In 1977 I was entrusted to transform a ‘poor’ factory into a church, not before being interviewed by Bishop L. Wall. It was a few weeks after I was accepted as a member of the Ontario Association of Architects.
I walked into his office; it reeked of cigar smoke and without the courtesy of sitting down he asked me: “What experience do you have with church design?” I responded: “None”. He continued: “Why should I give you this project?” I said confidently: “Because I’m a good architect.”He paused, took a long puff from the thick cigar, blew the smoke out of his nostrils, and said with a smirk on his face: “Time will tell how good anarchitect you are. I have yet to see anyone turn a sow’s ear into a silkpurse.”
Uponvisiting the site, my enthusiasm was subdued by the nondescript industrial building. It was bounded by a multi-lane highway to the north and to the east by an active railroad track. My enthusiasm was further subdued by the limited budget and the unknown condition of the building. Outside I was met with heavy trucks and cars, cranes and buckets, track frames and metal rollers, piles of gravel and other construction material, the constant hum of traffic from the multi-lane highway and the rumbling of the interminable freight train.
I took refuge inside through the huge metal rolling door and there I was met by loud banging, irritating scraping, and flying sparks. The place smelled of oil and it was not sacred. It was mixed with blasphemy, exploitation, and danger. I could not imagine a more squalid and profane place as Bishop Wall’s warning echoed within me.
I waited until everyone went away and in silence, I was struck by the light flowing through the southern large windows and by the lofty height of the garage: light and space are the main ingredients of architecture.
Once the grime on the interior skin was removed and the structure was exposed, I discovered that the building had been gradually built. The structural elements were all different: wooden and metal joists, steel beams and concrete columns. The whole highlighted the ingenuity of the previous owner, a migrant from Italy.
I too was a migrant and thus I set myself the task of turning the building from a profane place into a sacred space. I began by abstracting liturgical symbols into a palette of sensory elements: ‘campanile, baldacchino, cupola, screen, water, colour and light.’ The first triad became clearly visible from the outside. The screen walls, inside and outside, recalled the lattice of the opening of the confessional booth. And the running water from the baptismal font was to flow into the old oil-trough running.
A blue mediterranean colour was applied to the thirty-metre-long truss and the stained glass of the sanctuary. During the design and construction process, a purgatorial place, the community held regular Sunday services.
On the day of the consecration, Bishop Wall delivered the homely while sitting on the ‘cathedra.’ Behind him, indirect light streamed through the intaglio cut into the southern ‘screen’ in the form of a cross. The arms of the cross flowed from the earth to the sky. I wanted to represent the resurrection and redemption with light rather than the ubiquitous figure of the crucified Jesus. Simultaneously from the cupola rays of sunshine fell upon the seating arrangement that embraced the sanctuary.
The Bishop ended his homily, as his eye swept over the congregation, with these words: “I thought I would never see a sow’s ear turn into a silk purse.” He waved his hand from left to right and said: “Here is the sacred purse and you are all in it.”
