"It is so low-maintenance," he says of the sand-colored stone flecked with red and white. "So forgiving."
Gleaming in the shadows at the end of the long entrance way is a 17th century Spanish Baroque retablo--a gilded altarpiece. A few steps in, on the right, there is an narrow entrance into the nave--pews can be glimpsed, and long, spidery light fixtures. One could enter now, but the point is to keep moving forward, toward the retablo.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Friday August 30, 2002 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 2 National Desk 2 inches; 106 words Type of Material: Correction
Cathedral doors--A graphic Wednesday in Section A and the "Surroundings" story Thursday in the California section gave inconsistent and incorrect information about the weight of the main doors at the new Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. The Great Bronze Doors comprise the doors themselves, which weigh about 7 tons apiece, plus the crowning tympanum structure and statue of Mary. The combined weight of the entire piece is about 25 tons. In addition, the story Wednesday that the graphic accompanied gave misleading information about the dimensions of the nave's series of tapestries. They are 20 feet tall.
"Moneo uses the past to tempt you along the journey," says Mahony, "in the hope that you'll want to take the long way around rather than cutting through."
The cardinal enters the Blessed Sacrament Chapel, a small room near the entrance to the nave.
"This is one of my favorite places," he says.
The chapel, which will have chairs and kneelers, is empty now save the tabernacle that will hold the Eucharist and the wine used during the sacrament of Communion. Designed by Max De Moss, the tabernacle is tall and circular, like the smooth, graceful trunk of a eucalyptus.
"Usually a tabernacle is a little box," the cardinal says. "But De Moss had to design a vertical because of the space." He gestures to the ceiling high, high overhead.
The cardinal opens the tabernacle. Two angels appear on the inside of the doors that reveal the vessel, called a ciborium, for the Eucharist. The cardinal lifts it out.
"I had no idea it would be so beautiful," he says. In his hands, the vessel glows, then suddenly grows pale as the room darkens. "Oops," says the cardinal, putting the ciborium back, closing the door. "They're still testing the lights."
There are two other side chapels along the ambulatory. One holds a statue of Our Lady from St. Vibiana's. The statue is surrounded by a copse of cameras and lights as if she were a supermodel. A hand-lettered sign taped to her base reads, "Photo shoot Friday."
Mahony gestures, a full arm extension that takes in the ceiling and then the floor. "You see how the past and future have been combined," he says. "That is one of the themes of the cathedral--the tension between the past and the future."
Then the cardinal surges forward.
Passing the retablo, he enters the nave. Standing there, in front of the baptismal font, facing the altar, he basks. It is much warmer than he'd anticipated: The wood of the pews and the earth tones of the John Nava tapestries soothe the space, with its alabaster-filtered light and floors the color of adobe.
