I've studied Islamic architecture a bit, and it always begins and ends with the Ayasofya (Hagia Sophia in Turkish). There are some others here and there--the Blue Mosque usually gets a mention, along with a few mosques in India--but it's the Ayasofya that gets the time.
And I was there. Like, standing under the dome that almost seemed like it was floating.
There's something...removing about being somewhere with so much history built into it. It seems painfully cliched to say it's like stepping outside of time, or into history, or that it's one of the still points in the turing world. So I won't.
It actually didn't seem like any of that. It did make me feel small, though, like much of my favorite architecture does. It reminded me a lot of the city.
Patient. It's so old, and it's seen so much go by that nothing really bothers it anymore.
It's just there, and content. Not that it doesn't change bit by bit over time, though--but that's all a part of growing up.
The Ayasofya knows who and what she is, and is thoroughly content with it, and won't try to become something she's not.
Even though architecture courses focus on the Ayasofya, the Sultanahmet Camii (Blue Mosque) is the one that really got it right. The domes seem more etherial. Because of the stained glass in them, there's less light, but it's harder to tell where the windows end, so the floating effect is much more pronounced.
The stained glass also gives more color to the interior--although the tiles do plenty of that on their own. There's very much a sense of grandeur. It's like a cross--in architectural feeling--between a high gothic cathedral and a tiny coffeeshop.
You never forget it's a place of worship.
[Side Note. Dear stupid American and German tourists: Even if you aren't Muslim, you should respect them. One, you're a visitor to their country. Two, you're a tourist in their place of worship. Just wear the headscarf already!]
Like I said: you never forget it's a place to pray. From a design standpoint, I know some of the things that make a building aesthetically pleasing, but it's always striking and overwhelming to see it and stand in it.
The light from above lights everything equally, and the source is harder to find than a normal window. This gives it a silent interior, no matter what's being said (or not). The art (all script and flowers) is everywhere, but it isn't overwhelming and adds almost a home-y feeling (no disrespect meant). It feels like a place to meet with God.
Gothic churches are for being awed by God's mystery and power. Today's churches are about meeting Him in your heart. The Sultanahmet Camii seems like a place you sit down (on the carpet cross-legged) next to Him and say "merhaba"/"hello" and just...be quiet with him, and let the silence be enough. A place to be still.
m.
