The Gate at St. Michael’s

You don’t often see it because it is either open or the light behind it is too dark. Yet the design and workmanship of this gate distinguish it as one of the most eloquent in Charleston. The two top sections each have a central panel that looks like an elegant line drawing. Diaphanous, urn-like shapes float in the air surrounded by a beautiful and extremely well thought out pattern of delicate S-scrolls. The tear-drop crown atop each urn resembles a flame, suggesting that it could be a design in honor of the dead.

Front gate of St. Michael’s on Meeting Street

The lower panels are also delicate, but in a more elaborate motif of elongated S-scrolls tied together by a floral button—all of which gives requisite mass to the base.

Considering how much the upper and lower panels differ in their design, form, and finesse, it is tempting to think that two different artisans may have crafted them. And might the crown above the top beam, which is simpler in its design and heavier in its execution, have been done by yet a third hand (or been added later)?

Part of my purpose and pleasure with this blog is not necessarily to dig into all the details. My goal is to enjoy seeing—to pursue foremost the act of looking with awareness—and not be preoccupied with the exactness of historical context. Curiously, though, it is recorded that much of the older wrought-iron work in Charleston, including this gate at St. Michael’s, was done in the mid-19th century by two German-immigrant blacksmiths (Iusti and Werner). But it is also known that there was a third blacksmith (Ortmann). Would it not be interesting if this gate bears the signature of all three artisans?

Something else to appreciate is the vertical panel that runs down the middle of the gate, paralleling the design of the two side panels. This central strip is part of the right gate, which makes it wider than the left gate. But the perfect balance of the overall design hides the subtle difference. You can also walk around the corner on Broad Street—to the back side of the church—and see an exact, slightly more more worn duplicate of this gate.

Whoever created these masterpieces, they hang today resolutely for us to look at more than think about—perhaps in part to demonstrate that the most important thing a gate should do is not keep you out, but allow you in with supreme elegance and grace. ¶

Seeing the Obvious

The obvious has a peculiar way of going unnoticed. You have to look and look and look before you really see. Take, for example, St. Philip’s Church and its three porticoes.

Most churches you see in Charleston and elsewhere have one or several entrances on the same side of the building. And, if there is a portico, there is just one.

St. Philip’s, however, is uniquely situated with long views of both sides. And because the street bends around the front entrance, which is rarely used, that side is easily overlooked. But it is worth a few minutes to stand across the street from it and let yourself gaze.

From across the street you see that the front is broader than the two sides due to the glass windows. And although the front appears smaller (because of the cramped space it is in), the designers made sure that all three porticoes were the same size—the width of the steeple base.

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It is interesting to look at these photos and imagine the building without the neoclassical porticoes and pediments. Architecturally it would work, but their addition provides the steeple with a prominent foundation and lends majesty to the building. In fact, the more you look at the entire structure, the more beauty and harmony you start to  see.

While you’re looking, don’t forget to admire the massive gates on either side, as well as the gate across the street at the entrance to the graveyard. ¶

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St. Philip’s Church
142 Church St.
(843) 722-7734
Get directions

Church Gates Galore

Turn an unsuspecting corner in Charleston and you are likely to find yourself in the vicinity of something beautiful. Take, for example, St. John’s Lutheran Church on the corner of Archdale and Clifford whose spectacular wrought-iron gates are passed by hundreds of cars and nearly as many pedestrians a day. If you happen to be one, or in one of them, do yourself a favor. Pause on your walk, get out of your car, and have a good look at the massive yet delicate workmanship that has been on display here for some two hundred years.

Front gate of St. John’s Lutheran Church

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This first photo shows the central of three gates at the front of the church, on Archdale Street. Notice the lace-like design on its vertical sides and in the top and lower-middle horizontal pieces.

The sides and top are beautifully joined by two square corner pieces whose emblem echos yet varies the same design, and which are capped with exquisite S-scrolls, a small heart, a ball, and a star.

That might have even been enough, but the designers thought to add the large crown (which in this photo is unfortunately not easy to see against the window behind it). The overall effect—and there are three of these gates at the front—is grandiose, to say the least. It is almost too much for the proportions of the portico that houses them.

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Side gate on Clifford Street

Compare that design to the one on this side gate just around the corner on Clifford Street. The general design is similar, but the theme and variations are wonderfully different. Of note are the doors of this gate which are topped with spear heads. The swooping design also matches the undulating fence that stretches along Clifford Street. Notice, too, the marvelously varied patterns in the lower-middle horizontal panel. If J.S. Bach had been a metal worker, he would have designed gates like this one.

Detail of front gate

Shown below are details of both gates. Notice how the caps above the two side panels on each gate echo but vary from each other. And look at the large crown on the second gate: the intricate design, and the two smaller scroll-heart-ball-star pieces which tie in nicely with the ‘parent’ caps on each side. This is as exquisite as wrought-iron gets. ¶

Detail of side gate

A Beauty for all Seasons

Integrity in Fall and Winter. Magnificence in Spring and Summer. A distinct trunk and bark. And a structure as delicate and as elegant as its bloom (which comes in three colors).

Crape myrtles in Winter

The version we see all over this area is the Common Crape-myrtle (Lagerstroemia indica) which came from China and Korea. According to Wikipedia, it was introduced to the United States in Charleston around 1790 by a French botanist, Andre Michaux, who lived here for 10 years. Monsieur Michaux was a diplomat as well as a botanist who was sent by Louis XVI in 1785 to investigate plants that could be of value in France. The Carolina lily (Lilium michauxii), Michaux’s Saxifrage (Saxifraga michauxii) and several other plants are named for him.

Crape myrtles in early Summer

Around 1792, Thomas Jefferson asked Michaux to undertake an expedition similar to the Lewis and Clark Expedition that would follow a decade later. Interestingly, at the time of Michaux’s journey, Meriwether Lewis was an 18-year-old Jefferson protege who asked to go with Michaux and was turned down by Jefferson—yet another example of how good, sometimes extraordinary, opportunities come to those who have to wait.

Detail of the pink blossom

The  name “Crape” supposedly comes from the fact that the pedals of the flower have a crinkled crepe-like shape and texture. At a distance, the tree in full bloom makes a powerful and ethereal impression that can stop you in your tracks and make you marvel at the intricacy and designs of Nature. ¶

Learn more about the crape myrtle species.