I have often wondered how a medieval cathedral would have appeared to a medieval person. Construction of the present Chartres cathedral, for example, was begun in 1194 and largely finished by 1225. How would it have appeared to a passing pilgrim in, say, 1250? Rather different, I suspect, from what I have seen there over my lifetime. The intervening centuries have left their mark on the building, adding to, changing, even damaging and destroying in parts the original structure. Wars and revolutions do as much damage as the weather and air pollution. Well, now I understand, having spent an afternoon in the Sagrada Familia.
When Pope Benedict XVI consecrated La Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família (to give it its full title) in 2010, he designated it a “minor basilica”. Nothing minor about this structure: the church is 90 metres long, the transept 60 metres long, and the vaults rise to 75 metres above floor level, and it currently has eight high bell towers. It is a vast edifice, even measured alongside the largest medieval cathedrals.
The church is still a worksite. Construction started in 1882. A year later Antoni Gaudí took over as head architect. He made it his life’s work: originally revival Gothic in design, he added to it the curvilinear and parabolic forms of Catalan modernism. Gaudí died in 1926, with the building only one quarter completed. Construction has been often interrupted due to lack of money, civil war, and world war. Even Gaudí himself was confronted with questions about the slow rate of progress, to which he once famously replied: “My client is not in a hurry.” The intention is that it be completed by 2026 to mark the centenary of Gaudí’s death; with another six major towers to be completed, that goal seems optimistic.
The basilica has long divided Barcelonians and even opinions among professional architects and art historians are polarised. Much of the criticism relates to the exterior which is still under construction, so judgement of this aspect of the basilica may be reserved until completion.
The interior is effectively finished: the vaulting of the nave was completed in 2000, the transept and apse vaults by 2006, and the nave was fully enclosed for the 2010 consecration.
I find the interior imposing, awe-inspiring, and quite simply beautiful.
The metaphor is the forest. The columns, of different shapes and hues, resemble tree trunks, rising powerfully and spreading from the bole to support the vaults like a forest canopy through which the sunlight filters. This forest of columns is imposing through their sheer size .
The space created throughout the forest is beautifully lit, especially by the stained glass which changes colour from one side of the church to the other. Cool blue and green colours representing morning light on the eastern side change to warm yellow and red colours on the western side representing the evening and sunset.
The height of the vaulting rises from the nave to the apse, so the vaults can always be seen. The vaults are dazzling; the lighting high overhead creates the effect of the sun and stars appearing through the foliage high above.
And remarkably – and this is the point at which my experience coincides with that of my imagined medieval pilgrim at Chartres – the interior has great stylistic unity, especially given that construction has been underway for 135 years. Gaudí’s vision in the first 40 years of this project has been realised.
You can’t sit on the fence when confronted with this unique building. I am a yeasayer: I felt that I was standing in one of the most strikingly beautiful interior spaces in the world. And if it is completed in my lifetime, I will be back to witness the fulfilment of the vision.
