Kirche Maria Kröhnung

This article is part of the Hidden Architecture Series “Tentative d’Épuisement” , where we explore the practice of an architectural criticism without rhetoric and based mainly on the physical experience of the work itself. Este artículo forma parte de la serie “Tentativa de Agotamiento” , comisariada por Hidden Architecture, donde exploramos la práctica de una crítica arquitectónica ausente de retórica y fundamentada sobre todo en la experiencia física de la propia obra. Like every day for the past two weeks, dawn broke gray, sad, and cool, with the morning shrouded in a thin, damp fog, evoking the memory of rain that never came. The varying density of atmospheric particles in suspension makes it difficult to see the Alps today, although the nearest mountain ranges are subtly hinted at intervals, whenever a latent sun manages to send us a beam of light. The linear gravel path runs along the ledge of this hillside overlooking Lake Zurich, with a south-facing orientation and an enviable view, weather permitting. The silence is dense but comfortable, as if cushioned by a strange warmth perhaps coming from the leaves of the trees painted in different autumnal tones. Our footsteps on the ground are the only echo that disturbs this morning calm, beyond a lethargic and distant urban murmur that is barely perceptible. Although the northern peaks and foothills of the Alps are gentler, with a quality close to the domestic, and certainly far removed from the dramatic peaks and glaciers further south, the omnipresence of their stone morphologies imbues this area of the city with a dreamlike quality. In winter, under almost constant snowfall, a bright white blanket rounds off and softens the sharp, geometric aridity of its relief, still so visible in October. Some people enjoy the tranquility of this Friday morning to walk their dogs along the cornice.