The other night at dinner, friends and I were talking about our favorite restaurants and the first one that popped into my head was a tiny place in Lisbon. Tucked away on a little street in the maze of Barrio Alto, the restaurant held about 7 tables, the gigantic chef came out to sit at our table in between courses, and the food was divine. Just thinking about this funny, wonderful little hole-in-the-wall place, I was instantly transported back to the graceful, historically gritty and romantic beauty that is Portugal. My head is still filled with images of my trip there last fall, so I thought I’d post some drawings. It is a place that stole my heart!
copyright 2009 Sara Dilliplane
near the Praça dos Restauradores
people, cafes, and trams in Barrio Alto
Portugal is rough around the edges, a little dirty, with some buildings so old they seem to ache with age. It also has some of the most breathtaking light and spectrum of color I have ever seen … and you can see the effect of this beauty in the Portuguese peoples’ faces. Their skin seem to radiate; they take in light and bounce it back out onto you. This energy balances the antiquity, keeping Lisbon fresh and alive, somewhere in between old and new.
Just after drawing this monastery (the Jerónimos monastery in Belém), I was freezing as the sun set and the wind picked up. We went to the famous Casa Pastéis de Belém to drink espresso and eat the pastry originally created by the monks from Jerónimos. The cakes were so fresh, still hot from the oven, and created from a recipe over a hundred years old. I can still taste it!
There is a beautiful old church down the street from where I live. It’s over 200 years old and has cracked, peeling paint, a huge steeple you can see for miles, and a side yard usually filled with giddy preschoolers from the nursery school run out of the church basement.
A few years ago, a local university purchased the church property and recently unveiled plans to, while not replace it, significantly alter it to accommodate classrooms, a library, and a gallery. While a public space to display art and house books didn’t sound so bad, I didn’t like the idea of changing such a historically relevant and architecturally lovely building to do it. So I joined the local fight to protect the church and submitted some drawings along with a written statement to the city council (council approval was needed before the university started to build).
Here are a few views of the church and its surroundings. I love how seamlessly it fits into the landscape– urban, but hugged by ancient trees and overgrown greenery…
And here are some sketches of the city council hearing, where the public could voice their opinion and the university could defend its proposal:
In the end, the city council passed the proposal despite much public opposition: by next year, the church will be stripped down, gutted, and moved several yards over to another part of the lot.
While disappointed that this historical landmark won’t last in its original form forever, I’m not surprised by the city’s decision. The forward push of time and urban development means change, large and small; I wonder if change always has to mean building up and over when it comes to the movement of city progress? How much of history can be preserved without getting in the way of the future? Can you keep a city relevant to the present and yet preserve a sense of truly authentic, historical aesthetic and brilliance? Maybe, in this case, the university’s idea is the best approach: not completely destroying, just taking apart and architecturally recycling. The footprint of this church at least will endure. I will miss the peeling paint, stately presence, and laughing preschoolers in the overgrown yard.
