Memories by Nicholas Coates

a ph e n o m e n o l o g i c a l a n a l y s i s o f Br i o n C e m e t e r y nicholas coates

24 february 2014

11:23 AM I look out the window and see the train coming to a stop. The conductor is speaking a language unknown, though by the scenery and knots in my stomach from overwhelming excitement, I know that I have made it. Just moments ago I was in Venice, a city with layers and layers of richness. The memories fill my mind and make it all seem so surreal. The supple leather handle of my bag caresses my hand. I make my way to the door, into a new realm. A quaint train station is greeting me, telling me I’m about to embark on a journey that will forever change my life. 11:28 AM I stand with seven of my colleagues. The smells of döner kebab fill my nose. Where is the bus that is supposed to take me away? A local man says, “follow me.” His cobalt scarf and charcoal jacket remind me that the mountains are in the periphery, my home away from home. Street after street I travel, through the walled city. Finally, the bus depot emerges, my gateway to beyond. 12:18 PM The flat countryside fills my vision. A glimpse of the cemetery is unveiled, only to be covered again by trees and buildings. The bus comes to a stop. I exit. The smell has changed. Pine trees and musty concrete appear. Only one kilometer stands in my way. It feels like the fastest and slowest time of my life. I walk down the processional tree lined street. The entry is extended beyond the physical architecture. I am enveloped by thin pines with slivers of light penetrating through. Only a few more feet. 12:27 PM I have arrived. Brion. I think about how I have studied Scarpa for years and was in two of his great works in the days prior. Yet, I’m not sure if I am

prepared. What secrets is the building hiding? What is the scale actually like? Will I be disappointed after setting my expectations so high? I walk through the heavy concrete door that was left open by the caretaker. I put my bag behind the gate, knowing that Carlo Scarpa is watching over me. This is it. I take a deep breath. What should I see first? My heart is pounding, my body filled with emotions that are unknown. To my left, I see a walkway leading from the chapel to a grassy area. The walkway is pulled apart and consists of cast concrete steps spaced evenly. They cross over water with gaps in between. The water level has subsided. Rich, green, slimy moss creeps its way up the concrete. I enter the chapel. A truncated circle marks my threshold before leading into the soaring verticality of the space. Stepped layers of what appears to be a bronze-like material lead my eyes to the sky. The sunlight pours in, filling the voids like the water of the pond beyond. An altar is located beneath the oculus. On top, a bible, guestbook, and pen are present. I am reminded that this is a living, breathing space, not simply a ruin for only architects to enjoy. I sign my name. Pages and pages of names fill this book. How many people have been to this incredible piece of architecture? What did they think when they were here? What have they left behind? Beyond the altar are several tiny windows, some of which are open. I creep closer. My hand touches the smooth metallic latch. As the window opens, light traces its path against the dust that is stirring. The sounds from beyond, the smells, the feelings, start to enter the space. I exit through the open door. The steps that caught my attention as I walked in are in front of me. I walk across them, carefully observing my movement to keep from stumbling into the water. I return. The steps feel so perfect. My stride matches each step, allowing a casual walking pace across. I return again. And again. During each trip I am uncovering something new, seeing new layers.

The edge of the units have a stepped pattern, forming a pixelated “v”. The pattern turns the corner and leads into the gentle water, being seen alongside a strong reflection of the chapel. The smoothness of the water creates another world within the reflections. The spaces do not end at the ground. They simply go on forever, living in an alternate universe. Is this part of the magic behind Brion? Questions about life and death fill my mind. I have always thought about the architecture as a beautiful space, finely designed and crafted in a way only Scarpa could have accomplished. Yet, I am now wondering more about the program, the act of death itself. What layers and interpretations of death and afterlife are present that can only be witnessed firsthand? 12:44 PM I make my way to the famous double circle apertures. A concrete tube envelops my body. A geometric pattern of stone touches my feet. I take a few steps. A loud bang echoes through the hallway and is accompanied by an uneasiness to the extremities of my foot. I retract my foot and stand still. My curiosity about the loose stone is getting the best of me. I force my foot onto the stone again, this time intentionally, seeing what kings of sounds can be created. The sound waves ripple throughout the space, throughout the cemetery. I carefully observe the moving stone. The sharp sounds seem almost silent, the visual intrigue capturing all of my attention. I proceed to the circular windows. Strong shadows make the hallway relatively dark. I can make out the points where the path leads, but the intricacies of the path itself remain a mystery. The windows frame the cemetery in the foreground with a rich blue sky beyond. My place is marked by the lack of snow covered peaks in the view beyond. The alps are to my back, Italy to the front. Stillness. Church bells sound. I have been completely immersed in the cemetery, yet am now drawn beyond. What lurks in the village? I

want to know more about the church. The sound echoes, lasting longer and longer. The bells stop. I turn my attention back to the openings. What was Scarpa communicating with two intersecting circles? Life and death? Rest and unrest? Blue tiles line the perimeter one circle with a rich auburn encircling the other. What happens in the middle space? Is it both life and death? Before me, the magical glass door pulls me closer and closer. The door divides the path, limiting access to beyond. Through the door, I see a framed view of the path alongside water, turning the corner before being cropped by the frame. I push on the round metal piece that caps the glass. The metal connects to a track in the concrete wall and has a cable connecting to above. After about six inches of vertical travel, a clank emerges. The door stops moving. I look down and notice a lock is restricting movement. Thoughts of anger fill my body. I had traveled so far only to be denied access to the most incredible door in the world. I let the door slowly drift its way back to its resting place and decide to push down again. I might not be able to open it fully, but it doesn’t seem to stop me from wanting to try. As I push, I feel the door pushing back. I hear the heaviness as the cable slides down, touching and rubbing against the concrete in places. Bang. The door reaches its limit. I remove my hand, watching the counterweight raise it back up before me. I feel one of my colleagues approach behind me. “Push on this door and let me go around the wall to see the pulley system,” I say. I run down the hallway, over the loose stone. I turn the corner and jump over a thin, dried sliver of water. I proceed down the lawn to the metal cable telling me I can go no further. I step over the cable, up to the concrete wall. The wall is board formed, with scars from years of rain breaking apart its texture, creating a new one in the process. The color is a dark gray, with spots of black that appear upon closer observation. I look up to the sky. A series of circular discs

that route a cable system are attached at the tip of the wall. I hear the door moving, the friction against its track. The cables move slightly, bringing the static wall to life. What is the pattern of the cables? Is there only one way they can run in order to provide the correct counterweight to the door? The scattered discs are incredibly beautiful in their own right, yet become stronger with the shadows subtly tracing the cables. I find the starting point and make my way through each one, marking the path in my mind. I want to stand and observe this door for the entire day. It fascinates every inch of my being and reveals the mastery of an incredible architect. 2:26 PM What time is it? I look at my watch. The second hand spins but the world around me stands still. Where had the last hour gone? It was filled with much activity yet felt as if it vanished within a moment. The duality of time in this space is unlike any I have encountered in my time on earth. I look down at Scarpa’s tomb, his final resting place. He is on the opposite side of the main space, located amongst all the other tombs. A field of burial spaces appear as I turn to my right. Their appearance is nothing like the world that is on the other side of Scarpa’s wall. Each tomb is unique, many ornate. It is as if two worlds are coming together with Scarpa resting in the middle. What must it have been like for him to spend so much of his life designing a cemetery? There isn’t a surface that he hasn’t touched. As a result, the space is something I want to feel with my hands; one that I want to experience not through an image but by the physicality of being there, both in this moment and in the future. I am intrigued by the modesty of Scarpa’s grave. He constructs such rich experiences to parts of the cemetery yet he is humbly placed on the outskirts, looking in at his work instead of being completely immersed in it. I think back to the notion of

death itself. It is a scary thought, yet the space makes me feel at ease. I feel peace. I have a smile. I know that death is not something to be feared, but to be enjoyed. It is a time of rest. It is freedom. It is going beyond this world into another. Life doesn’t simply end.

3:14 PM I step through the heavy concrete door, only this time to say goodbye. I turn the corner and see the processional treelined street. On this journey, I am processing back into the world, back into the present. I walk to the bus stop and sit on the cold, hard concrete bench. The texture reminds me of Brion, makes me reminisce back to moments before. I enter the bus and head back into town. I look to my left and get one last peak at the cemetery, one last image. I will cherish this image, my time at Brion, for the rest of my life. The architecture was unlike any I have experienced, one that made me feel so at ease around something that is often unsettling. I know now that architecture has the power to captivate, the power to change lives. I will never forget my afternoon at Brion.

re f l e c t i o n t h ro u g h p h o to g ra p h s

the processional element The architecture extends beyond its physical shell. The trees allow enough of the surroundings into the walk while creating mystery about what is to come. The walled cemetery is sheltered, giving it a home and keeping it from appearing as an object in a field.

a continued path While many of the paths have a physical ending, they appear to continue beyond. The end of the corridor frames the village and mountains beyond, bringing them into the architecture.

the threshold The sequence of arrival appears at multiple scales. In the chapel, you proceed through a door into an entry space. You then travel around the circular opening into the main space. This builds up intrigue about what is coming next.

layers Zooming into elements at Brion adds additional definition. Fine textures emerge. Intricate patters only understood at the human scale are present. Layering continues through details into the spaces themselves, creating architecture where there is always more beyond.

remnants Time leaves its mark on Brion. The materials weather with each rainfall. Human occupation creates patterns that are new. Operable moments gain heaviness with age and stir up dust with use. Time is a way of creating and presenting space at Brion.

a place to rest Peace emerges. Tranquil spaces fill the chasm left by the walled perimeter. Still water reflects calmness. Air blows pulling it all together.

the heavens The architecture presents that there is something more beyond. Death is not the end of a journey but a marker along the way. Reminders of this are present throughout, both physically manifested and implied by atmosphere, light, or other elements.

life and death Dualities emerge in almost every aspect. Life and death. Soft and hard. Quiet and loud. Time and timeless. I believe that these elements arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t present to conflict one another, but to search deeper into what each element means.

punctuation Moments of pop delineate the repeating fields. The right amount of each are used in the project, with neither being diluted. These moments of punctuation entice pausing, pulling apart your journey.

more than a door The system is a gateway to beyond. Physically, it creates a strong threshold, making passage beyond thoughtful and with purpose. It makes you pause, think about what is coming next. Similar to life and death, it creates a moment of reflection.

conclusions

MORE THAN A CEMETERY Scarpa illustrates that death is coming into something new. Life doesn’t end, just like his building never seems to end. You enter space after space and feel as if the journey will never come to a close. You wander. Your mind trickles through thoughts of the past, thoughts of the present, thoughts of the future. The physical artifact that emerges from the design is amazing. There is incredible richness in the concrete. The formwork used to create it is almost inconceivable. The level of precision, thought, and carefulness is only rivaled by few architectural works. Details fill the spaces, scaling them down into the most intimate of moments. What it feels like to touch the architecture was thoroughly designed, with roughness, smoothness, and degrees in between filling every moment. There isn’t a single inch of the project that hasn’t been touched by Scarpa, the true measure of a master architect. While the physical remnants are beyond belief, the emotions and feelings that emerge at Brion are what truly matter. Thinking back, I still remember these feelings. I don’t think I will ever forget them. They are hard to put into words and I believe I will never be able to do them justice. The question of how and why this happens is something I think all architects search after. I believe that Scarpa had these thoughts too. He didn’t know what death was or what it meant to be a place for rest. The architecture itself is his interpretation, his thinking through a physical form. The strength of Brion is shown through its layers. It has exceptional design and craft. It has many instances of clear thought and equally as much mysticism. It is the combination of all of these factors that result in a space that is truly remarkable.