Reykjavík is a beguiling and vibrant city. The most northernly capital city in the world, it is a colourful place both culturally, with its beautiful Harpa concert building, art galleries and museums; and literally - as the varicoloured buildings that adorn the city show. For a country that is more well known for its harsh winters and rugged landscapes, it offers much for culture/architecture lovers and enthusiasts.
One building in particular, dominates Reykjavík the most, and that is the fascinatingly bizarre Hallgrímskirkja church.
Shortly before I visited Reykjavík in 2015, a friend remarked casually to me about my upcoming trip to Iceland: 'look out for the big church that looks like giant pan pipes' he said. I chuckled, of course, but it wasn't until I first explored the city myself, that I suddenly realised it wasn't that far from the truth.
Overshadowing this small city, it is hard to miss the Hallgrímskirkja church. The huge concrete structure is said to be visible from 12 miles away, made up with large hexagonal concrete columns building up to the 250ft tower - which does, indeed, resemble pan pipes. It is a striking and stern building, harsh and iconic.
Hallgrímskirkja was designed by Guðjón Samúelsson, the Icelandic state architect of the early twentieth century. Inspired by the natural geology of Iceland, Samuelsson took ideas from areas of natural beauty. And indeed, the distinctive columns on the Hallgrímskirkja resemble that of the basalt columns seen at places like the Skaftafell waterfalls in the Vatnajökull National Park.
Construction was concluded in 1986, however, its conception was much earlier - having been designed in 1937. It was named after the Icelandic pastor and poet Hallgrímur Pétursson, and took over 40 years to be completed - sadly because of this length of time, Samúelsson did not live to see his creation in its finished form.
Because of its concrete element, it has often been classed as a brutalist piece of architecture, but having been designed as early as 1937, before the Brutalist movement, this aspect one would guess, is pretty much accidental. It is this particular aspect, which I find even more intriguing. As if it was ahead of its time, bold and modern. The rawness of the environment it represents, is very much the rawness of the concrete itself - as if Samúelsson foresaw the concrete movement that was to become.
A lutheran church, its dramatic and distinctive form that Samúelsson intended to represent cooling lava, rather goes against the rather plain Lutheran thinking. It is forward thinking and a brave design, however, not without its quirks. The clock near the top of the tower is often said to be displaying the incorrect time, due to the harsh winds literally pushing the hands out of place.
Visitors to the church can go to the top of the tower, and enjoy marvellous views of the city - something I was lucky enough to do - a superb panorama of rainbowed houses dotted across the landscape, like a city spirograph, surrounded by looming mountains and cool glass like water. Something about the mountains reminded me of the Brecon Beacons in Wales.
To stand underneath the church, like most of its brutalist relations, you are made to feel small and insignificant - but like the natural landscapes it was inspired from, it is not threatening as such. Rather you feel the sense of the land and its own brutal beauty - that harsh Icelandic environment. You are stuck with one thought - it is weird. And yes, it really IS weird. But in a poetic way. Exploring the city, you can always spot the Hallgrímskirkja peering over you from somewhere in the horizon, like a watchful concrete guardian.
Brutalist but also not, the Hallgrímskirkja church is surely one of the most beautifully strange places of worship in the world. It is one of my favourite concrete "eyesores", although to me, it is less eyesore and more an aesthetic concrete delight.
All photos taken by me - the rest of photographs from my trip to Iceland can be viewed on flickr.
One building in particular, dominates Reykjavík the most, and that is the fascinatingly bizarre Hallgrímskirkja church.
Shortly before I visited Reykjavík in 2015, a friend remarked casually to me about my upcoming trip to Iceland: 'look out for the big church that looks like giant pan pipes' he said. I chuckled, of course, but it wasn't until I first explored the city myself, that I suddenly realised it wasn't that far from the truth.
Overshadowing this small city, it is hard to miss the Hallgrímskirkja church. The huge concrete structure is said to be visible from 12 miles away, made up with large hexagonal concrete columns building up to the 250ft tower - which does, indeed, resemble pan pipes. It is a striking and stern building, harsh and iconic.
Hallgrímskirkja was designed by Guðjón Samúelsson, the Icelandic state architect of the early twentieth century. Inspired by the natural geology of Iceland, Samuelsson took ideas from areas of natural beauty. And indeed, the distinctive columns on the Hallgrímskirkja resemble that of the basalt columns seen at places like the Skaftafell waterfalls in the Vatnajökull National Park.
Construction was concluded in 1986, however, its conception was much earlier - having been designed in 1937. It was named after the Icelandic pastor and poet Hallgrímur Pétursson, and took over 40 years to be completed - sadly because of this length of time, Samúelsson did not live to see his creation in its finished form.
Because of its concrete element, it has often been classed as a brutalist piece of architecture, but having been designed as early as 1937, before the Brutalist movement, this aspect one would guess, is pretty much accidental. It is this particular aspect, which I find even more intriguing. As if it was ahead of its time, bold and modern. The rawness of the environment it represents, is very much the rawness of the concrete itself - as if Samúelsson foresaw the concrete movement that was to become.
A lutheran church, its dramatic and distinctive form that Samúelsson intended to represent cooling lava, rather goes against the rather plain Lutheran thinking. It is forward thinking and a brave design, however, not without its quirks. The clock near the top of the tower is often said to be displaying the incorrect time, due to the harsh winds literally pushing the hands out of place.
Visitors to the church can go to the top of the tower, and enjoy marvellous views of the city - something I was lucky enough to do - a superb panorama of rainbowed houses dotted across the landscape, like a city spirograph, surrounded by looming mountains and cool glass like water. Something about the mountains reminded me of the Brecon Beacons in Wales.
To stand underneath the church, like most of its brutalist relations, you are made to feel small and insignificant - but like the natural landscapes it was inspired from, it is not threatening as such. Rather you feel the sense of the land and its own brutal beauty - that harsh Icelandic environment. You are stuck with one thought - it is weird. And yes, it really IS weird. But in a poetic way. Exploring the city, you can always spot the Hallgrímskirkja peering over you from somewhere in the horizon, like a watchful concrete guardian.
Brutalist but also not, the Hallgrímskirkja church is surely one of the most beautifully strange places of worship in the world. It is one of my favourite concrete "eyesores", although to me, it is less eyesore and more an aesthetic concrete delight.
All photos taken by me - the rest of photographs from my trip to Iceland can be viewed on flickr.
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