The transition between the site of the church and the municipality, between the project and its surroundings, becomes a chain of squares along which, on one side, the church and, on the other, municipal functions — cultural centre, youth house, rectory, library, service flats — are arranged: the cultural square, used for parking; the traffic square, planted with trees and greenery; the green square, a venue for fairs, markets, and festivities; and the commercial square.

These urban spaces respond to the actual demand for more room to fulfil a true central function and to serve as carriers of community activities.

The church’s volume behaves rather autonomously within the square; the mass is lifted so that a complete transparency and lightness is created underneath. This negative space ensures unity between the volumes (tower and church) and coherence across the site. The mass is supported by light, as if gravity has been surrendered. The volume appears to float in the light, evoking a mystical dimension.

Light introduces deconstruction into a twilight zone between two-dimensionality and three-dimensionality, between plane and space, between rational and irrational — sacrality?

Several elements are reminiscent of the familiar place:

• the material: white brick, as in the tower
• incorporating the qualitative openness of earlier times, circa 1920
• a typology recalling the nave of a church
• a unity and relationship between church and tower

The church is not a building, but a square in the twilight zone between community and building — an open, organic structure. It is not “similar” to a church, but specific, with a strong identity, a clear history, and an architecture of maximum tactility, based on physicality, vanitas, and atmosphere.

Despite its complete openness at the level of the community, the church retains a strong individuality. The square is in constant transformation — changing its attire, transforming. It evolves from lighthouse to beacon, from church to cinema hall, from city square to living room.

The possibilities for use are many: church space, cinema, childcare, meeting room, conference space, performances, exhibitions, workshops, and more.

The church’s placement ensures the right relationship and connection with the tower, while guaranteeing maximum space for the town hall. The square in which the church is located creates a certain intimacy — a transition from the openness of the square in front of the town hall to the intimacy of the church’s interior.

The church’s height is related to the height of the tower without its spire, creating an upward fluidity, further enhanced by a combination of zenithal light and light from below, resulting in a powerful sacred experience.

Meaning of the spatial image

The spaciousness introduced here creates an image of tranquillity — an image where the ground plane (the cobblestones) binds the entire core together in a solid way. It is an image that seeks to exclude fragmentation, where in the abundance of signs, one no longer loses sight of the whole.

The only hierarchical differentiation here is the colour shift from light brown (everywhere) to black, at the point where the square “slides” under the church, creating a link to the town hall — visually connecting the spiritual and the profane, as icons of the village community, through a linear plane.

In Kerkstraat, there is also a square-like black strip that runs across the street, acting as an indicator of approaching the actual core, while also functioning as an extended plane suggesting the presence of the old rectory garden.

Trees are “scattered” throughout the space — preferably of one simple species (e.g., oak, Christ’s thorn) — becoming a floating binding element within the overall image. They also serve as pleasant shading elements. They are deliberately not aligned to flank the road (as in an avenue) but follow an irregular rhythm, which also psychologically acts as a speed-reducing measure.

The Church

The church is not a town hall, not a palace, not a museum — it is a contemporary site. It is a symbol for the community, a place of gathering par excellence. It is a silent monument, clear and straightforward in structure.

It is as archaic as a tent construction — cf. Tanizaki (“The ricewood we gather: set it upright and it is a hut; knock it over, and the field returns”), where the eyes must adjust to the meagre light.

It is larger than everything around it and hides its function behind an abstract façade. It builds memory. It encloses the site. It releases half-remembered images and recalls physicality and mortality. It reorganises the village landscape around its perimeter.

It does not proclaim its opinion, yet it exists on a self-consistent rhetorical level. The space rises into a fluid — the sky, the divine — radiating mystery. An inclined plane, partly running between a doubled wall, houses the Stations of the Cross and provides, at specific points, a specific sensory experience.

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^CREDITS
Status: Competition project 2003
Team: Frank Delmulle,  
Partners: Mouton (structural engineer), Jiří Klokočka (Urban Planning), Denis Dujardin (Landscape), Stefaan Onraet (Interior)

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