Churches and monasteries are emptying and closing their doors. Does our secularised society no longer have a need for places of silence? The language of silence seems almost like a language we have spoken less and less over the generations. However, new typologies are emerging that are closer to a contemporary form of tranquillity. How does this translate into the architect’s vocabulary?

Writing about silence in the language of architecture, let alone speaking about it, carries a certain paradox within it. It brings to mind the riddle posed by actor Roberto Benigni in his role as Guido Orefice in the film La vita è bella: ‘If you say my name, I am no longer there. Who am I?’ ‘The silence’. It calls for a design that allows for silence, rather than actively seeking it out. When you wish to surround yourself with silence, you might initially be tempted to retreat far from built-up areas, into the open countryside. Preferably unspoilt nature, where any human intervention ceases to exist. How does architecture relate to this? John Pawson’s Wooden Chapel takes a first conciliatory step. That chapel consists of rough, stacked tree trunks, with just a doorway and a window from which you can gaze upon the surrounding landscape. A place to retreat for a moment and reflect. This inward gesture seems significant.