Design Sermon Vol 1: The Search for Transcendental Architecture
Vol 1. Written from Buenos Aires, inspired by time in Paris.
I first read philosopher Alain de Botton’s Religion for Atheists: A non-believer's guide to the uses of religion in my early 20s. I was somewhere in Paris, just beginning my first stint of the now-arguably overplayed (potentially culture-killing) digital nomad lifestyle.
I was grappling with religion at the time. Arguably spending far too much time visiting The Notre Dame Cathedral. I wasn’t going to pray, but to watch other people watch other people pray. I found it mesmerizing that the church was organized by two organized lines — one for worshippers and one for visitors. The presumably non-religious visitors would be directed away from the pews and instead stand along the bays and take photographs of the believers. How strange, I thought. When did religion become a form of entertainment? Has this always been the case?
But I would visit again and again, feeling my heart swell with the propagandic power of the stained glass and the arched majesty of the flying buttresses. If religion is the opium of the masses, then the church would be the set and setting. Yet I found myself more drawn to the physical church than the doctrines of good book.
In the Parthenon, the statue of Athena was not mere representation — it was imbued with the presence of the goddess herself. I felt this within the walls of the Notre Dame. The church itself is not merely the setting for religion — it is the ritual, the relic, the very substance of the transcendence itself. For me, the church itself was the drug.
Despite this overly esoteric introduction, I can assure you this is not a series about religion. It’s a response to Alain de Botton’s aforementioned book — a weekly attempt at a reflective sermon. It’s a series about architecture and design so raw and real it moves us into the transcendent. A space for us to remember that every day places are worthy of admiration, that beauty and history line the streets we walk on as a living conversation between the generations, and that visual culture is worthy of study.
Have any suggestions or things you’d love to see? Please share 🖤
music to listen while you read.
I stole this idea from Patricia of Wellness Wisdom, but here is the music to throw on while you read.
//architecture//
The Most Beautiful Library in the World. Or, a Love Letter to Adaptive Reuse.
The first time I came across the concept of adaptive reuse was about a decade ago. I was thumbing through a design magazine and a series on the reuse of malls was presented. With thousands of once-cool malls laying dormant throughout the states, we had to wonder — what the hell can we do with all that infrastructure? Well, what about after-school programs, housing for the elderly, indoor farming? What about finally welcoming more third spaces into our communities and de-centering our lives around consumerism?
[steps off of soap box]
El Ataneo Grand Splendid in Buenos Aires is one of the most exquisite examples of an adaptive reuse program. Originally opened in May 1919, the stage went on to present some of the most famous tango dancers, plays, and musical talent in Argentina. It later became a movie theatre before being purchased and renovated by the ILHSA Group for $3million (what a steal — imagine the financial and environmental cost of demolition + rebuild. And all the history we’d lose in the process). That renovation led to El Ataneo Grand Splendid that we have today — with coffees sipped on the stage, books lining the rows, and red chairs in the old boxes to simply sit and read.
//architecture//
Necropolis Architecture. Or, if Hades was an Architectural Style, Would He be a Romantic or a Brutalist?
The three public cemeteries in Buenos Aires are divided by social class. Apparently you can’t escape your station even in death.
While most people know Recoleta, the final resting place of Eva Perón, presidents of Argentina, Nobel Prize winners, fewer people know Sexto Panteón de Chacarita. The resting place of the people — of the middle class, of musicians, of athletes who didn’t make god-like status.
In 1966, (female <3 ) Architect Itala Fulvia Villa’s brutalist necropolis was finalized. A sweeping descent into the underworld, one of concrete and sharp lines, stone facades and blue stone pathways. It is a true city of the dead, and her designs stir in me a realization that maybe Hades was more of a brutalist than a romantic (though I’ve always preferred the more feminist and romantic reading that Persephone went to Hades of her own free will — to seek love and the opportunity to be queen. But I digress.).
While these are my own photos, for a deeper dive into someone whose commitment to the project check out architect and researcher Léa Namer’s work or this article from Arch Daily.
Thanks for stopping by. Send me beautiful things you see and think of,
Bayley