It was the prettiest of hues trimmed with a refreshingly
brisk lightness, modest but certain, calmly self-assured. It stood out as a
beacon in the tiny village at the terminus of the fiord encapsulated by the
steep, soaring, snowy mountains, the source of the feared avalanches. While
most of the other timber buildings in this east-coast settlement were painted
in strong blood reds, rich navy blues, luscious thick creams and deep dark
greens all highlighted with dainty, white decorative trims, this timber-framed
church in Seydisfjordur, Iceland was
a surprisingly intense sky blue with the same cloud-white trim seen everywhere
around the village: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2012/09/norwegian-wood-and-corrugated-iron.html
The colour looked like a Renaissance sky without the
exuberant drama of radiant rays of golden light and angels. It was an unusual
tint for Seydisfjordur that spends much
of the year white, covered with a dazzlingly cold snow surrounding its
fractured, frozen pond. In this context, the cathedral colour glowed with the
luminance of light gleaming through the depths of an iceberg.
Arriving at Seydisfjordur
Appropriately the
analogies - sky and luminance - have to do with the heavens and light, both
metaphors and symbols of the church. Indeed this building does stand out from
the rest, not only because of any cathedral spire height or detail, although
this form is unique in the array of structural elements in the village; and not
only because of its wonderful colouring, but also because of its considered
location and siting. The church sits in amongst an ad hoc sprawl of roadways,
tracks, lanes and paths, paved and otherwise for no apparent reason, that arc
in layers around the fiord. In the midst of this unruly array, at the end of
what one discovers to be a slightly skewed axial way, a little blue church is
revealed. One knows that it is a place of worship as it has the familiar form of
one of Wren’s London churches: a symmetrical gabled facade with a central spire
on a stubby tower. The coherent formality of this organisation in the carefree
collection of appendages and attachments of this settlement is surprising.
As one strolls around
the village discovering its nooks and crannies, one slowly comes to realise
that one is walking down a different, self-consciously patterned surface unlike any other in the village, one that has pavers in the centre with a
bitumen surface either side. Looking up, the western elevation of the
church can be seen closing the vista in the best of classical manners, enclosing public
space with arched windows in a pale blue wall topped by a steep roof
interrupted by a short spire on a tower base, with each portion separately
framed in fine white. It is truly pretty, proud, complete with a quaintly
delicate appearance and fine proportion and detail, glowing with a gentle
certainty of being. It offered a startling contrast to the looming sky-scraping
faces of the ancient, craggy, snow-capped geology that is its background - rock of ages.
These massive mountains made the village look less than a miniature: thoroughly
insignificant, minute.
The fiord from above
Looking down on Seydisfjordur at the end of the fiord
View of Seydisfjordur from the fiord
It is a beautiful
placing for this spiritual centre, on the edge of town but linked formally to
it, as if to mark its different importance in this random array of places that,
at times, had a careless, ill-considered, frontier feel about it. As one gets
closer to this Wren-like form with the expectation of it being made with the
customary load-bearing, solid, rendered masonry seen in Britain, it is
discovered that this church is clad in an unsophisticated corrugated iron and
fitted with plain glass timber windows. The disparity with this familiar
material that is usually used for sheds and shantytowns being used for the
house of God was somewhat alarming, but, once the apprehension had been
overcome, one realised that this material performed well. There was a surprising
elegance here in this ‘lightness of being.’ Somehow the honesty seemed to
overcome all preconceptions and offered a satisfactory whole that could be
admired.
The apse on the eastern end of the church
One could accept the
idea and respect the considered, astute detailing that created this little gem
- proud and complete, standing boldly transparent in the harshest of harsh
environments, celebrating its identity with a light-flooded interior that
reminded one of Wren’s St. James in Piccadilly. It was when sitting in Wren’s church on one
occasion that a local resident, who came with his lunch for the musical
recital, turned to tell us that he loved the space for its unsullied, natural light.
It was indeed beautiful, with no cringing stained glass ambitions. Wren had
high walls of clear glass that let the light stream in even on London’s worst
days: and so did the light in this tiny church at Seydisfjordur that ignored
any rough reference its cladding might suggest to hold a quality that made it
more cathedral than chapel, in spite of its size.
The building did not
try to replicate the cliché pointed Gothic arch openings that churches seem to
favour: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2012/09/corrugated-iron-chapel.html In one way the church appeared Norman, but
the points were there to transform this identity with a spikiness provided by
the repeated gables that had been placed over each opening on both the north
and the south walls and around the tower, a zigzagging capped with the fine
point of the spire. This little building held authority greater than its size
suggested. The corrugated iron gave it a ruggedness, an individuality that
could be admired. This light metal material enclosed the building efficiently
and cheaply, as it does on simple sheds and shacks. The ambiguity danced with a
lovely contrasting twinness - house of God, shearing shed; rough edges,
exquisite detail; hard steel wall, soft sky colour. It was a true delight. It
does show how conditioned we have become with our cliché expectations. Could anyone familiar with shearing
sheds, Penang shacks, and shantytown images ever anticipate a corrugated iron
church or chapel? - see:
The tiny portico, almost Romanesque
Walking around closer
to this little surprise, one could appreciate the detailing. It was complete
and thorough. Flashings with corrugated wall sheeting always need careful
attention if they are not to be messy or ineffective. Here, in this harsh
climate, folk know how to seal a cladding and to protect horizontal ledges from
the ravages of winter. All sills and joints were nicely considered and
resolved, especially those around the arches, surely one of the most difficult
of details to achieve; but it was neatly managed here.
Although this
settlement is remote even for this island - it is a region that Lonely Planet
oddly called ‘The Empty East’ in its travel guide on Iceland - the requirements
for disabled access had not passed this place by. These rules make their own
demands when there is a need. While it might have been expected that Workplace,
Health and Safety issues would have loomed large in the village fishing
industry, the general demands on access for those with a disability might
possibly not have yet had an impact on this region; but no. The sweet set of
stairs rising up pyramidally, Aztec-like, to the tiny entry portico of this church
had been supplemented with a ramp. One could get along it, possibly with some
care, but it would be a precarious journey with such a narrow ply deck with a
mid-landing return and no balustrades. It seemed that the locals might have
heard about access but not seen any of the standards. At least this modest
wooden structure did not impose too much on the church entry even if it was the
equivalent of a wheelchair tightrope ride.
The access for the disabled
The only handrail is on the steps
For more on shearing sheds,see:
and
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/02/deeargee-gostwyck-shed-and-chapel.html
P.S. 28 October 2014
The Old Library at Queen's University, Belfast is a grander building than the little church at Seydisfjordur, but it has a similar form, with an array of gables on the side elevations around a main gable roof form.
