Osaka, Oct. 14. Today I made a pilgrimage to Tadao Ando’s Church of the Light in Ibaraki, a suburb between Osaka and Kyoto. It’s an unlikely place for such a significant architectural landmark, and the congregation is very small; I got the impression that the Sunday afternoon I visited had more architourists than the morning services had worshipers.
When I arrived, services were still wrapping up, and I could hear a soprano “Hallelujah” from a half a block away. After the service finished, the pastor led me into the chapel, which is known because its cool, dark interior with heavy angled concrete walls slopes downward toward a giant slab of concrete behind the altar that is sliced in two directions such that the slit opening forms the shape of a giant cross. Even with a overcast sky like today’s, the cross glowed – a sculpture of light suspended at the front of the chapel.
This building didn’t hit many of the criteria on my biophilia list (see earlier posting), but it topped my choice of projects simply for the sheer power and symbolism of the light; I’ve enjoyed this building from afar for years. The views of the building from the street are modest and just a touch foreboding (this is concrete after all), and barely hint at the wonders inside. The church interior, however, does not disappoint. I was the first tourist to arrive, and had 20 minutes by myself to take in the stark, formidable pews, stained black, the massive pipe organ that floats up the rear wall, and the refined angles that allow in a quiet bath of natural light up one side wall – this smaller dose of light was a sharp contrast with the cross in the front, which always drew my attention back to the altar.
Other visitors began to trickle in. One was a Canadian, living in Osaka and teaching English. People with white skin traveling alone tend to be magnets for other people with white skin traveling alone, and we soon struck up a conversation. He, bored and lonely for English speakers, decided that he should be my tour guide for the evening. Our first stop (unplanned by him) was the Louis Vuitton building near Osaka Station, designed by Kengo Kuma. After some brief architectural admiration, we moved on to our intended destination: conveyer belt sushi. Customers sat at one long linear table that snaked its way through the restaurant. The conveyer belt ran in front of us, moving plates of sushi through the room; we’d grab what we wanted and allow the rest to pass on to other customers. When we’d had our fill – my fill was mostly inari (rice wrapped in a tofu sheathe then fried) and vege sushi, but I did get over my, um, distaste for raw fish long enough to try some house specialties. When we were finished, we hit a button near our seats; the waitress whisked over, counted the pile of plates in front of us and tallied the bill. It was a great deal – at 100 yen per plate, I had a good sized (and rather intriguing) dinner for well under $10. A great way to end a great day.
When I arrived, services were still wrapping up, and I could hear a soprano “Hallelujah” from a half a block away. After the service finished, the pastor led me into the chapel, which is known because its cool, dark interior with heavy angled concrete walls slopes downward toward a giant slab of concrete behind the altar that is sliced in two directions such that the slit opening forms the shape of a giant cross. Even with a overcast sky like today’s, the cross glowed – a sculpture of light suspended at the front of the chapel.
This building didn’t hit many of the criteria on my biophilia list (see earlier posting), but it topped my choice of projects simply for the sheer power and symbolism of the light; I’ve enjoyed this building from afar for years. The views of the building from the street are modest and just a touch foreboding (this is concrete after all), and barely hint at the wonders inside. The church interior, however, does not disappoint. I was the first tourist to arrive, and had 20 minutes by myself to take in the stark, formidable pews, stained black, the massive pipe organ that floats up the rear wall, and the refined angles that allow in a quiet bath of natural light up one side wall – this smaller dose of light was a sharp contrast with the cross in the front, which always drew my attention back to the altar.
Other visitors began to trickle in. One was a Canadian, living in Osaka and teaching English. People with white skin traveling alone tend to be magnets for other people with white skin traveling alone, and we soon struck up a conversation. He, bored and lonely for English speakers, decided that he should be my tour guide for the evening. Our first stop (unplanned by him) was the Louis Vuitton building near Osaka Station, designed by Kengo Kuma. After some brief architectural admiration, we moved on to our intended destination: conveyer belt sushi. Customers sat at one long linear table that snaked its way through the restaurant. The conveyer belt ran in front of us, moving plates of sushi through the room; we’d grab what we wanted and allow the rest to pass on to other customers. When we’d had our fill – my fill was mostly inari (rice wrapped in a tofu sheathe then fried) and vege sushi, but I did get over my, um, distaste for raw fish long enough to try some house specialties. When we were finished, we hit a button near our seats; the waitress whisked over, counted the pile of plates in front of us and tallied the bill. It was a great deal – at 100 yen per plate, I had a good sized (and rather intriguing) dinner for well under $10. A great way to end a great day.
No comments:
Post a Comment