The Bruder Klaus Chapel Experience
How we perceive architecture of the land
The Bruder Klaus Chapel is incredibly powerful because of it’s massing which gives it a strong presence. It’s power is not because it is iconic or monumental but because it seems natural in a subdued demeanor. It’s like the way we feel the presence of the Matterhorn not because it’s one of the highest summits in Europe but because of it’s distinctive shape despite being a natural formation. The Chapel is similarly meaningful by relating to the land.
I was excited to visit the Bruder Klaus Chapel even though it is somewhat difficult to access and my experience was also predicated on my studies of it’s construction so the narrative history influenced my experience. I knew how it begun as a project and how it was built so I was not overly surprised by it. Here is a breif narrative of my experience.
Although there is a lot of discourse on architecture as buildings, it is important that we think of architecture as it relates to the site, and beyond. The Bruder Kalus Chapel has the good fortune of being a small part of a larger property. I approached by foot along a gravel path that loosely surrounds tall grassy fields. The Chapel was visible in the distance like a mile marker made of the same material as the pathway, It’s distinctive outline was visible as a contrasting light colour against the darker forest beyond since it is shorter than the trees and does not pierce the light blue sky.
In contrast to the bus load of tourists who arrived directly to the Chapel when I was departing, the long approach along the pathways is significant in creating a journey and experience. The act of walking fundamentally connects us to the landscape and surrounding nature by giving us the time and space to process the surrounding context. By walking along the tractor pathways used by the farmers to work the land and passing the farmer’s barn, we understand the nature of the Chapel, it’s place on the farm, and it’s relationship to the people. As well, our perspective of the Chapel changes as we turn at each junction, since the route is not direct. From a distance, it resembles a brown spec against the dark green forest but as we near we begin to recognize that the massing is not a rectangle but angular and composed of layers, perhaps intentionally referencing a sedimentary deposit and geological action.
The site of the chapel could be described as a clearing in the field, but the boundary between what is the site of the chapel and what is the farmer’s field is ambiguous. The Chapel appears to be at the edge of a field close to a properly line delineated by an old barb-wire fence but towards the field, the only indication that the chapel isn’t part of the field was cut grass.
The triangular shape of the door is interesting because it’s shape forms a split in the block like there is a natural crack. I was surprised that the door was stainless steel, a quite reflective material in an otherwise muted landscape, but was pleased that the weight of the door and handle forces upon the user a deliberate act of motion into which the darkness is mysteriously alluring.
Admittedly, I was beyond excited to explore the space and have it to my own since no one else was around. The curvature of the pathway and inclination of the walls forms a wonderful compression that urged me to investigate further into the darkness. It was nearing noon so there was plenty of light from the top oculus to draw me into the centre chamber but this light, combined with the light coming in through the holes in the walls was rather dull and diffused. The day was a little hazy so perhaps under other conditions it would be sharper but I think in general this is the nature of the space.
My jittery excitement was at odds with the subdued nature of a religious space and it took me some time to complete my photographic documentation before I could sit down on the bench and feel the space. In contrast to the rather flat light from the oculus, the candles beside the bench offered a small bit of warmth to the space but this light was quickly lost beyond the immediate vicinity even though it was a small space. In some ways, there was too much light from above to feel the darkness normally associated with a western church or for the candle light to truely shine.
The roughness of the walls and floor are both visually and hepatically tactile. The amble daylight enhances each crevice and irregularity in the wall surface to enhance the contrast between the smooth surface of the logs that formed the structure, and the voids left behind from the loose compaction of the soil. The charring along each flute line add further textural colour to the space and I spent a long time running my hand up and down the walls feeling the different stones, cold-joints, and edges. This further enhances the connection to the land by recognize the process of construction.
When I was seated on the bench I thought the floor looked almost like liquid metal and I confess that I don’t know it’s construction. It is bizarrely reflective where it has been worn smooth but still a pleasantly uneven surface to walk along. To one side the floor there was a damp spot where the floor was slightly depressed. I didn’t think this was intentional but I wondered if after it rained a puddle might make for a nice reflection.
It was quiet inside. Since the walls are so thick and the door is around the bend of the curve there’s little in to hear but your own thoughts. Usually a western church is quite resonant because it is a large space built of stone but the inner surface of this chapel might do a lot to diffuse any sound. Since it is a small space suitable for only a few people, and since I was there alone, I wasn’t bothered by anyone else moving around. I don’t even recall any sounds of birds or trees. Perhapse the forest is too far away.
In comparison to my time in Japan, I found it harder to connect spiritually and elevate myself to that meditative plane. I’m not sure why. It could be because I have connections to Japan that I don’t have to the church, but I couldn’t completely settle in the chapel. It could be because the bench is oddly placed more as temporary respite than a relaxing focus. It’s placement is not oriented towards the candles and figurehead but to the opposing wall which when seated is like facing the sidewall when you want to face the front. As well, the oculus is too high up to comfortably gaze at the sky so I spent most of my time just looking at the side wall and thinking practically about their construction and the placement of the glass spheres. When I gazed up at the oculus, I imagined the glass spheres were somewhat reminiscent of stars.
As a chapel out in the field, the Bruder Klaus Chapel is compelling because it feels deeply connected to the land and the people who commissioned it. This was reinforced when I exited the chapel and was confronted with a tractor working beside the chapel.
The after taste of the chapel was one of satisfaction, having experienced it in its entirely and found resounding contentment. It did not feel other-worldly to me but very much connected to the land, making a strong recognition of where I was in the world. In school, we often spoke about place making through “you are here” moments and the Bruder Klaus Chapel exemplified this in excellence beginning with the journey through the fields, the appearance of a natural form, and cumulating in an earthen interior tactile to the touch. All of these elements contributed to an exceptionally positive architectural experience of a place strongly routed to the land.
