Historian Kenneth Clarke said, "Architecture is the most human of all arts." I am not so sure about that. Like a landscape which forms the backdrop, gorgeous but a backdrop nonetheless, to nature's center pieces – the leopards and elks, architecture is a fabric on which the crucial arts of painting, theater and human drama play out. Or so I feel.That is not to say that a winter landscape isn't immensely fascinating. And the same goes for the Cambodian architecture. To me, architecture at its best has always been a naturalistic form of art. Something that clefts through the earth, sprouting deep roots.
As someone entirely non-religious, I am drawn to abandoned places of worship that have been partly reclaimed by nature. Cracked walls, shrubs, a moss cover – that sort of thing. I don't know why. Maybe a sense of history and antiquity. And a bit of irony.
Yesterday, I visited the St.John's Cathedral in the upper west side of New York. It's not abandoned, far from that. But it's incomplete and partially burned. And it's so massive – from the outside it looks like a small hill, the pillars and facades carved off a cliff.
The garden outside, to the left of the cathedral, has a massive statue of an angel slaying an upside down devil, whose head is dangling two feet from the ground. But instead of making it grim, the artist added a smiling sun, a giant crab and a bunch of animals into the fold. Pagan elements, I wonder. The whole scene is absurd in a sweet way, complete with a deer standing on his hind legs to nibble at the angel's wing tip.
Around the statue are numerous rough bronze figure, inches tall – works of a high school project. Further into the garden, on one side are gray stone buildings – elementary school, residences and library. On the other side is the fortress like wall of the cathedral. And in front of it are construction cones, brightly clothed straw figures and peacocks – multicolored and albino whites.
Inside the cathedral, most of the nave, the walkway leading to the center, was blocked off due to the construction. Yet, just the end of the nave in front of the altar, where we stood, was colossal. I looked around, taking in the magnitude of everything – the pillars surrounding the altar, the organ and the golden cross. Fantastic but not too different from the other cathedrals I have seen.
Then I looked up, expecting a steeple raising above my head or a ceiling covered in murals. What I saw was a flat ceiling with curved edges. It was so high, the light faded out and a hint of reddish brown, the color of the earth, was all that was visible. And walls were rough cut stone. I felt I was underground, in a deep cavern. It was as if the cathedral was build by digging out the earth.
In the semi circle behind the altar were an array of seven small chapels. Each dedicated to a group of immigrants – German, Italian. The design of each chapel varied in layout and texture – smooth ceramic, dark wood. The lighting was so stark that even a randomly placed chair seemed like the most aesthetic arrangement.
Back in the nave, on the far ends, flanking the rows of brown wooden chairs, was photo exhibit by a Romanian artist featuring the priests of an orthodox monastery. The black and white photographs, with its human faces and humble dwelling, was an interesting juxtaposition against the mighty granite walls.
