The louvered skylight above lets in a light so cool it’s almost pearly. “There’s a much brighter effect above than below,” Stephen Hruby says. Between sweeping gestures, the lauded Naples architect clasps his hands reverently behind his back. He’s standing inside a structure he neither designed nor consulted on, but one which his professionally and prayer-practiced hands enthusiastically extol: Ave Maria Catholic Church. A procession of chandeliers reach down toward the pews, emitting a golden glow. The juxtaposition of cool, natural light above and warm, manufactured light below parallels the separation between man and his maker. “This is more earthly, warm and yellow,” he says. “It’s more human than above. That’s more of a natural bluish-white light, heavenly light.”
The magisterial, 10-story oratory forms the dramatic focal point of the piazza in Ave Maria, the Catholic university town created by Domino’s Pizza founder and leading Catholic philanthropist Thomas Monaghan, about 40 miles from Downtown Naples. The oratory’s central location, stone facade, basilica-style silhouette, east-west orientation (“The sun symbolically rises behind the altar,” he says) and effervescent light blends architectural inspiration from historic European cathedrals with contemporary practices and technology.
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Photography by Anna Nguyen
ava maria oratory bulding architecture inside
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Photography by Anna Nguyen
ava maria oratory aerial view
The stone, glass and steel oratory—which anchors the center of the Catholic university town created by the Domino’s Pizza founder—combines Romanesque, Gothic and modernist influences.
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Photography by Anna Nguyen
ava maria oratory roof outside
Travertine cladding from four New Mexico quarries is purposefully designed with contrasting smooth and rough surfaces, a Romanesque touch. The towering oratory’s 8,100-ton foundation required 150 trucks to pour continuously for more than 17 hours.
The building is a feast for history and architecture buffs like Stephen. The principal founder behind Naples’ Architects Unlimited has masterminded many palatial, waterside residences and contemporary sites like Naples Ballet (formerly known as the Naples Academy of Ballet) and the Glass Animal Hospital at the Naples Zoo at Caribbean Gardens. He spearheads housing initiatives as chairman of The Housing Alliance and reaps national accolades for his work in community revitalization. As a fledgling architect in Pennsylvania, he designed half a dozen churches with his trademark efficiency and, as a practicing Catholic, veneration.
While Stephen is most drawn to the oratory’s historical influences, the design’s modernist leanings are not lost on him. Tom Monaghan’s love for The Prairie School pioneer Frank Lloyd Wright infuses the space. The developer referenced works by E. Fay Jones, a 20th-century Wright apprentice in Arkansas. By combining the exposed steel beams of Jones’ Thorncrown Chapel with the ethereal, bowed wooden trusses of his Mildred B. Cooper Memorial Chapel, Tom had the idea of bowing steel beams to create Ave Maria’s singular frame. He entrusted the design to Harry Lewis Warren, of Cannon Design in New York.
While the modernist influences are felt throughout, much of the ornamentation reflects age-old European architectural elements. “This oratory hearkens back to a Gothic church, but it’s partially Romanesque,” Stephen says. Where Gothic architecture is known for its pointed arches (think: Notre-Dame de Paris), its medieval Romanesque predecessor fused elements of classic Roman design with Byzantine art and local influences to create imposing stone structures with towering arches (like Pisa Cathedral). Ave Maria’s flying buttresses and peaked shape, resembling hands clasped toward the heavens in prayer, are textbook Gothic; its thick, nearly-impregnable walls are Romanesque. Travertine cladding—brought in from four New Mexico quarries—covers the frame’s facade with rust-colored stones that vary between rough and smooth. The use of rustication (decorative stonework to create deliberately rough surfaces) is another trademark Romanesque touch, Stephen says.
Above the three front doors, a bas-relief, white Carrara marble depiction of the Annunciation stands above a row of 12 gilt apostles. The sculpture of archangel Gabriel kneeling before the Virgin Mary was carved and assembled onsite by Hungarian sculptor Márton Váró. Inside, the softly lit sanctuary’s glass cocoon and gray-blue tones—prominent in the Brazilian ardósia (slate) flooring—add to a feeling of coolness, stillness and quietude. The elements achieve what a church can arguably do best: Create calm respite from the bright, buzzing world outside.
Tilting his head, Stephen draws attention to the interlocking steel beams above, an elegantly interlaced ribcage of metal so spartan in its industrial material and so intricate in its design it’s hard to tell which shapes are metal and which are cast shadows. “These are a contemporary interpretation of the ribbed vault,” he says. Modern building technology has rendered the load-bearing purpose of the skeletal arches obsolete, but philosophically, the formidable, labyrinthine vault reflects the transcendent nature of spirituality. “[This church] has recreated the complexity of the universe in its ceiling,” he says.
Stephen genuflects before the rear altar, then stands aside to admire the crucifix above. It hangs, sparse and poetic, simultaneously nestled and suspended within the apse; Stephen points out a single skylight, hidden in the apse, illuminating the downcast figure. The light throws two symmetrical shadows off the bronze sculpture, creating the illusion of three repeating figures. With a wry smile, he observes: “It casts a trinity.” The architect can’t help but consider the profundity of a building’s form and function.