CHAPEL OF ANGELS

ILLUSTRATOR ALICE STEVENSON DISCOVERS CURIOUS PLACES AND SURPRISING PERSPECTIVES ON HER TRAVELS, EXPLORING WONDERLANDS WITH AN ARTIST’S EYE

From the bottom of the sloping path of Compton village cemetery, the circular chapel looks small, its pinky-orange colour and slender arched windows seem to belong somewhere further south than here; Italy or the south of France, not the Surrey countryside the day after the winter solstice.

As I get closer, something odd happens. The designs upon its surface, which from a distance appear an abstract texture, begin to clarify, and I see how immensely detailed the surface is. The chapel was designed by Mary Watts between 1896 and 1898. Typical of her time, Mary was preoccupied with social improvement through creative enlightenment, so the chapel’s construction was a social enterprise created collaboratively with local residents.

There is so much decoration I struggle to absorb all the surfaces, it’s hard to know where to rest one’s gaze. The large wooden entrance is arched and framed with three receding rounded columns of carved formations. I make out faces and flowers hidden amongst Celticstyle swoops, but I decide to delay closer inspection until after I have investigated the chapel’s interior.

It is dark and cold inside. My eyes first travel up to the ceiling, where deep green beams are lined with what I take to be cherubs: child-like faces upon leaves. Four red, Art Nouveau angels prop up the central point of the ceiling where the beams meet, the shape of their gowns suggests the form of lilies or irises. There are more angels around the walls of the chapel; from their hands trail relief metal lines, which curve downwards and frame circular images with tiny symbolic figures.

But it is these angels themselves that intrigue me the most. Their haloed heads are painted on circular panels and their wings, adorned with painted feather textures, are folded down over their gowns. Their bodies eventually recede into a sharp point, and this shape, combined with their muted tones, brings to mind chrysalids, or bats in repose, and indeed there

is a distinct cave-like feeling inside the chapel.

The intertwining ribbons of plaster vines and delicate flowers remind me of the background of early renaissance paintings. The dramatic Celtic Revival lines link and wind between every angel and decoration that adorn the walls like arteries, which combined with the abundance of deep reds, the gloom and muted colours, make the walls of this cavernous place seem alive, almost womblike. It feels like the right place to be in the very heart of winter.

Back outside, the carved terracotta of the facade seems remarkably clear cut after the darkness of the chapel’s interior. I look into one of the columns framing the door and see a well defined face among the Celtic flourishes. The carved tendrils wrap around a circular shape, containing two flowers in relief and a row of little raised bumps, pierced with tiny holes. I find this level of detail strangely moving in the dimming, winter light.

I circumnavigate the chapel slowly, absorbing all its embellishment. I identify strange creatures: owls and peacocks carved from the terracotta in the same intertwining Celtic line beneath the interior angels’ feet. Angels prop up these bestial panels and I notice one holding a circular rounded form onto which a symmetrical tree of life is carved. The design itself, probably only 20cm in diameter, would be enough alone to hold my gaze and capture my imagination, but here it is a small part of something much much bigger. Perhaps the oddest thing about this chapel is the angels that emerge from the panels among the stylised beasts. In contrast to their flat bodies, their faces are threedimensional and realistic, and the effect is not entirely comfortable; as if they’re gazing down beseechingly at me, trying to escape from their rigid terracotta prison.

The daylight is fading as I walk away from the chapel. I look back, and soon the carvings have again become indistinct, just texture, and the chapel is once again a small structure – not the cosmic, womb-like world it was only minutes before.