a monk?

Turning to leave this outlook space gives one yet another view of the gleaming white massing of the chapel. The conical wedge profile dominates and identifies the building with a simple modesty; nothing feels contrived. The chapel is exquisite from all angles. It is a little gem. Choosing to walk along the rear of the chapel, along the eastern edge of the plateau, taking an alternative route for the return, places one in tight proximity to the walls. This narrow track squeezes by the forms and leads back into the entry courtyard, offering one a glimpse of the small tree from another angle. It stands alone but proud, both of itself and its neighbour, the chapel. The gnarled tree tells of time and weather, duration, in this exposed location.

One would like to linger here, such are the qualities of this place and space; its welcome; its light; its shade. One takes the opportunity to look again, at the brilliant white in the gleaming sun, and the lovely coastal vistas: one cannot look too much, such is the power of place. One is left wondering what to do with these wonders.

In the end, one leaves reluctantly, stepping over the threshold back into the real hustle and bustle of life, tourist life in Portugal: this is a busy place. Near the carpark stands a new digital gadget that will take your photograph and E-mail it to you, courtesy of the local authority. The offer is taken as a bit of fun with friends, but, eventually, like Lot’s wife, one pauses and looks back again: one is transformed, not into a pillar of salt, but into something else; something wholesome and joyous; rich, deep: it is something substantial that one can carry and ponder, something intangible, emotional. Little wonder that this small chapel is so visited. It is truly a special place. It is a circumstance we need more of in this world – simplicity holding meaning with a humble, effortless ease, prudently, without cunning or connivance. It is just too easy to grandstand, to be cleverly smart with tricky distortions and selective presentations. This place is honest.

The challenge for us today has to be to capture the quality of identity in this clifftop; to make places rich and reverberant with no pretension or cunning guile. We need an architecture that can carry depth and meaning without the need for the tricks of slick photography or the smart distortions of difference. We need simple, straightforward structures; authentic and forthright buildings that we can trust: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/03/the-vanna-venturi-house-postmodern.html The question is how? What must we do to achieve this?