Simple Splendor

A precious stillness pervades the room. It is small, intimate, and ornamental, with soothing colors of brown, blue, and white. You feel like you have stepped inside a Gothic Revival jewelry box. But it’s not easy to get inside The French Huguenot Church unless you attend a Sunday-morning service. So please enjoy the one-minute video below.

Interior of The Huguenot Church

A little history: This French Protestant church was founded about 1681 by Huguenot refugees from the Protestant persecutions in France. The first church was built on its present site in 1687, but was destroyed in 1796 during an attempt to stop the spread of fire which had burned a large surrounding area. The original building was replaced in 1800 and then dismantled in 1844 to make way for the present Gothic Revival ediface, designed by Edward Brickell White. The structure was damaged during the Civil War and nearly demolished in the earthquake of 1886. The present building dates to 1845. It is the only remaining independent Huguenot church in America.

The Huguenot Cross pendant

If you go inside, look for the beautiful Huguenot cross which was designed in the form of a Maltese cross, with four triangles meeting at the center. Each triangle has two rounded points, signifying the eight Beatitudes of Matthew 5: 3-10. Between the triangles are four fleurs de lis, symbolizing purity, and four open spaces in the form of four hearts, for love and loyalty. In the pendant, a dove is suspended from the lower triangle by a gold ring, signifying the Holy Spirit. In times of persecution, a pearl, symbolizing a teardrop, replaced the dove.

The four arms of the Maltese cross are sometimes regarded as the heraldic form of the four petals of the Lily of France which grows in the south of France. The arms symbolize the four Gospels. ¶

French Huguenot Church
44 Queen St • Get directions

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

Steeple Chase in Charleston

You can read reams about their history, and you have no doubt seen umpteen photographs of their steeples punctuating the skyline. But when is the last time you perused all the details of their architecture? Not from an academic point of view. Just from your point of view of seeing and ‘feeling’ these majestic churches resting there in the atmosphere.

St. Philip’s, 172 Church Street

St. Philip’s and St. Michael’s are the most recognizable churches in Charleston because they are among the oldest and most visible. It also happens that they pierce the sky with the surest sense of elegance and ease. Other churches on the peninsula are architectural marvels in their own right, but these two draw the most attention, no doubt, too, because of their neoclassical porticoes.

To my eye, the steeple of St. Philip’s feels more anchored to the ground due to the contrast between its large, square base and its long, narrow spire (so narrow that it makes me think of a witch’s hat). Meanwhile the earth-color of the stone ‘holds’ the steeple downward. The brown color also absorbs rather than reflects light, which flattens the three-dimensionality: you look at the steeple, but your eye is not drawn round it voluminously, which diminishes its grandeur. Another curious element is the gold cross on top of the spire. It arrests the upward motion and halts the eye—even to the point that once you notice the cross you lose sight of the steeple.

St. Michael’s, 72 Meeting Street

Conversely, the gold ball and ornamental rod atop St. Michael’s simultaneously thrust your eye heavenward and draw it down to the mass of the steeple shape, whose exemplary proportions guide you gently down to its base.

As the spire descends, notice how it gracefully expands into a roof for what looks like a gazebo perched in the sky. You want to rest there awhile, pour a drink, and take in the view. And just below the ‘gazebo’ is a slightly protruding base whose shadow ever so slightly serves as a visual support. The same effect—the same delineation—is achieved by the balcony just below the clocks.

Notice, too, how the alternating of clocks and windows has a soothing effect (your eye does not race to the next clock), and how the arch of the windows provides a smooth transition to the shuttered arches below and the gazebo arches above, both of which echo the shape of the windows. This unifying element beautifully harmonizes the three distinct sections of the steeple and makes it  visually pleasing and compelling as a whole. ¶

(These photos were taken from atop the parking garage on Cumberland Street where I luckily found myself late one afternoon.)