Making Room for Silence

MAKING ‘ROOM’ FOR SILENCE An Exploration of the Fragments of Contemplation

by Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper

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MAKING ‘ROOM’ FOR SILENCE An Exploration of the Fragments of Contemplation September 2019 BARC0068 Major Dissertation Project Supervisor: Hannah Corlett MA Architecture and Historic Urban Environments Bartlett School of Architecture, UCL Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper SN: 18115288

* Special thanks to: Hannah Corlett for her guidance as my supervisor, Colin Thom for his assistance regarding the archive materials, and finally, all my friends for their support and eagerness to help throughout this journey.

Content

Abstract

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Listening to Silence

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Remains of A World

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A Language of Silence

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Making ‘Room’ for Silence

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Conclusion

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Bibliography

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List of Figures

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Silence embedded in the ‘Woodcut’ by Bryan Nash Gill

Abstract

Today, the world is shaped, perhaps more than ever, by the value norms of a very pragmatic and materialistic global culture. The reflections of this reality render the built fabric merely a commodity, shaping its material composition, yet ignoring its intangible qualities.

The richness embedded in these immaterial features are prone to erasure. Silence and contemplation is subject to this erasure, slowly becoming a rare quality and experience in the built fabric. A phenomenon which cannot be exploited for profit, it rather stands outside the grip of commodity world and is therefore regarded as ‘useless’ and ‘valueless’.

It has turned merely into a state of absence, devoid of deeper implications, and passed into oblivion.

With the continuous urbanisation of the world and increasing density of cities, preservation of the richness of urban experiences is as important as the material preservation. However, the intangible nature of experiencing and engaging with the built environment, requires an equally fluid form of preservation.

Then, how can experiencing contemplation and silence be preserved in rapidly changing and growing cities?

The project is an inquiry to understand the possible role of adaptive reuse in respect to this particular question. It aims to explore the concepts of silence, contemplation and interiority in the context of the City of London, one of the densest and oldest areas in London. It has been subject to great transformation since the 19th century and became the corporate face of London. Yet, the fragments of churches and churchyards from the times of ‘the City of Spires’ impose an interesting relationship with the area’s existing composition. 5 of the remaining churchyards are located and analysed as potential contemplative sites in relation to their surroundings; St Mary Staining, St Pancras Soper Lane, St Ann Blackfriars, St Swithin London Stone and St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park). As ‘urban rooms’ where qualities of interiority manifest, these preserved ‘voids’ offer an intangible moment of stillness and contemplation amidst the highly material realm of the corporate capital.

A subtle implication of adaptive reuse is proposed as the spatial qualities embedded within the inspected historic precedents and the churchyards are adapted into a pattern language.

Further, an application of this language is demonstrated with a series of site-specific installations which is formed through various combinations of determined language kit.

The concept of the installation is to create an ‘Intangible Room for an Intangible Experience’, with a particular focus on the transcendental nature of contemplation and the churchyards’ relationship to time. In that respect, the defined armatures are combined in various ways to direct both natural and artificial Light, and create intangible yet material spaces inside each of the 5 churchyards.

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LISTENING TO SILENCE

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Listening to Silence “Silence no longer exists as a world, but only in fragments, as the remains of a world.”

Max Picard

Today, the world is shaped, perhaps more than ever, by the value norms of a very pragmatic and materialistic global culture. There happens to be a de-sensualisation, a loss of experiential depth; it is confined within the profit-based parameters which only notices value or subsistence through participation in a system of constant exploitation. Reflections of this reality render the built fabric merely a commodity, shaping its material composition, yet ignoring its intangible qualities. Philip Sheldrake points out that many of the modern iconic buildings and structures serve indeed commercial purposes, and he suggests; “Any attempt to address the complexity of the city needs more than a mechanical approach ... whose meaning and future is one of the critical spiritual as well as economic and architectural issues of our time.”1 And perhaps, such an attempt entails creating or retaining opportunities to engage with existential reality.

Within the circumstances of the contemporary culture, the richness of the built fabric is diluted as its immaterial and experiential features are prone to erasure. Silence and contemplation is subject to this erasure, slowly becoming a rare quality and experience.

A phenomenon which cannot be exploited for profit, it rather stands outside the grip of commodity world and is therefore regarded as ‘useless’ and ‘valueless’. It has turned merely into a state of absence, devoid of deeper implications, and almost passed into oblivion.

However, the notion of silence transcends this restricted perspective and rather signifies a meaningful emptiness; an interval or pause in which the opportunity for inward reflection resides. Max Picard, a Swiss writer in the 20th century who is also known as the philosopher of silence, describes it as a natural and an exterior correspondent to the breadth of mind and simply asserts that the two phenomena belong together.2 In that respect, silence is a positive form or setting which provides a contemplative experience in its own sense. It is a responsive, remembering one;3 in which occurs a moment of stillness to reconcile a meaningful connection with ‘sense of being’. Alain Corbin, writing the history of silence, points out that this deep relationship was acknowledged frequently in the past. Silence was regarded to be “the precondition for contemplation, for introspection, for meditation, for prayer, for reverie and for creation”, which the people of the past savoured and searched for.4

Philip Sheldrake, ‘Placing the Sacred: Transcendence and the City’. Literature and Theology, 21(2007), pp. 244.

2 Max Picard, The World of Silence, (Kansas: Eigth Day Press, 2002), pp. 72.

3 Juhani Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and Senses, (Cornwall: John Wiley and Sons, 2012), pp. 55.

4 Alain Corbin, A History of Silence from the Renaissance to the Present Day, (Croydon: Polity Press, 2018), pp. 2.

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contemplation (noun)

to mark out a space for observation; careful observation or consideration

templum (noun)

an open area marked out for augury; a temple, shrine, sacred place

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Yet, a quest for silence is naturally intertwined with the search for silent places; whether be it in nature, as did the ‘sensitive souls’ of the 18th century, listening to ‘the many different silences of the desert, to those of the mountains, the sea and the countryside’5; or behind thick bare walls, as did the ascetic monks. Although, the acoustic solitude has been an integral, and perhaps necessary, part of this journey, given its implication as a contemplative experience, the silence that is encountered through architecture and built environment can be perceived rather as physical reflection of what seems to be an internal journey. Indeed, the idea of ‘inward reflection’ naturally suggests a spatial orientation. The whole concept depicts an interior in relation to exterior, and projects the act of approaching this ‘inner space’.

At this point, it is possible to suggest that, even in its more conventional interpretation, silence accentuates this internal journey. Given the impact of the sense of sound on defining distance and proximity, perhaps, the reduction or absence of sound in the immediate environment frees the mind for inner perception6 and implies an inward orientation, favoring interiority of the contemplation. This introverted state of spatial orientation is rather an abstract one, yet it is possible to see that there exists an intriguing interplay among silence, contemplation and interiority. The introduction of interiority through this insideoutside distinction demands a further convergence of the material construction of the silent spaces and internal journey that takes in it.

5 Alain Corbin, A History of Silence from the Renaissance to the Present Day, (Croydon: Polity Press, 2018), pp. 52.

6 Anastasia Karandinou, No Matter: Theories and Practices of the Ephemeral in Architecture, (Ashgate Publishing, 2013), pp. 29. and Heinrich Hermann, On the transcendent in landscapes of contemplation, Contemporary Landscapes of Contemplation, ed by Rebecca Krinke, (Cornwall: Routledge, 2005), pp.37.

Intrinsically, the etymology of the word contemplation already suggests a strong association to space, as it originally means ‘to mark out a space for observation’. Essentially, one of the roots of the word, templum in Latin, refers to a sacred open space which is designated by the oracles to interpret signs and omens; to communicate with the metaphysical and receive prophecies. Though, the space hosting this phenomenon changed tremendously in time, the very essence of the act of contemplation as ‘careful observation’ and its connection with the space remains. The physical continues to influence the intangible experience of this heightened state of awareness. Therefore, it is not possible to render a phenomenon of contemplation devoid of the environment in which it takes place.

As the words link to space and particularly to this typology suggest, temple is determined as the starting point of a historical inquiry to understand this relationship. It is then followed by japanese shinto shrines and medieval cloister gardens (hortus contemplationis), both of which are examples of architectural spaces that are strongly associated to contemplative activities. The main focus is on the reflections of the discussed concepts of silence, contemplation and interiority.

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top left to right: fig1-2. temple of horus, temple of amon. bottom left to right: fig3-4. parthenon(temple of athena), oak shrine in Dodona.

Layers Towards the Sacred: Temple

At Dodona, Greece, a precinct built around an ancient oak tree perhaps presents one of the examples for transitioning from more ‘naturally’ marked out spaces to architecturally defined temples as we understand today. The tree is said to be an oracle for the ones seeking advice from the rustling of its leaves.1 Thus, the precinct envelops this act of contemplating, listening to the magical leaves, through layers of colonnade and a wall, defining the presence of the tree yet veiling it physically. (fig4) The distinction between the outside and inside is established by defining such a boundary, which indeed entails an experience of interiority.

It is possible to observe a similar structure in various examples of ancient temples later.

Parthenon’s initial plan (fig3) shows the wrapping of the inner focus of the temple which is where usually the statue of the deity is located.The Temple of Horus (fig1) from the Ancient Egypt demonstrate a highly stratified spatial wrapping around the most sacred space in the complex. An alternative layout is demonstrated in the Temple of Amon (fig2), where the layers are formed by volumetric layering of spaces one after another along an axis, as the temple developed in the course of time. The function of these ‘innermost’ spaces are nonetheless similar to the preceding ‘templums’ as they are still reserved for the priests/ priestesses to communicate with the metaphysical through signs; listening and eventually making prophecies.2 That being said, the innermost space is further veiled in these examples with a social hierarchy which is induced by the related religious practice in a way that only the selected strata of the order is allowed to penetrate into the intimacy of the room. Most importantly approaching this room, the experience of passing through such immense layering, amplifies a gradual isolation from the outside world and stimulates an intrinsic preparation for a contemplative state.

Simon Unwin, Analysing Architecture, (Hampshire: Routledge, 2014), pp. 137.

2 Leland M. Roth, ‘The Temle of Karnak and Other Egyptian Temples’, Understanding Architecture, (Westview Press, 2007), pp. 203207.

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left: fig5. 1.Torii(gate), 2.Stairs, 3.Sando(path to shrine), 4.Chozuya(ablution pavilion), 5.Toro(lantern), 6.Kagura-den(building dedicated to sacred dance), 7.Shamusho(administration office), 8.Ema(plaques for wishes,prayers), 9.Sessha/massha(small shrines), 10.Komainu(guardian lions), 11.Haiden(oratory), 12.Tamagaki(fence surrounding the sacred area), 13.Honden(the innermost space).

Layering Japanese Inner Space: Shinto Shrines

This spatial layering also appears in Japanese architecture and culture as the concept of oku, a term that reveals deeper connotations that worth exploring in relation to the interpretation of concepts of silence and interiority. The initial translation of oku is roughly the ‘innermost space’1 which is located at the core of an intricate spatial layering in horizontal axis, within an incredibly limited space. Indeed, wrapping appears as a constant phenomena in multiple aspects of the Japanese cultural realm, along with architecture. A similar approach is taken in traditional Japanese paintings, where a profound perception of depth is achieved with two-dimensional layering, rather than conventional perspective techniques.2 (fig6) Layering in oku is strongly influenced by perception of space as a finite and dense phenomenon, which developed as a result of age-long issues of high population and scarcity of available space in Japan. In that sense, structuring a multi-layered space can be understood as a method to deal with or resolve the given spatial constraints, and therefore becomes a highly relevant term or concept in the context of dense contemporary cities like London.

However, the further appearance of oku as an adjective, such as oku-gi (secret or hidden principles) or oku-dokoro (inner place), implies a psychological depth or rather an abstract notion of ‘inwardness’ and ‘inner space’.3 This begins to signify the presence of an invisible or hidden in relation to interiority, and draws attention to the nature of the enclosed, especially in the case of wrapped ‘emptiness’ or ‘void’. Within this context, Joy Hendry explains that in Japanese view a certain power is attributed to the condition of being enclosed and this is considered as an opportunity for the ‘emptiness’ to take place.* Yet, she further mentions that the ‘empty’ here is not necessarily negative nor devoid of content, instead, it is ‘the empty in which, invisibly and supernaturally, a divine principle resides or can reside’.4 So here, once again, it is possible to trace a correlation with the idea of silence as a meaningful emptiness rather than merely the negative absent. And perhaps, the empty space in the concept of oku could be understood as a ‘silent void’. This void maintains its value in the architectural sense as ‘it offers a point of reference around which the wrapping is organised’.5 At this point, Japanese shinto shrines provide intriguing examples to understand how these abstract norms are realised in the physical. Starting with the simple yet clearly marked pathway leading to the shrine, the visitor passes through what seems to be an infinite number of thresholds; gates, steps, courtyards, all of which compose a sequential spatial experience from outer to the inner.6 (fig5,7) The layering continues inside the buildings with the rooms, sliding doors, curtains and steps, finally leading to the innermost space.

However, the oku of the shrine stands securely enclosed behind high walls that do not even permit a view, proving that it is not meant to be a space to enter, but rather a remote place to approach and arrive at.7 Fumihiko Maki describes this phenomena as ‘nothing but the concept of convergence to zero’,8 referring to the idea of emptiness and ‘silent void’. This clearly shows the emphasis put on the idea of approaching the innermost, which in this case is the enshrined, invisible presence of a deity.

Fumihiko Maki, ‘The City and Inner Space’, Ekistics, (46): 278, (1979), pp. 328.

2 Li Dan, The Concept of “Oku” in Japanese and Chinese traditional paintings, gardens and architecture: a comparative study, pp. 252.

3 Maki, pp. 329.

4 It is possible to see the influence of Zen doctrine and practice in development of this approach. (Joy Hendry, ‘Gardens and the Wrapping of Space in Japan: Some Benefits of a Balinese Insight’, JASO, (25):1, (1994), pp. 15.)

5 Hendry, pp.13.

6 Marieluise Jonas, ‘Oku: the notion of interior in Tokyo’s urban landscape’ in Urban Interior: Informal explorations, interventions and occupations, ed. by Rochus Urban Hinkel, (Spurbuchverlag, 2011), pp. 102.

7 Hendry, pp.13.

8 Hendry, pp.16.

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This whole perspective on the concept oku and how it is manifested in architecture show that the significance of the idea of wrapping the void actually transcends the material realm.

Thus, similar to ancient temples, and medieval cloisters, it can be interpreted as a crucial method to evoke a state of contemplation.

right: fig6. traditional Japanese painting, layering of the minimum figures of trees to create depth of a pine forest. fig7. Naiku Shrine plan at Ise Jingu Shrine, Japan; the space marked with number 18 shows the location of ‘oku’. the innermost space of the shrine (Honden).

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top left to right: fig7-8. section and plan of cloister garden and church in Surab monastery, section and plan of cloister garden in Id-der monastery. bottom left to right: fig9-10. St Gall’s monastery complex, cloister garden elements.

Hortus Contemplationis

The hortus contemplationis, or cloister garden, is one of the closed garden types that evolved in the monastery complex during the middle ages. It played a significant part within the monastic life as a place reserved for introspection and contemplation, concepts regarded as essential for spiritual growth at the time. It was considered as the most sacred and intimate part of the cloister1 where one encountered a true isolation from the outside world to begin a journey inwards.

The few manuscript illustrations and drawings surviving until this day, render the spatial configuration of the garden within the monastery complex and how as a whole this architectural composition worked to evoke contemplation. Extant plans show the garden as the central space located parallel to the church building. This square void punctures the mass of the buildings piled up around it. (fig7-9) The central role of the garden in the organization is emphasized further in the circulation, with major routes in the complex leading to it.2 However, this precious space is hidden from the outside world both visually and aurally with layers of walls. It conjures up an unexpected yet intimate encounter as one enters the garden through this layering.

N. Vande Keere and B. Plevoets, ‘The Interiority of the Landscape: The hortus conclusus as a leitmotiv for adaptive reuse’, Trace Notes on Adaptive Reuse: On Tradition, 1 (2018), pp. 24.

2 Rob Aben and Saskia de Witt, The Enclosed The whole configuration of the garden can be perceived as a reversal of the idea of interior Garden, (Rotterdam: 010 Publishers, 2001), and exterior from a phenomenological perspective.* Here, the cloister garth becomes a pp. 54. * Furthermore, this reversal can be traced back room with sky as its ceiling. The gallery surrounding becomes a boundary to this otherwise to the ancient Greek temples. The interiority infinite void and indeed creates a gradual transition in approaching the garden. In addition and enclosure of the sacred space seen in the to all of this, the visual stimuli including the vegetation is kept to a minimum, with only the Greek temples slowly shifted into the secluded atriums of Roman houses, as worshipping presence of a fountain or sculpture at the centre and grass lanes dividing the space into four became a private matter, turning the outwardfacing sacred space of the temples inwards. pathways.

(Aben and de Witt, pp. 30.)

3 Christian Norberg-Schulz, Existence, Space On the other hand, it is possible to observe the reflections of the cosmic orientation of the and Architecture, (New York: Praeger, 1971).

4 period in this layout. (fig10) The void of the hortus contemplationis becomes the axis mundi, Aben and de Witt, pp. 52. *The constant chaos of war, famine and plague which connects the heavens to the earth with its celestial ceiling. The horizontal plane of of the times draw men to an introverted the garden being divided into four sections forms both a cruciform organization of the perspective towards the world where the monastic complexes and confined spaces coordinates and relates the spatial order to the centre of the garden. The surrounding building created sanctuaries from the horror of the world walls define an enclosure to this infinite void like a finalis circulus and create a contrast with outside. Even the interaction with nature was the infinity of the vertical axis. All of which form a miniature model of existential space 3 determined by the formation of a walled ‘inner garden’ within the walled settlements, thus in the design of the garden itself as a reflection of an imago-mundi, a world-image.4 This explaining the introvertedness of the hortus microcosm depicts a spiritual, harmonious world where the reconciliation with the earthly contemplationis along with the medieval spirit of self-examination and introspection. (Aben existence is promoted through contemplation. and de Witt, pp. 22-24.)

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Consequently, it is possible to observe the layering and introvertedness* in the over all design as the prominent features. Meanwhile verticality through the contrast of infinite celestial sky-finite horizon, and reduction of audio-visual stimuli support this setting.

From a phenomenological standpoint, these seem to be the primary qualities to constitute a ‘silent void’ within the dense mass of the monastery, where the intangible phenomena of contemplation can take place.

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Once again, it is possible to observe the subtle communication between the built space and the idea of journey inwards, through this study. The spatial layering and interiority of the contemplative spaces, resemble the introverted perception of human psyche; ‘the metaphor of a human built up in layers with his back to the world, searching for his own centre’.1 And just like that, perhaps the anticipation of approaching this innermost space enclosed by layers of structure, subconsciously prepares the mind for its internal/transcendental equivalent, and therefore can be accepted as the central and most essential quality of a contemplative space.

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Aben and de Witt, pp. 26.

Yet, where and how does a moment of stillness, of silence and contemplation reside in the urban fabric? And how does this interplay of silence, contemplation and interiority manifest?

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REMAINS OF A WORLD

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fig1. Timeline of the City of London with Relevant Events Marked.

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Major drastic events

Constitutional changes with minor effects

Change in a period of time 5

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fig2. Experiencing Urban Density in the City.

Faรงades reflecting in on each other, emphasizing the effect of the density.

Searching for the Remains of Silence

The thesis explores the concepts of silence, interiority and contemplation in urban scale within the context of the City of London, one of the densest and oldest areas in London.

It has been an urban palimpsest over the course of history, written and rewritten through the events of major impact such as the Great Fire and the Blitz. (fig.1) However the transformation of the City with the 19th century, constituted a contextual infrastructure for the reconstruction years following the Blitz and therefore, played a substantial role in the development of the area into the corporate face of London as we know today.

The City was overwhelmingly residential until this time with its own traditions from politics to even hours of rising and dining.1 But starting with the 1840s, it was subject to serious depopulation and modernisation, transforming into a financial and commercial enclave less and less desirable to live in. Indeed, despite the increasing population of London in general, the demographics of the area show a rapid decline during this period; from 107,000 in 1861 to 51,000 in 1881, and finally to 27,000 in 1901.2 Apart from the tremendous rise of the land value and rents, this was partially due to the improvements in transportation, thanks to technological developments of the industrial revolution. Introduction of new railways and underground transportation made it easier to live outside the City whilst commuting in for work. The convulsions of the 1860s with several railway companies seeking a terminus in the City3, added more and more to the growing hustle of the area, leaving it amidst a web of loud steam-engines. Nonetheless, such improvements entailed alteration of the street layout, especially through street enlargements that little by little engulfed in small lanes and building blocks. This was also necessary to accommodate the increasing car traffic, along with the underground infrastructure.

Demolition to a great extent followed these changes; many of the sites were combined to build larger commercial buildings. However, “The most conspicuous casualties were the parish churches.” as Bradley and Pevsner explain.4 The redundant churches and churchyards were sold for financial purposes, a routine started with 1860s and continued until around 1905.* And, although the towers were occasionally kept and the burial grounds usually preserved, they were devoured by the new urban fabric, especially after the post-war reconstruction of the area with increasing building heights and the dominance of skyscrapers.

Simon Bradley and Nikolaus Pevsner, London I: The City of London, (London: Penguin Books, 1945), pp. 87.

2 Bradley and Pevsner, pp. 101.

3 Bradley and Pevsner, pp. 102.

4 Bradley and Pevsner, pp. 101. * The sites were sold by the Church to finance the extensions in the suburbs. The ones in the financial district were especially vulnerable.

(Bradley and Pevsner, pp. 102-3.) There were voices raised against this situation as also seen in British Periodicals with the following remark; ‘If the people of London knew what they were losing, the work of destruction would not go on so smoothly’. (British Architect, The Preservation of Old London Churches, British Periodicals, (1887), pp. 153.)

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Yet, the fragments of churches and churchyards which survived this transformation and the Blitz, impose an interesting relationship with the area’s existing composition. Especially the burial grounds, which today make up most of the available open spaces within the dense urban fabric of the City.

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Plethora of City Churches 22

top left: fig3. the City of London, aerial view 2019. top right: fig4. over 100 parishes dividing the City into irregular pieces. bottom: fig5. panoramic engraving by Claes Jansz Visscher 1616.

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fig6. St Giles Cripplegate during the Great Plague, one of the parishes suffered the most with 4838 deaths.

fig7. Only tombstone left at St Augustine Papey laid on the pavement of the site as a memorial.

fig8. St Bartholomew the Great in the 19th century.

fig9. A look through the ruins of the Christchurch Greyfriars into the public garden, preserved as a memorial after its destruction in the Blitz.

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The City Churchyards “Such strange churchyards hide in the City of London.”

Charles Dickens

Today, long after Dickens and much more pleasantly than his time, the unique assemblage of the burial grounds with modern structures of the City continues to surprise. Though pushed, squeezed, sliced or moulded in between office blocks, these shapeless pockets seem to remain immune to the changes time brought to their surroundings, and offer a moment of stillness, like a rare oasis, in the midst of the metropolitan.

Their fragmented presence is very much intertwined with the course of events that shaped the City’s history. Most of them have existed even before the Reformation, some got their churches destroyed and never rebuilt in the Great Fire and some were altered due to infrastructure improvements of the Victorian Era. Finally, in the 1850s, almost all of them got closed for burials with the Burial Act, as they were overcrowded and posed significant health risks. Then on, they were mostly cleared of burials and their contents reburied elsewhere.4 Nonetheless, the legislation put these sites under protection5 from the following changes that took place in the area, especially after the War. During the period of post-war construction, they became designated reference points to rebuild the city around, mainly to determine the streets, along with the city churches and their remains.6 Though, the preservation of the damaged churchyards altogether, was subject to serious debate at the time, as from the clearings rose the opportunity to rebuild the City. Amidst this aggressive property speculation, H. Casson, one of the strong supporters of preservation of these sites as open spaces, pointed out that ‘the City is sadly deficient in such open spaces, which can give glimpses of green against the livid grey of pavements and buildings, affording places of relaxation and retreat’.7 Eventually, the remaining churchyards were turned into public gardens, often enclosed by layers of huge corporate buildings.

City of London Churchyards Statement of Significance, Local Development Scheme: Historic Environment Strategy, (2017), pp. 10.

5 Brian Plummer and Shewan Don, City Gardens : An Open Spaces Survey in the City of London, (London: Belhaven, 1992.)

6 William Holford and Charled Holdon, The City of London: a record of destruction and survival; the proposals for reconstruction as incorporated in the final report of the planning consultants, C.H.Holden and W.G.Holford, presented, in 1947, to the Court of Common Council, (London: Architectural Press, 1951), pp. 231-264.

7 Andrea Pane, ‘Bombed churches as war memorials’ Conservation of World War II Ruins in England: Fate of London City Churches. pp. 10.

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fig10. A still-image of a moment caught in St Mary Aldermanbury 26

Voids Filled with Silence An Interpretation of the Preserved Void within a Highly Profitable World Besides historical and urban significance, their existence presents an interesting counterpart to the highly material realm of corporate capital. As mentioned earlier, the development of the City since the 1800s has been very much under the influence of financial institutions, and the pragmatic approach to the existing urban layout this entailed. Business associations and transactions required a close proximity to the Bank of England and the Royal Stock Exchange in order to facilitate the spread of information, which primarily heated up the demolition process at the central periphery in the 19th century. Similarly, the remains of the medieval street scheme with labyrinthine web of narrow passages and alleys became an integral part of the informal patterns of exchange,8 and therefore secured their value in the profitable world of the market.

Although this benefited the preservation of the smaller streets as a way of reinstating the market during the post-war planning, which was highlighted in Holford and Holden’s 1947 plan,9 it had further impact on the skyline of the area. The Building Act which had previously restricted the height now placed strict limits on the area of a structure due to the high demand of office buildings.* Despite the fact that this whole profit-based view of the urban structure receded with the introduction of automation technologies and changes in the economic parameters, its impact on the composition of the area remained.

Yet, what can preserved churchyards signify or symbolise in this context?

First of all, it is necessary to understand further implications of this foregoing approach on the City. Within this materialistic perception, the City is rendered as an embodiment of profit, size and power, deprived of deeper meaningful implications which communicate other aspects of human condition. As Philip Sheldrake suggests, it becomes a giant “commodity parcelled into multiple activities and ways of organising time”,10 thus implying an image, perhaps an imago mundi, which is restricted to the parameters of material existence. This image is reflected in the architectural realm through volumetric grandeur that is ensured by scale and height, and measured through strong visibility.

In the midst of this volumetric power structure, the ‘emptiness’ comprised within the churchyards offers a release. It poses rather an invisible form of value which is determined by the immediate de-materialisation and thus, opposes the otherwise dominant attitude.

The feeling inherent in their existence as ‘voids frozen in time’, punctures not only the urban mass of the area, but also the immense speed and hustle embedded in the City. Indeed, this situation correlates to what Sheldrake describes as “a need for spaces that encourage and deepen the attentiveness, a contemplative awareness” through the construction (or, as in this case, preservation) of “spaces for ‘thinking time’, silence and solitude”.11 Thus, these open spaces constitute a fragmented link of contemplative pockets, by maintaining their historic reference and meaning.

Amy Thomas, ‘Money Walks: The Economic Role of the Street in the City of London 19471993’, Opticon1826, (16): 20, pp. 1-15.

9 Thomas, pp. 4.

10 Philip Sheldrake, ‘Placing the Sacred: Transcendence and the City’. Literature and Theology, 21(2007), pp. 245.

11 Sheldrake, pp. 254-255.

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top: fig11. remaining churchyards today. bottom: fig12. marked churchyards are left without an associated church building in the vicinity.

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Overall, what seems to be a peculiar act of ‘void’ preservation, becomes an opportunity to offer intangible moments of stillness and contemplation in an area frequently defined by visibility and material existence; starting an organic yet paradoxical conversation between the invisible and the material in the City.

Through the influence of the historic and theoretical composition aforementioned, the project embarks upon an urban research within this rich dialogue, focusing particularly on the remaining churchyards left without a church building. What started as a quest to find intervals of silence amidst the City, is taken a step further at this point to determine whether these remaining silent pockets of the City show any architectural similarities with the preceding contemplative spaces that are studied. Thus, the methodology of this research is very much determined by the preceding discussion of silence, contemplation and interiority.*

* See Listening to Silence Section

5 of the remaining churchyards are located and analysed as sample contemplative sites in relation to their surroundings; St Mary Staining, St Pancras Soper Lane, St Ann Blackfriars, St Swithin London Stone and St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park). They have all become hidden ‘urban rooms’ which are reinterpreted as manifestations of the ‘silent void’, sunk deep beneath a plateau of office blocks.

Since the 17th century, they remain as orphaned burial grounds without a relevant church building in the vicinity; no tower, no particular architectural ruin or remain to mark their location. Therefore, their presence is more of a silent one, as they are devoid of physical/ visible trace and got further alienated from their surroundings in the course of time. They remain undisturbed and hidden behind layers of huge office blocks, enclosed within an organic and urban version of spatial layering.

Yet, unlike other contemplative sites in the area, particularly other churchyards such as St Mary Aldermanbury or Christchurch Greyfriars, their relative scale amidst high-rise buildings accentuates a deep sense of interiority. As they shrink and become small ‘contained’ voids, an interesting sense of entering an interior/room unfolds upon one’s encounter with the sites. This is accompanied by a feeling of solitude, though they are open public spaces, and perhaps further encouraged by the momentary removal from distractions of the surrounding city hustle.

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SITES

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fig13. Site Locations in The City of London 32

left to right.

St Ann Blackfriars, St Mary Staining, St Pancras Soper Lane, St Swithin London Stone, St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park)

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fig14. Site Locations in relation to the Parish Boundaries 34

left to right on the map/aerial view.

St Ann Blackfriars (18), St Mary Staining (80), St Pancras Soper Lane (99), St Swithin London Stone (108), St Botolph Billingsgate/One Tree Park (31).

35

36

St Ann Blackfriars

St Mary Staining

Location.

Church Entry, EC4V 5EX, London, UK

Location.

Oat Lane/St Albans Court, EC2V 7EE, London, UK

Related Parish.

18 | St. Ann Blackfriars

Related Parish.

80 | St. Mary Staining

Listed Structure.

St. Ann’s Vestry Hall

Listed Structure.

None

St Pancras Soper Lane

St Swithin London Stone

St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park)

Location.

Pancras Lane, EC2R 8JR, London, UK

Location.

Salter’s Hall Court, Oxford Court, Cannon Street, EC4N 8AL, London, UK

Location.

Botolph Lane, Monument Street, EC3R 8BT, London, UK

Related Parish.

99 | St. Pancras Soper Lane

Related Parish.

108 | St. Swithin London Stone

Related Parish.

31 | St. Botolph Billingsgate

Listed Structure.

The Site is a Scheduled Ancient Monument

Listed Structure.

London Stone (111 Cannon Street)

Listed Structure.

None

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St Ann Blackfriars * *The original priory church was demolished in 1550 after becoming a parish church in 1544. A new church building was constructed in 1597, approximately 36 years after Agas map was drawn.

Therefore the exact location of the site on the map is rather uncertain. This section here shows a very likely location estimated from a comparison of the streets and surroundings in relation to other maps.

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St Mary Staining

St Pancras Soper Lane

St Swithin London Stone

St Botolph Billingsgate * (One Tree Park) *For the burial ground of St Botolph Billingsgate was separate from the church, there are two locations displayed on the section here; an estimated location of the burial ground (in bold) and the church building. The preserved street names Botolph Lane, Pudding Lane and St George Lane suggest the marked location for the graveyard, when the historic maps are compared.

Before the Great Fire

Before the Great Fire, sites preserve their integrity with the presence of related church buildings. The bird’s eye view from the 16th century also provides a general idea about the heights of the surrounding structures.

‘Civitas Londinum’ (known as the Agas Map) drawn by Ralph Agas in 1561. British Library.

39

St Ann Blackfriars

40

St Mary Staining

St Pancras Soper Lane

St Swithin London Stone

St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park)

The Great Fire - 1666

1666 marks a turning point for the sites, as the associated church buildings were destroyed during the Great Fire. None were re-built except for St Swithin, which had its building designed by Christopher Wren and constructed in 1667-8. Despite the destruction, sites sustained their significance as burial grounds until the Burial Act. They remained as ‘voids’ whilst the city was rebuilt, becoming pinpoints during this process.

Hollar’s ‘Exact’ Survey of the City of London drawn by Wenceslaus Hollar in1667. The National Archives.

41

St Ann Blackfriars

42

St Mary Staining

St Pancras Soper Lane

St Swithin London Stone

St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park)

19th Century Alterations

Sections above show the sites in relation to the street improvements made in the City of London during 1851-1902. The expansions are significant as they suggest an increase in street activity and therefore, most probably in the sound levels of the streets. The current conditions of the sites support this assumption as the general sound mapping analysis on the following pages suggest (pp.36-42).

The two most affected locations are St Pancras and St Botolph. Apart from the expansion on the Queen St drawing the former closer on the west side, diagonal street expansion on the south create an enclosure of major streets with the Cheapside St on the north. The latter, on the other hand, is directly affected with the expansion of Monument St resulting in loss of a small section from the south of the site.

Baseplate: Wyld’s Plan of the City of London 1842, Adjustments on the map: 1905.

43

St Ann Blackfriars

44

St Mary Staining

St Pancras Soper Lane

St Swithin London Stone

St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park)

World War II

The bomb damage maps render how the surroundings of the sites were affected during the Blitz. As seen, St Mary Staining, St Pancras and St Swithin are subject to severe damage. This devastation which was followed by a rapid reconstruction period played a substantial part for the increasing height of the immediate boundaries of the mentioned sites.

The London County Council Bomb Damage Maps No. 62-63, 1939-45. London Metropolitan Archives. total destruction

damage beyond repair

repair is doubtful

minor damage

clearance areas

repairable at cost

45

St Ann Blackfriars

46

St Mary Staining

St Pancras Soper Lane

St Swithin London Stone

St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park)

Sound Compositions The sections above provide the sound compositions for each site, though not necessarily the noise levels. The dominant sounds in the close parameter of the sites can be observed as human and building originated according to the maps. ‘Urban Sound Dictionary’ by Chatty Maps. http://goodcitylife.org/chattymaps/index.php transport

nature

human

music

building

47

St Ann Blackfriars

48

St Mary Staining

St Pancras Soper Lane

St Swithin London Stone

St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park)

Sound Levels & Site Access

The following pages introduce a general sound study of the sites through systematic visits and are accompanied by sound recordings along the marked points. The intention is to further articulate the experience of accessing the locations in relation to silence and its role in evoking contemplation.

In general, the access to the sites underline the comparative perception of silence by a gradual decrease in levels and types of sound. It is possible to experience an auditory layering through this gradation, which intensifies the perception of the sites as contemplative pockets. The sound recordings reveal that the reduction of transportation noise is noteworthy.

Major sound sources in the areas such as pubs, railways, major traffic junctions etc. and their impacts Access points to the sites

Sound recording points

Site Location

49

pub

pub pub

pub

pub

pub

pub

railway

junction

St Ann Blackfriars [Sound Recording A] 50

junction

junction

pub

pub

minor point

junction

St Mary Staining [Sound Recording B.] 51

junction

pub

junction

plaza

St Pancras Soper Lane [Sound Recording C] 52

junction

plaza

plaza

pub

tube station

junction

junction

St Swithin London Stone [Sound Recording D] 53

pub

pub attraction

pub

pub

junction

St Botolph Billingsgate [Sound Recording E] 54

Historic Note on the Soundscapes of the Sites

It is necessary at this stage to note that the contemporary soundscape of the City churchyards perhaps differ to a great extent than what they used to be. First of all, considering the large number of parishes and the proximity of the burial grounds to the churches, they were left amidst the impact of church bells, which were ‘the most obvious soundmarks in the acoustically dense soundscape’ of London.1 On the other hand, they have been a vivid part of the daily life since the early Middle Ages, which would contribute to the composition of the soundscapes. Along with the relatives of the deceased, they were constantly visited by groups of people for various reasons from providing water if they contained a well; administrative meetings concerning the parish and ward affairs; and to the open-air sermons.2 These churchyards used to echo with the sounds of daily life. St Mary Staining would be such an example as the name of the street adjacent to the site, Oat Lane, suggests the existence of an oat market right next to the churchyard.

Bruce R. Smith, The Acoustic World of Early Modern England: attending the O-factor, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press), pp. 53.

2 City of London Churchyards Statement of Significance, pp. 10.

1

Therefore, it is not possible to presume these sites as silent isolated pieces of lands, nor attribute the potential of a contemplative experience entirely to the gradual reduction of sound. Although it is an important part of the experience in approaching the sites, it is rather meaningful together with the other qualities embedded in their composition.

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fig15. Overlaid Timelines of the Sites and the City 56

Establishment of the related church and/or the first mention in the records Major drastic events

Land granted

Constitutional changes

Minor changes; site use, site arrangement etc.

No particular church site or land

Church building exists

Burial ground survives without church building

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fig16. Historic plaque at the entrance of the site.

fig17. Churchyard entrance gate.

fig18. Look towards the north of the site.

fig19. Site timeline with events effecting its composition and condition in relation to the City timeline.

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fig20. View of the Church Entry, with the site railings on the right.

fig21. Remains of the former churchyard.

fig22. Look towards the north-west corner of the site from the entrance.

Brief History: St Ann Blackfriars St Ann Blackfriars church was initially established as a priory in 1276 for Dominican Order.

Following the dissolution of the monasteries, it became a parish church in 1544, yet only survived until 1550 when the land was sold and the building was demolished. In 1597, new St Ann Blackfriars church was constructed on the Ireland Yard site. Part of the old Friary church site, entered through the Church Entry, was turned into a burial ground for St Ann. The new church building was lost in the Great Fire, however the burial grounds continued to function until the termination of burial in 1849. Today, the site is enclosed by the brick faรงades of adjacent buildings, all of which are offices. The elevation of the land itself reduces the perceived height of the surrounding structures to four storeys, although they are five storeys in street level. Still, the size and the isolation of the site sustains the feeling of interiority. Church Entry remains a quiet passage, despite its proximity to Blackfriars Station.

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aerial view. 2018

60

map. 1960

map. 1950

map. 1910

Four-Dimensional Voids.

Overlaying the historic maps reveals how the site remained as a void despite the extensive changes in the composition of the area, creating almost an urban manifestation of John Cage’s silent piece 4’33’’ from a mass-void perspective.

intimus intimus

interior

interior

inter inter

Layers of Interiority.

The survival of the sites render them as silent inner sanctuaries where they remain hidden from the distractions of the city within layers of urban blocks.

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fig23. Entrance from St Alban’s Court.

fig24. Look towards south east corner of the site.

fig25. Look towards south east corner of the site, the Pewterer’s Company building on the right.

fig26. Site timeline with events effecting its composition and condition in relation to the City timeline.

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fig27. Steps leading to the elevated land, defining a threshold.

fig28. Detail from the steps with the engraving.

fig29. The ‘interiors’ of the site, surroundings reflecting the landscape back.

Brief History: St Mary Staining One of the earliest referrals to the church is in 1189 as “Ecclesia de Staningehage”. The name of the church and Staining Lane suggests association with the name of a landowner from Staines. The Oat Lane adjacent to the site was the location of the Oat Market that existed by 16th century. Although the church was repaired in 1630, it burnt down in 1666 and wasn’t restored. However the burial ground remained as an open space. Today, it is surrounded by buildings with a variety of size and material. On the west is the brick wall which provides insights into the three storey building of the Pewterer’s Company with an impressive interior. The rest of the adjacent structures are tall buildings with glass façades, similarly offering indiscreet views of the offices inside. The landscaping of the site is further reflected and duplicated on these, creating a relief from their overwhelming scale. Yet, the blocks of skyscrapers, especially 88 Wood Street located on the north, protect the site from the traffic noise of busy London Wall Street.

63

aerial view. 2018

map. 1960

map. 1940

Four-Dimensional Voids 64

map. 1870

intimus

interior

inter

Layers of Interiority 65

fig30. Look towards Pancras Lane from Queen St with the trees spilling from the site.

fig31. Historic plaque to the Great Fire.

fig32. Detail of the ‘interiors’ of the site showing day light conditions.

fig33. Site timeline with events effecting its composition and condition in relation to the City timeline.

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fig35. Details of the pavement design and the seating.

fig34. The existing trees emphasize the verticality of the site.

fig36. Details of the seating and the landscape.

Brief History: St Pancras Soper Lane Established in 1108, the church was granted the site in 1379. In 1550 the churchyard existed as a sliver of land, yet following the destruction of the church building in 1666, the site as a whole was turned into a burial ground. It was closed to burials in 19th century and remained as an open space. The excavations on the site in 1963-4 revealed parts of the destroyed church (foundations and tower wall in particular) and a well. The remains are preserved 0.6-0.9m below the ground and the site is designated as a Scheduled Ancient Monument in 1979. Today, the site is surrounded by two major streets; Cheapside, which continues as Poultry, and Queen Victoria. The area is again dominated by commercial buildings. The churchyard is engulfed in the back of a six-to-seven-storey office building; facing the glass covered atrium of another one across Pancras Lane. As this glass structure is shorter, the north wall/faรงade of the site is washed by natural light during day. A small corner of the famous No.1 Poultry is revealed on the east side, right at the turn to Sise Lane.

67

aerial view. 2018

map. 1960

map. 1895

Four-Dimensional Voids 68

map. 1870

intimus

interior

inter

Layers of Interiority 69

fig38. Former churchyard now public garden in 2011, with memorial to Catrin Glyndwr.

fig37. ‘Interiors’ of the site, landscaping in conversation with the adjacent façades.

fig40. Site timeline with events effecting its composition and condition in relation to the City timeline.

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fig39. Engraving showing St Swithin London Stone Church in 1839.

fig41. Bomb-damaged Wren church ruins with London Stone, picture taken in 1962 just before the remains were demolished.

fig43. Engraving showing the south front of the Wren church and Cannon Street in 1831, the churchyard remains hidden from the street.

fig42. Look towards the site from the junction of Cannon Street and Salter’s Hall Court.

fig44. Look inside the garden towards entrance gate.

Brief History: St Swithin London Stone The churchyard was established in 1286, originally with a church building set back from the street with the churchyard in between. During the construction of a new and larger building in 1420, the site arrangement has changed; the church moved to the junction of St Swithun’s Lane and Canwikstrete, leaving a narrow passage to access the churchyard. After the Great Fire the church was rebuilt by Christopher Wren in 1667-8, however was bombed during World War II. The church was known as St Swithin London Stone, as the famous London Stone was located outside of the south wall. Today, the stone which is known to be a landmark since 1100s and was located at the site in 1742, is relocated on the south front of the building that occupies the bombed church. The churchyard remains as an open space, although it is completely devoured by office complexes. It is completely hidden from the Cannon Street and its hustle, particularly the Cannon Street Station. The ‘interior’ of the site is primarily determined by a retained brick façade, hiding behind a glass structure, and the curved reflective façades of a tall modern office building.

71

aerial view. 2018

map. 1970

map. 1950

Four-Dimensional Voids 72

map. 1870

intimus

interior

inter

Layers of Interiority 73

fig45. Engraving from 1839 showing the Church of St George Botolph Lane, which the parish joined in 16th century.

fig46. Look towards the Church of St George Botolph Lane from Botolph Lane in 1814, revealing the height of the surrounding structures at the time.

fig47. ‘Interiors’ of the site today with the the single tree giving its name to the park.

fig48. Site timeline with events effecting its composition and condition in relation to the City timeline.

74

fig49. Detail of the Gatepiers from inside the site.

fig50. Gatepiers of the churchyard remaining.

fig51. Look towards the site from Monument Street, from the east of the site.

Brief History: St Botolph Billingsgate The church was first recorded in 1181, but an earlier mention suggests its foundation was in 1140s. The site was granted in 1393 and the churchyard became the upper burying ground of the parish which was located at the south of Lower Thames Street. The church building burned down in the Great Fire and was not rebuilt, however the churchyard remained. The parish was later joined to the St. George Botolph Lane, for which the churchyard became an additional burial ground. By 1873 according to the OS maps, the burial ground has become a playground for a War School established in the east of the site. In 1887, site was subject to minor alterations as it was partially truncated during the extension of Monument Street to Lower Thames Street. Currently, the churchyard is squeezed by a residential hall, carving out a small volume with monotonous brick faรงades; five storey high on one side, eight storey high on the other. Although it is nearby the Monument and a local pub, the site still provides a moment of tranquillity. The commercial building located right across, protects the site from the buzzing traffic of Lower Thames Street.

75

aerial view. 2018

map. 1950

map. 1890

Four-Dimensional Voids 76

map. 1870

intimus

interior

inter

Layers of Interiority 77

A LANGUAGE FOR SILENCE 3

Pattern Sample from ‘A Pattern Language’.

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A Language for Silence

How can intangible phenomena like contemplation and silence be preserved?

The project seeks to answer this inevitable question in an intangible form of adaptive reuse, by embracing the ‘Pattern Language’ theory introduced by architect Christopher Alexander in 1977. The theory is indeed a methodology in which each formulated pattern stands for a rule or relationship established between elements/components of a design, defining how a specific entity/result can be generated. The whole concept is based on creation of a set of patterns that would work similar to ‘language’; in a sense that infinite variety of results can be achieved through multiple uses of the patterns.

In order to address the universal aspect of contemplation as a fundamental component of human existence, a progressive ‘pattern language’ is proposed which transcends the confinements of any particular architectural typology and religious or cultural heritage. It further acknowledges the highly relative nature of contemplation, and therefore, refuses a rigid, and rather dull, approach to preservation which would entail mere replication of a physical structure or element.

The qualities mentioned in the previous sections all stand out as necessary and common elements of producing contemplative environments, and are nonetheless shaped by accumulation of collective knowledge in the course of time. Therefore, each is reinterpreted in form of a pattern to compose ‘A Language for Silence’, with interiority and layering as the key figures of this composition.

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82

PATTERNS

83

84

01 | Interiority: Creation of a distinction, or a sense of distinction, between inside and outside is necessary to accentuate inner reflection. It can be achieved through physical construction of boundaries; contrast in scale, materials and other physical qualities; or through manipulation of subtle and intangible features, such as lighting. It is the principle pattern of the language and is further emphasized through the application of the ones following.

02 | Layering: Multiple and sequential use of layers to particularly define an ‘innermost’ space that is reached by passing through these layers, can subconsciously evoke a transcendental journey inwards. It can manifest in layering partitions/ boundaries in horizontal axis; enveloping the inner space; or linear/axial alignment of spaces which eventually lead to the inner space. It further deepens the feeling of isolation from the outside world and depth, and therefore interiority.

85

86

03 | Verticality: Highlighting the vertical axis can further provide a relief from the material surroundings and therefore support the effect of interiority. This can be achieved through the relative scale and height of a space in relation to its surroundings, shaping a ‘room with celestial ceiling’; or can be reflected in less physical relationships obtained with the intangible features.

04 | Threshold: It is an integral and essential pattern for defining a distinction of inside and outside. This effect of entering or reaching a sanctuary enclosure can be attained by placement of spatial elements, physically dividing the space; creation of unobtrusive relationships with intangible features like the change in soundscape, reflections and shadows that light casts, and the subtle/invisible sense of transition such relationships can form.

87

88

05 | Gradation: It is a natural component of interiority and layering with the anticipation of reaching an ‘inner space’, gradually moving inwards. It can be obtained through multiple ways such as the reduction of distracting stimuli; gradual change in size, scale and form; and/or lighting conditions. Since it entails a shift or change, it can further manifest through a subtle emphasis on the passing of time; or its spatial reflections.

89

MAKING ‘ROOM’ FOR SILENCE

Large enough for a person, rarely bigger, Greek exedra, sunken into the wall, was reserved for quiet meditation and contemplation; creating a small and contained space in a much denser and bigger building mass.

(Exedra in the Roman Temple of Jupiter, Baalbek Lebanon)

Distilled light and contemplation; ‘I wanted to create place of silence, of prayer, of peace and of internal joys.’

(Notre Dame du Haut by Le Corbusier)

Barragan focuses on light and its sacrosanct nature to shape an outdoor space that heightens the awareness of the physical and metaphysical.

The movement of natural light and its ever-changing relationship with the landscape elements and the plain surfaces create a contemplative environment. The reductive aesthetics and composition here further encourages this effect.

(Los Arboledas by Luis Barragan)

The traces of layers and the hearth in the remains of the ancient temple. (Temple of Delphi, Greece)*

Cloister garden located at the centre creates a vertical void, puncturing the mass. (St Gall Monastery, Switzerland)*

Two-dimensional layering and ‘silence’ in Japanese paintings; the emptiness defined by the tree figures is far more significant, making ‘room’ for the breadth of mind and (Pine Trees by Hasegawa Tohaku)

Japanese ‘oku’, or inner space, and its spatial reflections in urban fabric of Tokyo*

Precedents playing a central role in shaping an understanding of the relationship between the space and the concepts of silence, contemplation and interiority *Historic case studies/precedents as discussed in ‘Listening to Silence’ section.

92

Through the condensed arrangement of spotlights, pulsating constantly, the ‘empty’ space is redefined in an immersive and ephemeral experience. Light and people interact with one another, one’s existence defining the transition of the other.

(Forest of Light by Sou Fujimoto)

The light itself becomes a form of spatial experience as one breaks into it, casting shadows not only upon the light’s reflection on the walls, but within the stroke of light beam. It is a physical yet equally intangible interaction with the light-space, evoking a sense of interiority.

(Solid Light Works by Anthony McCall)

The shifting of the light and the view of sky framed by the opening offers a contemplative space, which forms a composite relationship with the site it is located in. This furthermore accentuates a relationship with verticality.

(Skyspaces by James Turrell)

The rotating construction produces a startling array of visual effects. As it interacts with light, creating reflections and shadows on its surroundings, and eventually manipulates the space around, accentuating its form and composition. (Light-Space Modulator by Laszlo Moholy-Nagy)

Precedents that influenced the design proposal by their approach on how light and space interact with one another, and can further suggest interiority through human interaction8 93

Conceptual Combination and Reinterpretation of the Patterns 94

Intangible Room for an Intangible Experience

At the final stage of the project, a series of site-specific installations is proposed for each of the mentioned churchyards. The proposal is directly shaped by the ‘Language of Silence’ and demonstrates an implementation of the defined pattern language.

The concept of the installation is to create an ‘Intangible Room for an Intangible Experience’, with a particular focus on the transcendental nature of contemplation and the churchyards’ relationship with time as four-dimensional voids. In that respect, Light, a physical yet equally intangible phenomenon, is determined as the primary component which plays a key role for both aspects of the installation. It is used to form non-material spaces that change composition and position, both with the movement of sunlight during the day and the shift to artificial light during the night. In that sense, these light-spaces establish a direct relationship to the passing of time, becoming spatio-temporal forms of contemplation by themselves.

The body of the installation consists of a set of armatures that are designed to work together with the significant elements present in the churchyards. The organisation of these armatures and elements is directly determined by the patterns of the language, and they are combined in various ways to fit the physical conditions of each site, thus creating composite relationships.

The pattern language is reinterpreted and applied in this framework: 01 | Interiority: The interaction of the human body with the light-space 02 | Layering: Overlay of multiple light reflections and shadows 03 | Verticality: The juxtaposition of the light sources 04 | Threshold: The non-material boundary defined by the light 05 | Gradation: Gradual shift from daylight to artificial light and the movement of the sunlight

95

Elevation with All the Elements Assembled.

96

connection connection

connection

Inventory: Installation Armatures A. rotating armature | A1. armature type 1 | A2. armature type 2 | R1. reflector type 1 (large) R2. reflector type 2 (small) | M. focus lens | S. spotlight | B. base 97

98

Daytime Scenario. sunlight is reflected through R1 and R2 to create various light-spaces

Nighttime Scenario. artificial light is reflected through M to create light-space

99

Variations for the Armature Assemblage.

100

The way that the armatures work with light is similar to Moholy-Nagy’s Space-Light Modulator. The main function of the armatures is to direct and manipulate the Light, whether be it sunlight or spotlight, into the desired position to form the light-spaces. Although their configuration is determined by the patterns and their implications as mentioned before, their assemblage is flexible, forming necessary variations to adapt to different positions of light and site conditions.

Reflectors (R1/R2), focus lens (M), spotlight (S) and, as its name indicates, rotating armature (A) can rotate once they are attached. The main self-standing trunk of the installation is composed of the base (B) and armature types 1 and 2 (A1/A2).

101

102

Light: Interiority, Threshold and Gradation.

Intangible space is defined by light and changes position with the movement of sun during day.

Movement of the sun and changing position of the light-spaces provide gradation in time. top left to right. daytime scenario hour 1, daytime scenario hour 2 103

Daytime Scenario hour 1 and 2 together 104

Night Time Scenario 105

106

Light: Layering. top left. overlaid light-spaces of multiple reflections top right. overlaid light-spaces of multiple reflections, filtered by natural elements in the sites

top. overlaid and filtered light-spaces, daytime 107

Installation Inventory for Each Site 108

Assemblage and location of the armatures within each site is determined particularly by the site conditions such as the position of daylight and the presence of other physical elements.

Existing landscape elements or other architectural features replace the certain armature types in each assemblage, creating a variety of inventory and application for the installation, as can be seen on the left page. This also determines the number of armatures needed.

The initial inventory of the sites is determined by their prominent elements and features (apart from the common ones such as the benches and the tombstones) as follows; St Ann Blackfriars | The existing tree which dominates the sight.

St Mary Staining | The new churchyard wall, surrounding the elevated land; existing tree; exterior lighting of the adjacent building.

St Pancras Soper Lane| Tall and lean trees, casting multiple shadows.

St Swithin London Stone | Various dwarf vegetation; the landscaped pavement/pathway.

St Botolph Billingsgate (One Tree Park) | The old renaming gate of the churchyards; circular planter; surface of the adjacent walls/façades.

At this point, the direction of daylight is significant as it affects not only the position of the light-space but also its form and reflection. As how it hits the existing elements and surfaces is different for each site, the way the light-space is ‘filtered’ by the shadows that this interaction casts is different as well. Following the movement of sunlight and therefore the passing of the time, these ever-changing light-spaces embody ‘momentary’ sections in time; thus, providing an encounter as transient and ephemeral as themselves.

109

Allocation and Organization of the Installation within the Site 110

Proposal: St Ann Blackfriars

As the dominant feature, the tree remaining at the site is used to replace the trunk of the installation and the rotating armatures.

Reflectors are attached to its branches. Spotlight is fixed to the base and located across the gate, projecting towards the focus lens on the tree.

111

112

top. former site view. left. site view with the installation; the tree becoming the body of the installation where the reflectors and the focus lens are located.

113

top. former site view from the passage entrance. left. site view with the installation.

114

115

Allocation of the Installation 116

As the main body of the installation is replaced by the existing tree, the main additional installation piece is reduced to a contracted body of base (B) and spotlight (S), which is activated at night to project light upon the focus lens (M) on the tree.

117

Night and Day Infused 118

Following the shift from day to night, reflected light source transitions from sunlight to spotlight; creating a gradual transition in vertical axis (as the position of the sunlight and spotlight inevitably suggest), changing the position of the light-space and manifesting the passing of time.

119

120

Daytime. The light-space is filtered by the leaves of the tree due to the positioning of the reflectors (R1 and R2) on the tree.

Nighttime. Focus lens (M) is positioned lower on the tree, avoiding any filtering effect and casting a direct and strong light-space in the ‘lonely’ bench and a portion of the brick wall with the circular aperture.

121

Allocation and Organization of the Installation within the Site 122

Proposal: St Mary Staining

One of the rotating armatures is replaced by the tree existing at the site. A single spotlight from the exterior lighting of the adjacent office building is reflected through the reflector which is located on the site wall to the focus on the main installation body. The trunk is positioned so as to reflect the daylight projected through the reflector on the tree, and the artificial light.

123

124

top. former site view from the junction of Soper Ln and Gresham St. left. site view with the installation; almost completely assembled, the installation is particularly visible from this viewpoint.

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126

top. former site view from Noble St looking towards Oat Ln. left. site view with the installation; the position and the functioning of the main body of the installation depends on the reflector (R2) located at the top of the tree.

127

Allocation of the Installation 128

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130

Daytime. The light-space is reflected on the north section of the site, gradually moving upon the line of benches, the vegetation covering the remaining tombstones and the remains of the old churchyard wall in the back.

Nighttime. The spotlight (S) is replaced by the existing exterior lighting of the adjacent concave building. It is reflected through the reflector (R1) located on the new wall of the churchyard and directed towards the focus lens (M).

131

Allocation and Organization of the Installation within the Site 132

Proposal: St Pancras Soper Lane

As the sight is rich in natural elements, particularly lean tall trees, the reflectors and the focus lens are attached onto their branches; allowing multiplication and overlay of lightspaces within the setting. The main installation body is used for locating two artificial light sources for the night time.

133

134

top. former site view. left. site view with the installation; the body of the installation (A1+A2) is only used to carry the spotlights and works harmoniously with the reflectors located on the trees.

135

136

Daytime. Variety of the vegetation, the ‘furniture’ and the flooring materials provides a variety of filtered light reflections and textures. Light-spaces are multiplied and overlaid both by the motion of the sun, and multiple reflectors on the trees.

Nighttime. There are two spotlights located on the installation body; one directed towards the focus lens (M), the other positioned on the floor. A layering effect similar to day time is achieved, yet it is devoid of filtering due to the position of the spotlights.

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Allocation and Organization of the Installation within the Site 138

Proposal: St Swithin London Stone

Variety of dwarf vegetation is integrated into the installation composition to hold the reflectors and the focus lens. The installation body carries the main reflector collecting the sunlight and is elongated by additional armatures to stand above the tall faรงades surrounding the site. Spotlight is also assembled to the body.

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top. former site view. left. site view with the installation; the height of the adjacent structures required a taller installation body to collect the daylight and project it towards the site, becoming a dominant and towering feature in the end, accentuating the verticality in its overall appearance.

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Daytime. The collected daylight is then projected towards the reflectors (R1 and R2) which are spread around the site, located on the existing vegetation; casting a variety of filtered or non-filtered light-spaces.

Nighttime. The spotlight (S) on the main installation body is positioned much lower though unlike the collecting reflector (R1).

Light is then reflected from the focus lens (M), creating a split light-space, highlighting the narrowness of the pavement.

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Allocation and Organization of the Installation within the Site 144

Proposal: St Botolph Billingsgate

Existing base of the dwarf tree replaces the base of the trunk. All of the armatures are almost completely attached to that, except for the spotlight. One of the historic gatepiers is used as the base holding the spotlight.

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top. former site view. left. site view with the installation; similar to the St Swithin, the main installation body accentuates the verticality as it collects the daylight.

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Daytime. Installation works more independently compared to the other sites, to direct the light. However its location is determined by the circular planter which replaces the base (B). The light-space moves upon the surrounding brick faรงades, breaking their monotony.

Nighttime. The light is projected from the spotlight which is positioned on the old gatepier, and is reflected through the focus lens to form a light space towards the entrance.

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CONCLUSION 3

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Conclusion

Given the rapid and continuous urbanisation of the world and the ever-increasing densification of the cities, it seems more essential than ever to sustain the richness of urban experiences. It is through preservation of such non-profitable qualities, that the superficial and restrictive perception imposed by a materialistic world view can be challenged. Therefore, it is necessary to reclaim the immaterial aspects of engaging with the urban fabric which are prone to oblivion, so that the built environment can be perceived as a meaningful and complete embodiment of the human condition.

So far, this research project has intended to present a personal and speculative response on the subject, within the context of silence and contemplative experiences. It is an inquiry on how the intertwined relationship of silence, contemplation and interiority is reflected within the City of London, particularly in the case of five preserved churchyards. In order to perpetuate the spatial qualities inherent in these spaces and their precedents, an immaterial form of adaptive reuse is embraced, translating these qualities into a pattern language. The series of site-specific installations demonstrates an implementation of this language, reusing and adapting the defined qualities into an abstract yet physical response; a spatio-temporal form of contemplation. The installation is to emphasize the existence and contemplative nature of these sites as ‘urban rooms’, and to encourage their preservation. Although, the armature kit of the installation can be used to create similar effects in other spaces and can adapt to different configurations and site conditions, it is particularly proposed for the mentioned churchyards as it addresses their ‘interiority’.

Jonathan Hill, Immaterial Architecture, (Routledge, 2006), pp.183.

1

Yet, the pattern language itself transcends the scope of these churchyards and is intended as an inclusive approach which can work outside the context of London. It remains open to further interpretations; to preserve the experience of contemplation and to make ‘room’ for silence in the future.

“Absence of material is not the absence of meaning.”1 Jonathan Hill

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BIBLIOGRAPHY 155

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LIST OF FIGURES 159

INTRODUCTION: LISTENING TO SILENCE 1| A History of Architecture on the Comparative Method.

2| Spatial Configuration Characteristics of Religious Buildings: A Comparative Study.

3| Understanding Architecture by Leland M. Roth.

4| Analysing Architecture by Simon Unwin.

5| Online < https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Plan_of_Shinto_Shrine. jpg > 6| ‘Shinto Shrine Complex at Ise’, Art Past/ Art Present, by D. Wilkins, B. Schultz, and K. Linduff. < http://www.pitt.edu/~asian/week-4/week-4.html> 7-8| On the Origins of the Medieval Cloister.

9-10| The Enclosed Garden.

SEARCHING FOR THE REMAINS OF SILENCE 1-2| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

3| Aerial View: Google Maps (2019).

4| Aerial View: Google Maps (2019), Map of London Parishes: British History Online <https://www.british-history.ac.uk/london-record-soc/vol32/pp2-3> 5| Museum of London Prints.

6| Wate’s Book of London Churchyards.

7| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

8-9| City of London Corporation, City of London Churchyards Statement of Significance.

10| Wate’s Book of London Churchyards.

11-14| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

15-19| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

20-21| City Gent, The Medieval City Monasteries (2017). < https:// symbolsandsecrets.london/2017/10/19/the-medieval-city-monasteries/> 22| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

23-27| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

28| Online < https://www.flickr.com/photos/norfolkodyssey/6827812272> 29-31,33-34| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

32, 35-36| Studio Weave < http://www.studioweave.com/projects/stpancras-church-garden/> 37,40,42,44| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

38-39| London Parks and Gardens Trust, London Garden Records. < http://www.londongardensonline.org.uk/gardens-online-record. php?ID=COL101> 41| Scanned from original.

43| Engraving by Thomas H. Shepherd (1831).

45| The Churches of London by George Godwin.

46| Engraving by Joseph Skelton, Architectura Ecclesiastica Londini; being a Series of Views (1814).

47-51| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

Soundmaps between page: 34-40 | Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

Maps used for overlays on pages: 46,50,54,58,62 | Historic Maps available at Digimap <Digimap.edina.co.uk> Layers of Interiority Figures on pages: 47,51,55,59,63 | Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

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A LANGUAGE FOR SILENCE Example on page: 80 | A Pattern Language.

Pattern figures on pages: 84-89 | Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

MAKING ‘ROOM’ FOR SILENCE Figures from page 94 to the end of section| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

CONCLUSION Figure-Collage| Fatma Zeyneb Onsiper.

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