The Lantern of St. Dominic, San Francisco

In the summer of 2010 I posted a couple of photos of St. Dominic's Church, San Francisco which was designed by A.S. Constable in a blend of English and French Gothic styles. What I couldn't find at the time was a photo of the original lantern that topped the tower until it was damaged in an earthquake and had to be removed. I recently stumbled across a photo showing the church in its original condition and must admit the lantern makes all the difference to the design. It really finishes off the tower with a flourish and it pulls together the French and English elements in a way that almost succeeds in creating a new Gothic vocabulary. The design thus becomes international (or perhaps a-national) rather than a mix of two nations' aesthetic cultures.



Note also that the flying buttresses, now so prominent a feature of the church, were not original to the design. It is clear that Constable was influenced by the work of Bertram Goodhue and is very much in line with the mainstream Gothic revivalists of his day. The fact that this influence is so clear suggests Goodhue's role in defining American Gothic revival needs further study. It would also be helpful to see reassessed the impact of English architects such as W.H. Bidlake on the American scene given the similarities between many of his details and Goodhue's.

Be Not Prideful

Still life with a Bouquet and a Skull (1642), Adriaen van Utrecht


Psalm 90 by Isaac Watts

Man mortal, and God eternal
A mournful song at a funeral.

Through every age, eternal God,
Thou art our rest, our safe abode;
High was thy throne ere heav'n was made,
Or earth thy humble footstool laid.

Long hadst thou reigned ere time began,
Or dust was fashioned to a man;
And long thy kingdom shall endure
When earth and time shall be no more.

But man, weak man, is born to die,
Made up of guilt and vanity;
Thy dreadful sentence, Lord, was just,
"Return, ye sinners, to your dust."

A thousand of our years amount
Scarce to a day in thine account;
Like yesterday's departed light,
Or the last watch of ending night.

Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away; our life's a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flower,
Cut down and withered in an hour.

Our age to seventy years is set;
How short the time! how frail the state!
And if to eighty we arrive,
We rather sigh and groan than live.

But O how oft thy wrath appears,
And cuts off our expected years!
Thy wrath awakes our humble dread;
We fear the power that strikes us dead.

Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man;
And kindly lengthen out our span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die, and dwell with thee.

Basilica of Our Lady Queen of All Saints and the Question of Originality

It's not often that an architect comes up with a truly original solution to a problem. Admittedly, there are many whose capabilities outstrip their contemporaries but, as architecture is an art with inherent limits due to various concerns (function, available materials, the skill of local craftsmen, etc.) it should not be expected that each new building be a work of unique genius. In fact, the obsession with originality often handicaps rather than aids the architect in his task. Some of the most interesting and successful works of architecture are often very clearly grounded in an old idea which has been filtered through a new lense. One such building is the Basilica of Our Lady Queen of All Saints in Chicago.














Our Lady Queen of All Saints (1956)

Begun in 1956 and consecrated four years later, the Basilica was designed by the firm of Meyer and Cook. It is very clearly a fresh take on another great Chicago church- R.A. Cram's 1914 Fourth Presbyterian. But, beyond this flattering imitation is the late Victorian tradition of the passage-aisle perhaps the most famous example of which is to be found at G.F. Bodley's church of St. Augustine, Pendlebury (1874). Of course, even Bodley, master that we was, didn't invent the passage-aisle. The usually referenced source is the cathedral of St. Cecile at Albi though many other examples of this structural form exist from the middle ages. It should be clear that what matters is not who created it or where it came from but how it was used. The question of originality is not important at all when confronted with something that 1) works and 2) is pleasing. It is the combination of utility and enjoyment that makes any building worth talking about. Sad indeed that today's architectural establishment is so concerned with doing what hasn't been done before that it has lost sight of doing things well.














Fourth Presbyterian Church (1914)

Bethlehem Down, text by Bruce Blunt set by Peter Warlock (1894-1930)

"When He is King we will give Him the Kings' gifts,
Myrrh for its sweetness, and gold for a crown,
Beautiful robes," said the young girl to Joseph,
Fair with her firstborn on Bethlehem Down.

Bethlehem Down is full of the starlight,
Winds for the spices, and stars for the gold,
Mary for sleep, and for lullaby music
Songs of a shepherd by Bethlehem fold.

When He is King, they will clothe Him in gravesheets,
Myrrh for embalming, and wood for a crown,
He that lies now in the white arms of Mary
Sleeping so lightly on Bethlehem Down.

Here He has peace and a short while for dreaming,
Close huddled oxen to keep Him from cold,
Mary for love, and for lullaby music
Songs of a shepherd by Bethlehem fold.

Bodley Memorial, Holy Trinity, Prince Consort Rd., London (1910)

Edward Warren, a pupil of G.F. Bodley, designed his master's memorial in the northernmost aisle of Holy Trinity Church three years after his death in 1907. Bodley was one of the greatest masters of the Gothic revival and has remained a widely appreciated figure in the architectural profession despite the vagaries of taste in the twentieth century. It is interesting, then, that his memorial was designed in the Jacobean manner rather than in the expected Gothic. I think it perfectly suitable given Bodley's own appreciation for late medieval design and it is reasonable to believe that he would have approved of the sense of accretive growth its presence in the church provides. Seeing as the building was already an example of somewhat Continental design- a departure from the rigid fourteenth century Gothic of many of his other churches- is makes sense that a memorial in a [visually] later design language would be suitable.

Dixit Dominus, G.F. Handel (1685-1759)

This is my all-time favorite setting of the text of Psalm 110. The clip below is only the first movement but it gives an excellent impression of the rest of the work.



Dixit Dominus Domino meo:
Sede a dextris meis, donec ponam inimicos tuos scabellum pedum tuorum.

The Lord said unto my Lord:
Sit thou on my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy foot-stool.

Pulpit, All Saints, Pavement, York (1634)