Nest Chapel
For an architect, every project begins as an act of reading – reading the land, the light, the materials, the intentions, and even the intangible: that which dwells between space and spirit. To interpret the world and then translate it into form may be the most delicate and enduring exercise in architecture. And when that translation approaches the sacred, the gesture takes on another dimension – a search, through matter, for a language that ascends.
Nest Chapel was born from a rare opportunity for an architect: to design a religious space of intimate scale. Conceived by Brazilian company Felipe Caboclo Arquitetura, the project emerged not merely as a formal exercise but as a natural unfolding of an emotional story. Its origins are intertwined with Nest House, a countryside residence designed for a couple who, with grown children and grandchildren, sought a family refuge in Itu, in São Paulo countryside – a place for gathering, rest, and the creation of emotional memory.
The name chosen by the homeowners encapsulates that purpose: a shelter that welcomes and protects. The couple owned two adjacent lots, each measuring roughly 2,000 square meters. On the first, the new house was built, with design work beginning in 2022. The second, initially left unused, remained in silence – until the desire for a space of contemplation and faith transformed it into destiny.
Throughout the development of the residential project, the homeowner expressed the desire for a space dedicated to prayer, reflection, and religious gatherings. The initial proposals—such as a prayer furniture piece, a garden annex, or a small room—did not fully meet her vision, nor did they convey the desired symbolism. Almost naturally, the idea arose to use the neighboring plot, a vacant space waiting for new meaning.
There, the architect and the homeowners found the starting point for something that would go beyond domestic use and enter the realm of the spiritual. How does one design a space for the sacred? This was the question guiding Felipe Caboclo. He understood that the answer would not come from technical rules, but from memory.
His recollections led him back to his university years, about twenty-five years ago, when a professor introduced him to a book that would mark his formation – both academic and personal: Architecture: Form, Space and Order (1979), by Francis D.K. Ching. Within its pages, a passage from Le Corbusier’s Vers une Architecture (1923) had echoed in his mind ever since:
“You employ stone, wood and concrete, and with these materials you build houses and palaces. That is construction. Ingenuity is at work. [...]
Suppose, however, that the walls rise toward heaven in such a way that I am moved. I perceive your intentions. Your mood was gentle, brutal, charming or noble. The stones you set up tell me so. You fix me to the place, and my eyes regard it. They behold something that expresses a thought. A thought which reveals itself without sound or sign, through forms arranged in order.”
Those words became a silent mantra. In each new project, the architect sought that same gesture – material elements that rise and move us, that transcend function to touch the intangible, endowing space with emotional meaning.
When the couple revived the idea of a chapel, Felipe realized it was time to give concrete form to Le Corbusier’s reflection.
There are discreet echoes of the concrete chapels of the Japanese master Tadao Ando, and of the sculptural power of the steel works by Richard Serra – structures that curve, create tension, and awaken the observer’s body. Yet in Nest Chapel, these influences are softened, filtered through the rural landscape of São Paulo’s countryside and through the emotional narrative that gave the project its soul.
Nest Chapel is modest in scale but vast in intention. Set at the center of a generous site, the structure seems to emerge from the earth, composed of two concrete walls that twist gently around the core in intentional curves. These surfaces define the structure and trace the path. Their undulations create an almost liturgical movement – a walk that invites pause and reflection.
For the architect, the essence of the work lies not in the destination, but in the journey itself – which becomes a ritual. In plan, the walls bend in a hyperbolic gesture; in elevation, they vary in height and inclination. They guide the gaze and the body through a narrowing passage that opens suddenly into the main space – a kind of promenade architecturale on an intimate scale.
The project underwent months of full-scale prototyping until it reached equilibrium between numerous studies and technical solutions. The main material, concrete, bears the imprint of the five-centimeter timber boards that shaped it, creating a subtle texture across the surface, evoking the layers of Varvito, a sedimentary rock native to Itu, formed over millennia by the superposition of fine strata. This geological landscape, preserved today at the Varvito Park, inspired the architect to seek a materiality that would reveal the trace of the hand, the mark of time, and the beauty of imperfection. The wooden forms were crafted manually, an attempt to inscribe the passage of time and the vibration of matter into the surface of the concrete.
At the center lies the prayer space – around ten square meters – defined by a cluster of laminated timber elements that rise from the floor to rest upon the curved concrete walls. Together, they form an oval volume. The slightly inclined roof, built in timber with a waterproof membrane, is lined internally with Freijó wood slats. Its subtle slope channels rainwater outward while directing the gaze toward the altar.
The ceiling, in tone and rhythm, harmonizes with the surrounding structure. Wood provides a warm counterpoint to the concrete. The floor – in brushed São Gabriel black granite, laid in a broken-stone pattern – extends seamlessly from the exterior. True to Le Corbusier’s spirit, the chapel reveals its voice through the same triad of materials that shapes the adjacent residence: concrete, wood, and stone – while metaphorically aspiring upward, toward the divine.
Glazed surfaces create a sequence of fixed panels that protect the core and frame the view, ensuring the garden is never lost from sight. Two operable panes, set at an angle, allow for cross ventilation.
Like the architecture itself, the furniture follows a principle of restraint. The benches, pulpit, and the totem holding the saint were carved from solid wood, their geometry pure and elemental.
The landscape design embraces simplicity: a path of lavender encircles the building. The choice of a single species creates chromatic unity and a complete sensory experience – through fragrance, texture, and the motion of flowers in the wind.
The making of this small sacred space became, in itself, a journey of learning – where structural challenge turned into discovery and the construction site became a laboratory, intertwining technique and sensitivity. The chapel does not seek monumentality, but presence. The sacred emerges in the dialogue between light and matter, in the tension between density and lightness. It is an architecture that grows from within – a discreet, symbolic gesture.
