Lichfield Cathedral choir

click photo to enlarge
To the layman the word "choir" has one meaning, namely a group of people who sing collectively. To anyone interested in architecture, particularly that of churches and cathedrals, it has a further meaning - the part of the church in which the divine service is sung by the choir. Thus it refers to a space rather than people. Usually this is in the chancel near the high altar. Quite often the terms chancel and choir are used interchangeably.

Today's photograph shows the gate that leads from the eastern end of the crossing tower into the choir of Lichfield Cathedral in Staffordshire. Anyone who has visited a number of English cathedrals will know that the richest decoration of such buildings is usually to be found in the chancel and around the high altar. This is the case at Lichfield. However, when I saw the choir and the ornate gates they struck me as exceptionally rich for the British context. This partly due to the efforts of the Victorians who favoured concentrations of colour, shiny metal and paint far more than did most post-medieval churchmen.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Choir, Lichfield Cathedral, Staffordshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9mm (18mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/60 sec
ISO:6400
Exposure Compensation: -0.3EV

Not worth a glance?

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As we sat in the centre of Seville a guide passed us followed by a small flock of tourists. Gesticulating at the building behind us he explained in English with a Spanish accent, and without breaking step, that it contained only "documents, documents, documents", implying that it wasn't worth a glance. What he was airily dismissing as they pressed on to the next highlight of their tour was in fact one of the three buildings in Seville that have been granted UNESCO World Heritage status (along with the cathedral and the Real Alcazar). It was the Archivo General de Indias, a former merchant exchange dating back to the 1580s that has, since the eighteenth century, housed the archives of the Spanish Empire's discoveries and involvement in the Americas and the Philippines.

Admittedly, the building's exterior is somewhat severe with main elevations that differ in only minor ways. However, the interior has a fine courtyard, imposing main staircase and rooms and corridors with fine marble floors, coffered barrel vaulted ceilings, sumptuous bookcases and interesting paintings. Well worth seeing and a subject that I thought cried out for the widest of my wide angle lenses.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Archivo General de Indias, Seville
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9mm (18mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/60 sec
ISO:1250
Exposure Compensation: -0.3EV

Vaulting, Southwell Minster

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The chapter house at Southwell Minster in Nottinghamshire, like most such buildings, is polygonal, in this instance octagonal. A few are rectangular. What makes this particular chapter house differ from other polygonal examples is the lack of a column rising up from the centre of the floor to the centre of the vaulting above. Looking at the pattern of ribs that spring from the walls between the windows and the complexity of the ribs and bosses, one can imagine that a central column would have made the building of the roof over this beautiful space considerably easier. However, that ease would have been bought at the expense of the clarity of the view that the members of the chapter would have had of each other as they sat on the seating built into the walls: they would always have to lean to see the person opposite them!

Most photographers with an interest in architecture gravitate to Southwell's chapter house for the beauty of the naturalistic carving of the capitals of the columns. These represent identifiable leaves and plants, and were executed in the Decorated style around the year 1290. Every time I visit the Minster I photograph them. However, since I hadn't photographed the vaulting before that was what I concentrated on during my last visit.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Chapter House Vaulting, Southwell Minster, Nottinghamshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9mm (18mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/60 sec
ISO:000
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Repton's Saxon crypt

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The main building material of the Anglo-Saxons was wood, mud and turf. Consequently few of their buildings have survived. However, important buildings, particularly those associated with the church, were built in stone. These often copied, in a debased, rather crude way, the Byzantine influenced buildings of Southern Europe, sometimes with details that echoed in stone the decorative forms that they incorporated in their timber structures. Whole Anglo-Saxon churches are rare in Britain but churches with parts that date from this period are relatively easy to find. Often its a tower that survives, or perhaps a doorway or window, sometimes it is part of a lower wall. Sculpture and crosses are not uncommon.

We recently visited the church of St Wystan at Repton in Derbyshire. Here the chancel, part of a transept and some walling around the crossing survive from the Anglo-Saxon period. However, the most remarkable and interesting survival is the crypt. Repton is today a small settlement but in the eighth and ninth centuries it had a double monastery and was sufficiently important to be the burial place of three Mercian kings.There is some argument over the age of the crypt but it may well date from that period i.e.the 700s or 800s AD.

The four columns and pilasters that support the domical vaulting show crude bases and capitals with spiral and other decoration copied from classical and Byzantine precedents. The builders may have seen continental European examples or travelled in the Mediterranean region. On the other hand they may have based their work on drawings they had seen. Interestingly, for centuries the crypt was unknown. It was rediscovered in 1779 when a workman who was digging a hole for a grave in the chancel floor broke through into the space below! Today it is open to the public and to descend the stairs into the columned space makes for an evocative experience.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/15 sec
ISO:6400
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tewkesbury Abbey choir vault

click photo to enlarge
I visit a lot of churches, both great and small. And, if the truth be known, I prefer the modest buildings to the great abbeys, minsters and cathedrals. However, if it's awe and wonder you are in search of then one of the best man-made spectacles is to be found in the large churches of the medieval and later periods. More specifically, in the elaborate, often beautiful vaulting that supports their great ceilings.

In England there are many examples that take your breath away, and some that offer a variety of examples of the mason's art. Peterborough Cathedral has fine work from the twelfth century and beautiful fan vaults of the 1400s and early 1500s while Gloucester Cathedral cloister can claim the earliest example of this peculiarly English style. Beverley Minster has vaulting to compete with any church, and Ely Cathedral's vaults in and surrounding the famous octagonal lantern are unparalleled anywhere else. Even lesser known buildings, such as Pershore Abbey, can thrill when we stop, look up and reflect on the stonework above our heads.

Today's photograph shows the lierne vaulting of the 1330s above the choir of Tewkesbury Abbey. It is pretty much as built, though in the fifteenth century the Yorkist badges of the "Sun in Splendour" were added. And, of course, the paintwork has been renewed down the centuries. The two features that make this vaulting so different from any other, and so spectacular, are the extent and colours of the paint, as well as the unusual complexity of the ribs and bosses. When I visit this abbey I never fail to stop and look up at this beautiful spider's web that keeps the roof from falling on my head.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (27mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/30 sec
ISO:1100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The beauty of church vaulting

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The vaulting that graces many a church and cathedral ceiling, especially inside a tower, is a recurring topic on this blog. I am fascinated by the variations on a theme that medieval masons and carpenters wrought in their desire to beautify the space above the worshippers' heads such that an upward glance really did feel like a glimpse of heaven. Architectural historians have created a whole specialised vocabulary to describe the development of vaulting down the centuries from its beginnings in simple barrel vaulting, to groin vaults, rib vaults, quadripartite and sexpartite vaults, vaults with tiercerons and liernes, culminating in the glories of stellar vaults and fan vaults.

The purpose of vaulting is to take some of the weight of a roof or tower above and distribute it laterally on to arches, walls, piers and columns. In the crossing vault shown above the ribs that form fans stretching from the centre to the four corners are instrumental in achieving this weight transference. However, this vaulting also has a central star pattern made by the addition of short decorative ribs called liernes. Clearly it is a design that seeks to impress with its beauty as well as do an architectural job of work. In fact, all is not what it seems with this vaulting. The tower of Holy Trinity was built during the period 1500-1530 on a raft of oak trees for the lack of any firm bedrock below. These were replaced by concrete in 1906. The vaulting, however, was erected as late as the 1840s, and the beautiful, rich paintwork must surely originate from that time - a mixture of medieval ideas and Victorian interpretation and development of those ideas. When I magnify my photograph I can see that the infill is timber planks so I imagine the ribs must be timber too. This vaulting will have replaced an earlier ceiling. That may have been stone, but is more likely to have been timber too. I've often seen fine Victorian work that replaced an insensitive, flat Georgian ceiling (itself inserted in place of the medieval original) though I've no reason to believe that is the case here. In fact, timber roofs were more widespread in England during the medieval period than in any other North European country and exhibit a unique ingenuity and beauty. Here, at Holy Trinity, the wood mimics painted stone and is none the worse for that.

The organ pipes on north and south sides of the crossing belong to the largest parish church organ in Great Britain. The oldest of the more than 4,000 pipes date from 1756 and are by Johannes Snetzler.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f1.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Southwark Cathedral chandelier

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Lanterns and chandeliers began to appear in churches from around 1600 to augment the candles and small oil lamps that had been used for centuries. The first, quite plain, English chandeliers were soon supplemented by more ornate models imported from Flanders. Drooping arms fixed to rings featured in seventeenth century examples and highly decorated finials were favoured at the top. By the eighteenth century they had become very ornate with scrolls, brass balls and often a flame as a finial, though doves were popular too: opened winged and feathered was the London style, closed winged and smooth if originating in Bristol.

The example shown in today's photograph is suspended under the crossing of Southwark Cathedral in London. It is inscribed, "The gift of Dorothye relict of Jno. Appleby Esqe to ye Parish Church of St Saviour Southwarke 1680" (the parish church of St Saviour was raised to cathedral status in 1905 though before the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536 it was a priory - hence its large size). The design of this particular chandelier is quite forward looking and from a distance could be mistaken for one of the Georgian examples that are frequently to be seen in English parish churches.

The silhouette of the chandelier presented a fine shape to photograph in front of the illuminated Gothic vaulting of the nave. Anyone who has followed this blog's photography and discussion of vaulting might be forgiven for thinking it to be a fine example of Early English architecture, along with the lancet windows and the nave arcades, triforium and clerestory. However, they are the work of Arthur Blomfield and date from 1890-1897. Though quite a bit of Southwark Cathedral dates from medieval times successive fires have meant much rebuilding down the centuries and a visitor can glean quite a bit of enjoyment from working out what is original and what is later but in the Gothic style.

For a couple more of my photographs of chandeliers see here and here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 65mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ely Cathedral

click photo to enlarge

The exterior of Ely Cathedral looks its best, in my opinion, from a distance of several miles as it rises above the small city on a low eminence in the flat Fenland landscape. To someone who is familiar with English cathedrals the exterior of Ely is a decided oddity, and the closer you get to it the odder it looks. A prominent west tower is common in a parish church but rare in a great church such as a cathedral, minster or abbey where the crossing tower usually dominates. The emphasis on embattled turrets rather than pinnacles is even rarer, suggesting a secular castle rather than a religious building. Ely didn't always look like it does today however. It too, like cathedrals across the land, once had a central crossing tower. But, in February 1322, the great Norman structure collapsed, probably due to the inadequacy of its foundations. In its place an octagonal lantern was erected, supported on stone, but constructed of oak, the whole structure making a bristling tower lower than the west tower and very different from the soaring culminations found elsewhere.

You may gather from this that I find the exterior of Ely lacking compared with say,York, Lincoln, Durham, Salisbury or, in fact, most other cathedrals. I do. That's not to say that it lacks interest, but for me the overall form of the building doesn't match the beauty of other major cathedrals. However, the collapse that led to the construction of the octagon produced on the interior one of the finest sights that any English cathedral can offer, one that brings distinction to the building and makes it a place worth going out of your way to see.

Today's main photograph and one of the secondary images show what your eyes behold when you pause below Ely's crossing and look up. At the top left is the painted roof of the very long Norman nave. Opposite, at the bottom right is the elaborate Gothic vaulting of the nave. The other two roofs cover the transepts. Windows fill the spaces between the eight stone piers and from the top of each of the latter spreads a fan of ribs that reach to each of the bottom edges of the octagon itself. This is painted with a ring of angels, has stellar vaulting with Christ on the centre, and the whole is ringed with stained glass that lights the space.

We made the journey to Ely on the back of a weather forecast that promised sun and cloud. The drab photograph of the west tower shows how accurate that was!

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation:N/A

Romanesque and Gothic at Tewkesbury

click photo to enlarge

Today's photograph shows the interior of the nave of Tewkesbury Abbey, Gloucestershire. A Saxon abbey founded c.715AD was the first building on this site, but nothing of it remains today. The present church is a Norman foundation of the eleventh century with most of the structure dating from the 1100s, a little from the 1200s, the ambulatory chapels and vaulting the 1300s, and small areas elsewhere of more recent dates.

Looking at the photograph we can see that the drum piers (columns), the rounded arches and the triforium (dark passage with light shining from it) are of the Norman (or Romanesque) period. They were complete by the time of the abbey's consecration in the 1120s and are characteristically heavy compared with the lighter appearance of the later Gothic style. For the student of architectural history there are two particular points of interest in this photograph. Firstly, the piers are relatively tall and plain, a regional characteristic of the Norman style whilst the triforium is quite small, almost insignificant compared with most similar buildings of the period (compare with this example at Peterborough Cathedral). The second thing to note is that the vaulting of both the aisles and the nave dates from 1330-1350, what is stylistically called the Decorated period of Gothic architecture.

The rounded arches of the Norman period were poor at spanning spaces as wide as a nave and consequently most Norman naves had flat timber ceilings, rather than stone vaulting. However, the narrower aisles were often covered with tunnel or groin vaulting. Here at Tewkesbury the Norman nave had no clerestory so the present one was inserted in the fourteenth century when the lierne vaulting of the nave and the quadripartite with ridge ribs vaulting of the aisles was built. To anyone who visits large churches regularly the Gothic vaulting on Romanesque piers looks odd. It also accounts for the half-hidden and relatively ineffectiveness of the clerestory which was squeezed in and then partly obscured by the springing of the vaulting. However, in the middle ages, as today, architects were keen to build in a contemporary way, and the idea of building vaulting or a clerestory in 1340 in a style from over one hundred years earlier was thought ridiculous, just as building today in the manner of the late Victorians would be. It would, wouldn't it?

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Deceiving the eye

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The main photograph in today's entry shows the floor in the choir at Beverley Minster, East Yorkshire. In the smaller image you can see the floor in context*. The three-dimensional effect was achieved by the early eighteenth century restorers using four different colours of marble set in such a way that they suggest cubes. It is hard to imagine anything more different from the small, symmetrically patterned floor tiles that medieval builders favoured for such locations, and which came back into favour during the Victorian period. Yet, one of the marks of the styles in our great churches is that each generation tended to employ that which was fashionable at the time, and the eighteenth century loved this kind of thing.

The Arts and Crafts Movement of the second half of the nineteenth century abhorred such illusionism. They felt that flat surfaces should not be made to appear three-dimensional, that such trickery wasn't being true to either the surface or the materials. I was thinking about this as I photographed the floor, and also when I pointed my camera upwards at the underside of the crossing tower. It's something of a paradox, I thought, that from this point of view the vaulting looks very flat, linear, a touch Rococco even, and the perfectly flat floor looks like it is constructed of angular cubes. Of course, when you position yourself to one side of the crossing, as I did for my earlier photograph, the ceilings' curves, ribs and soaring arches reveal the architecture to be very sculptural. Similarly, a walk down the choir soon reveals the "blockiness" to be smooth, shiny and flawless, a tribute to the workmanship and chosen materials of three hundred years ago.

*Note: choir is used in the architectural sense to mean the place where the choir would sit and services were sung.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Films, paint and stone

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I was re-reading Oliver Rackham's fine book, "The History of the Countryside" the other evening when I came across an aside that registered more strongly with me than it had done the first time I saw it. Talking about the scope of his book in a chapter entitled "Animals and plants: Extinctions and new arrivals", he observes that "The history of cultivated plants and domestic animals is generally well known*.... The asterisk refers to a footnote which says, "But not to producers of historical films: they do not allow Charles I to fly in a plane, but they do let him ride among Corsican pine plantations or Frisian (sic) cattle."

The same could be said of the medieval architecture we see in films of that period. The interiors of churches, cathedrals and castles are invariably shown as they appear today: cut and pointed stone, carved stone, but barely a hint of paint. In fact, the use of paint in such buildings was widespread. Columns, capitals, window and door surrounds, vaulting and many other surfaces were covered with, in the case of ecclesiastical buildings, illustrations of Biblical characters and episodes, or exuberant decoration. Much of this was removed during the centuries following the Reformation, and the Victorians completed the job, at least until people such as William Morris proclaimed "Enough!" During the nineteenth century a number of churches were painted in the medieval manner, but those receiving "the full works" are few and far between. The church of St Michael, Garton on the Wolds, East Yorkshire, is one such example that I've photographed. One of the best original examples at Kempley, Gloucestershire, will the subject of an upcoming post.

I was thinking about this last week as I looked up at the crossing inside Beverley Minster, East Yorkshire. I was trying to imagine what the building would have looked like with painted capitals etc. The bands and rings of dark Purbeck marble of the thirteenth and fourteenth century stonework adds an element of colour, as does the painted vaulting, but other than that it is pretty much devoid of surface decoration. I rather think that I wouldn't like it to be painted, having become used to the unadorned stone!

Anyone who is a regular visitor to this blog will know of my liking for vaulting, and will have seen several examples. Each time I take such a photograph I search for a new approach. This time I stood under the arch between the nave and the crossing and let the receding verticals of the massive compound piers take my eyes upwards.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/15
ISO: 640
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Cathedrals old and new

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There have been only three*(see below) completely new Anglican Cathedrals built in England since the Reformation of the sixteenth century - St Paul's in London, Truro and Liverpool. All the others were either built in earlier centuries, are former parish churches raised to cathedral status, for example Blackburn, or, as in the case of Coventry, are substantially new but replace and adjoin a medieval building that was severely damaged. One thing that distinguishes the newer cathedrals from the ancient buildings is the shorter period of time over which they were constructed, and the consequently smaller range of building styles that the structure shows.

St Paul's is, of course, a Renaissance building in almost every respect except its floor plan which was modified to more closely match those of medieval cathedrals. Wren was given the project in 1669, the first services took place inside the cathedral in 1697, and it was officially opened and declared complete in 1711, a mere forty two years later. Truro is a Victorian Gothic Revival cathedral, considerably smaller than St Paul's, and the work of John Loughborough Pearson. Building began in 1880, it was consecrated in 1887, and work was completed in 1910 - only thirty years later. Liverpool's Anglican Cathedral is the biggest cathedral in Britain and one of the largest in the world. Not surprisingly it took longer to build than St Paul's and Truro. In 1903 Giles Gilbert Scott's Gothic design was chosen from over one hundred competition entries, and the foundation stone was laid in 1904. Despite significant changes to the design it was consecrated in 1924, regular services began in 1940 and the central tower was completed in 1942. The Second World War slowed building progess, but the cathedral was finally finished in 1978, eighteen years after the death of its architect.

Of course all cathedrals are added to in some way as succeeding generations make their mark on the structure. For example, Truro had a chapter house added in 1967. But the point of today's reflection is the great difference in the construction time and styles of newer cathedrals compared with their medieval predecessors. Today's photograph shows some of the Norman (Romanesque) style at Peterborough Cathedral. It dates from the twelfth century when much of the main structure was built. However, most cathedrals of this sort were being added to, modified, brought "up to date", and generally knocked about by builders, bishops and others for 500 years or more. One consequence of this is the succession of architectural styles (fashions if you will) that exemplify this work - including the relatively heavy, crude and utilitarian of the Norman quadripartite vaulting shown above to the delicate Perpendicular style fan vaulting of the 1500s shown in this earlier post.

* 23/02/2010 18.27pm
As I washed the dishes after our evening meal a thought came to me - "What about Guildford Cathedral?" This is a building I've never visited but which I know from photographs to be modern. A bit of research showed that it was begun in 1936 and completed in 1961. So, for three above, read four. In fact, any advance on four?

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 60mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Looking up No. 2

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"Looking Up" was the title of a blog post that I made in May 2008 featuring the same subject as today's entry - the underside of the tower, together with the ceilings of the nave, chancel and transepts of Peterborough Cathedral. As part of my workout that aims to make me familiar with my new camera's strengths, weaknesses and peculiarities, I've been photographing a range of subjects, some that I've shot before, using different lenses, apertures, shutter speeds, ISOs and EV settings. This shot is with my unstabilized 17-40mm lens, and the shutter speed of 1/10 second is about the limit of what I can successfully hand-hold. Viewed at 100% this shot is pretty sharp. Of course, the ISO of 3200 is what makes the image possible. You might wonder why I didn't open the lens up, but I find that some corner softness appears at its maximum of f4. This isn't too much of a problem with, say, a landscape, but with the straight, sharp lines of architecture - even the several hundred years old variety - it can be noticeable.

The centre of today's image shows the timber lierne vault on the underside of the central (crossing) tower of the cathedral. The other ceilings are also timber. This is not unusual with the wide spans of a Romanesque building of the twelfth century. The ability to throw stone vaulting over such a distance hadn't been developed at that time, though it was used in the narrow aisles here. The hierarchy of decoration that can be seen in the four main ceilings reflects the relative importance of each  part of the cathedral. Thus, the painted, closely coffered ceiling, with decorative bosses, flanked by vaulted coving over the chancel (on the right), that dates from the fifteenth century, emphasises the liturgical centre of the church, the place where the clergy worked, and the location of the high altar. The painted nave roof with its elongated diamonds each with a central figure - kings, queens, saints, fantastic animals etc - dates from about 1220. Pevsner calls it "a precious survival". This is over the part of the church devoted to the laity. The other two ceilings that roof the transepts are also original, and though the wood is again laid in diamonds, it is not painted, and they are definitely subsidiary to the main two.

I often think that photographs of this subject, taken from directly below with symmetry, have something of the look of a kaleidoscope image, and this one is no exception. For more views of vaulting and the underside of towers see these photographs from Louth and Ludlow, Morton, Brant Broughton, Pershore, Boston, Norwich, and Ely.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/10
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Church tower vaulting

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One could be forgiven for thinking that the purpose of stone roof vaulting in Romanesque and Gothic churches is to turn the eyes of the congregation upwards to heaven. As far as the beautification of the vaulting goes, that must certainly be so. The effect of all those angels, foliate bosses, stellar rib patterns, and grimacing faces is to draw the eye and cause the brain to wonder. However, the underlying reason for vaulting is purely structural. It is a framework that distributes load from above a void (chancel, nave, transepts, tower or porch) to the surrounding walls. Initally, during the Norman period, rounded arches were used and the area that could be bridged was relatively narrow. The development, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries of the pointed arch increased the width that stone vaults could span, reduced the amount of material needed, and led to more elaborate rib vaulting patterns.

For the past forty years, ever since I was bitten by an interest in church architecture, I've been fascinated by vaulting. I've posted quite a few photographs of it in naves, chancels and crossings, such as this example at Pershore Abbey, and this fan vaulting at Peterborough Cathedral. But the one type of vaulting that I particularly like is that found under the tower of a church. Perhaps it is the radial symmetry that appeals to me, or the concentrated nature of the patterns that are used. Whatever it is, I've posted quite a few shots featuring tower vaulting. In this post showing the vault at Morton, Lincolnshire, I elaborated on my fascination. In another I compared the tower vaulting to be found at Louth (Lincolnshire) and Ludlow (Shropshire). Other examples I've blogged about are those at Peterborough, Ely, and Boston.

If you've looked at the links quoted you are forgiven for wondering what it is that's different about today's example from Brant Broughton, Lincolnshire. Well, as ever, the particular radiating pattern is unique, especially since it doesn't have axial symmetry from all sides. Another difference is the widely spaced paterae (stylized  foliage elements) on the corner ribs. But, it isn't the subject itself that is the principle reason for my posting this photograph, rather it is the photograph itself and the way that it mimics a watercolour sketch. I haven't processed the shot much, and my noise suppression was minimal. These are both factors that can give a watercolour quality to an image. Here, however, the effect comes from the way the brighter light at the edges makes it look like thinned paint at the edge of a rough draft painting, and the close striations on the stonework that resemble underlying pencilwork.

Incidentally, through the tower arch can be glimpsed the painted angel roof of the nave that was the subject of this blog post in 2009.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Pershore Abbey vaulting

click photo to enlarge
I think that Gothic vaulting is one of mankind's most inspired creations. Down the ages people have sought to produce objects that combine the twin virtues of beauty and function; in fact designers and architects strive daily to achieve it. Yet despite our greater knowledge, our computers, universities and professional organisations, the work of medieval masons, people who learned from their peers, is the equal of, and often surpasses, anything that we produce today.

The vaulting in today's photograph was erected about 1290-1300. It is in what is known as the Early English style, and is an interesting and unique example. The architectural historian, Nikolaus Pevsner describes it thus: "It consists of transverse arches, diagonal ribs, ridge-ribs, one pair of tiercerons to N(orth) and S(outh), but in addition lierne-ribs forming a kind of scissors movement: open-closed, open-closed, all along." Look at vaulting anywhere else, and you won't see anything quite like it. Pershore has, to quote Pevsner again, "pleasant confusion." The purposes of the vaulting arches is, of course, to transfer the weight of the roof outwards to the columns, piers and walls. Pointed Gothic arches of the thirteenth and subsequent centuries do this better than the earlier, rounded arches of the Romanesque period, and consequently allow wider spaces to be roofed.

The carved stone bosses at the intersections of the vaulting ribs are ornamental (each is a different design), but also functional in that they cover the joins. What prompted me to take this shot (apart from the beauty of the vaulting) was the fact that the roof was lit whilst the lower part of the building wasn't. The orange warmth of the electric light contrasted with, but also complemented, the colder blue daylight shining through the windows, and added to the scene's attraction.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 250
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tower vaulting compared - Louth and Ludlow

click photos to enlarge
During my primary school years, in any spare moments that the teacher allowed, I loved to draw and doodle. And, as I progressed through my education, painting and drawing became subjects that I pursued academically in greater depth. However, picking up my theme of a couple of weeks ago, that everything important in my education happened in the primary years (age 5-11), I want to dwell on doodling. At one stage, when I was 7 or 8 years old, I had a penchant for making symmetrical patterns with a pencil and ruler. I'd start with a square, connect the corners with diagonals, find the centre of each side of the square, connect those, then build a pattern that developed from that basic "Union Flag" shape.

The other day, when I was processing these two images of tower vaulting, it suddenly struck me that my fascination with this aspect of medieval Gothic architecture may well derive from those childhood doodles. Look at the patterns here and you'll see those same diagonals and cross shape underpinning the basic structure in each instance. The central circle is there by necessity, and usually lifts out to allow access to the bells. The Ludlow design has cusping incorporated into the geometry, giving it a less regular feel, but the Louth vaulting is strictly rectilinear when seen from below.

Anyone who has explored this blog will have come across other examples of tower vaulting photographed from below, and all those other designs are individual. With today's images I decided that I'd use my widest lens which is 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.) and make the columned piers that support the tower part of the composition. So, each picture has a centre illuminated by tower windows, and has four arches. Why does Louth have windows filling three of its arches? Well, that tower is at the west end of the church, whereas Ludlow's is a crossing tower, in the centre of the building, off which are the nave, the chancel and a pair of transepts. You can tell which is the chancel because it has the most elaborately decorated roof.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Top (Bottom), where different
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11(22mm), 11(22mm)/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6, (3.5)
Shutter Speed: 1/80, (1/200) seconds
ISO: 400, (200)
Exposure Compensation: -2.7, (-0.7) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tower vaults

click photo to enlarge
Anyone who has done the full tour of this blog will know that I have a fondness for tower vaulting (see here and here). I suppose it's because there's something fascinating about the way that medieval builders chose to ornament this inaccessible location - often the highest point inside a church. Was it because it was the place in the building nearest to heaven? Did they expend so much care and craft here, knowing that in its remoteness their work would remain pristine, safe from the knocks and bumps of clumsy priests and careless parishioners? Whatever the reason, tower vaults are often elaborate where other vaulting in chancels, naves and aisles is plainer.

The underside of a tower is usually square, though there are a few octagonal examples to be found. In churches (though not always cathedrals), there is frequently a trapdoor to allow the passage of bells to and from the ringing chamber, and this is usually placed in the centre. Consequently, the rib pattern of tower vaulting tends to be symmetrical. However, each decorative boss that often cover the joins of the ribs are usually carved with different designs - shields, foliage, faces and animals are common. Comparing the vaulting designs to be found in different churches, I am frequently delighted by the fertility of the masons' minds. I have never found two exactly the same, and one senses a conscious desire on the builder's part to come up with something different.

Today's photograph shows the tower vault of St John the Baptist, Morton, Lincolnshire, quite a large village church with a tall crossing tower that dates from the 1300s at the bottom and the 1400s above. The vaulting comprises a central circle (with trapdoor), connected directly and indirectly to three ribs that spring from the corners of the tower. These ribs are moulded into four sets of four cusped daggers, one in each corner. Interestingly there are no bosses masking the points where the ribs meet. The great temptation in photographing tower vaults is to point the camera vertically from directly below the centre, then crop the image to make a symmetrical shot that mirrors the four lines of symmetry on display. I usually do this by laying on my back with the camera clamped to my face! Here I decided to place the centre of the vault towards the top of the frame, giving a single line of symmetry that extends down through the nave roof and tall tower arch.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Looking up

click photo to enlarge

Mankind's impact on the earth is much discussed these days, particularly with regard to global warming, diminishing resources, the extinction of life forms, and the despoiling of land and the sea. Such are the demands that we make of our finite planet, it is increasingly hard to find a place where the mark of man is not visible. The uninhabited desert is frequently littered with the debris of wars. Mount Everest is marked by the dumps of successive generations of climbers. The jungles of the tropics are scarred by new roads and burnt clearings. And now we read that the seas are becoming a soup of decaying plastic as well as a dump for sewage and other noxious materials.

So, where can we look to see a sight unchanged from that seen by our ancestors? Well there clearly are still some locations on land and sea but they usually have to be sought out. The most convenient place is actually above our heads! Especially at night. The stars have held a fascination for mankind ever since he first glanced skywards. They offer a unique sight that is available to all without the inconvenience of travel. Or they should. The problem is that light pollution from cities hides all but the brightest stars, the moon and planets, and today it's only in the countryside away from street lighting that we can see the heavens in all their beauty - the odd satellite or aircraft permitting! The International Dark-Sky Association and its affiliated organisations work to return our birthright to us. Interestingly the shape of the constellations has changed slightly since Stone Age man gazed upwards, but essentially, what he saw, we see.

When the builders of our medieval cathedrals came to decide how to finish their ceilings they often painted golden stars on a blue background to represent the night sky or heaven, the destination of believers. As vaulting became more intricate and the short decorative ribs called liernes were introduced, it seemed obvious to make it into a star pattern (called a stellar vault), and symbolise heaven with one beautiful, radiant star. That is what happened to the underside of the crossing tower of Peterborough Cathedral shown in the photograph above.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Octagon

click photo to enlarge

The classic English cathedral differs from its continental counterparts in a number of ways. Firstly, it usually has a square east end rather than an apse with chapels. Secondly, in profile, seen from a distance, there is less emphasis on verticality and more on horizontality. Thirdly, inside the nave and chancel the upward thrust of columns, arches and vaulting is more heavily broken by horizontal features. And fourthly, the buildings, by and large, have two west towers and a larger crossing tower. So, typical English cathedrals look like York, Durham, Lincoln or Lichfield, though some dispense with west towers entirely, and a few, like Westminster Abbey, have a very French look. However, one English cathedral doesn't fit into any of these descriptions very well at all - in fact it's a real oddity - and that is Ely.

Like some German cathedrals, Ely has a single west tower, but without the expected spire. Instead it has a castle-like top of embattled turrets. A heavy stone crossing tower is absent, and is replaced by an octagonal structure with a wooden corona (the Octagon) of the oddest profile, that appears to strive for width rather than height. The building's profile from some angles is quite military, and from others, veritably craggy. That Ely was largely complete by 1350 makes all this even odder. In fact it's hard to describe the exterior of Ely as beautiful, though it is undeniably interesting. However, the interior is absolutely wonderful - featuring a massive Norman nave and the underside of that corona.

My photograph was taken during a family visit in winter. I had no tripod, only one lens, and less time than usual to compose my image. So, I was glad for the in-body Image Stabilisation of the camera. That innovation, combined with my body braced against a wall, high ISO, and a wide aperture, allowed me to get this fairly sharp shot of the underside of the Octagon.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/6
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation: -1.3EV
Image Stabilisation: On