Cathedral of Hope

On March 17, 2026 By Annika PerryIn Art, Conservation, Environment, Inspiration, Writing88 Comments

It’s not every day I gatecrash a christening, and especially one held in a floating church!

Stepping inside, I’m bathed under the resplendent colourful lights of the roof tiles. The mixture of ethereal colours is enthralling, and they dance in the sunlight; it feels both playful and miraculous. It’s unbelievable that the giant roof is all made from rubbish found along the shores, by using plastic reclaimed from the sea and moulded into tiles. I stood under hope. I stood in the Cathedral of Hope.

A few years earlier, church communities – and numerous other organisations – in both Norway and Sweden felt the despair and discouragement of so many, particularly the younger generation, about the climate crisis, the state of the environment and the seeming disregard for sustainability in life.

A dream was inspired to seek a way to give their, and our, spirits hope for the future. The cultural, artistic and interfaith project, created by the artist Solveig Egeland, wanted to show that something bad can become good through collaboration and care. The environment was and is, a huge concern, and as the coast dominates life in western Scandinavia, it was natural that this became their point of departure.

In various vessels, they scoured the coastline of western Sweden, heaving up debris from the sea. From the rubbish collected, they found enough plastic to make the 4,000 recycled plastic tiles that form the magnificent roof. Its 300 m² mosaic of 50 colours is built on the Scandinavian stave church design from the 1100s. With one big difference — this one is on a wooden barge!

Three years in the making, the Cathedral of Hope (Håpets Katedral) made its pilgrimage in a series of visits to West Swedish coastal towns in the county of Bohuslän during the summer of 2025. Pulled by a tug in a slow, majestic sail of the sea, the sunlight glittering in angelic shimmers across the tiles, it entranced everyone who saw it.

I’d read about this wonderful build before our yearly travel to Sweden, and we arrived just in time to visit it in a nearby town in August 2025. I was ecstatic.

Walking to the quay of Fjällbacka, the steady flow of people were in almost carnival spirits, children running back and forth, a mix of languages with visitors from Europe and further afield. It was as if we were walking on a cloud of expectation. Even before seeing this new creation, it had more than the desired effect, hope brought us here, hope carried us down the street, between the colourful shops to the left, the granite rocks sloping to the road on the right.

Ahead music and the tones of excited chatter wove their way over the crowd who slowed at the entrance to the harbour.

My first sight was not of the floating church, but a beautiful wooden Clipper festooned with colourful ribbons, musicians on deck and a gangplank welcoming visitors on board. The quay itself was a sea of people, ambling between stalls offering food from across the continents and local crafts to view and buy.

What an unexpected surprise, what a wonderful festive start to the day out.

Yet, all the new arrivals, including myself, strained our necks, looking left, right, straight ahead. Where was the main attraction?

As if one, we all stopped. There. It was just over there.

It felt right. Not a jaunty central place of exhibition rather a more humble mooring near the Clipper, smaller in comparison but exuding strength and a heavenly presence.

Pulled by its very existence, I no longer saw anything else but the floating church, its wondrous stave roof gleaming almost to the water. The colours were as wavering as the sea, glittering and hypnotising. At times, bold primary colours were brightest; mostly there was an array of glimmering sheen. Exotic and mystifying, I was drawn closer.

Coming closer, I saw the entrance, it was mythical and gothic, regal and folkloric, harkening back to the medieval era of merging Christian and Viking emblems. Two stout logs were on each side of the entrance and two smaller logs form a tall arch above our heads, above which hung a circular colourful motif. Called The Sustainability Rose, this was created by school pupils from plastic and oak found on the coast.

I stepped inside and paused. How could it be so much lighter here than outside on the sunniest of days? The glory of colours swept around me. A sense of joy filled me, my spirits lifted and took flight. For weeks I’d dreamt of this moment. I had arrived. This was my pilgrimage.

In the centre, tall sturdy logs held up the roof, the lines smart, the golden hues of the wood matching the colours at play inside. A hushed, awed silence filled the surprisingly large space, as everyone gawped, took photos, arching necks back to look up. To the seam of the roofline, in perfect harmony.

Inside my head, one sentence played on loop. This is from rubbish. I was in awe of the incredible vision that led to the Cathedral of Hope and thankful for this gift, by its creators to us, the visitors.

Emotionally overwhelmed, I sat down on one of the chairs, looking up to the altar.

Only now did the real world intervene. A pamphlet lay on the chair. A sweet christening leaflet. Of course, it was a working church as well, for non-denominational services, meetings, concerts, exhibitions, lectures and much more.

The priest in his ornate vestments, whom I’d spied outside earlier, stood at the front with a young couple and their baby. At last, I noticed a smartly dressed contingent surrounding them, their bubble of excitement palpable.

An usher leaned over to me and she kindly asked if I was with the group as the church was temporarily closing for a christening. I smiled and said no as I joined the throng of visitors reluctantly leaving this most unique building. My soul was tugging me to remain just a while longer. Glancing up and back, I saw the light as I listened to the gentle lapping of water on the wooden boards. A floating church, the aptly named Cathedral of Hope.

Long may it sail and continue to be a space of reflection, dialogue and inspiration, reminding us that as soon as we dare to hope, anything is possible.

©Annika Perry

MYSTERY OF SAILS

On October 24, 2019 By Annika PerryIn Ocean, poetry, Writing109 Comments

Recently a dear friend who was moving house gave me four magnificent sailing ship prints and their majesty astounded me. The first of these is the Brig Fride of Göteborg seen above.

The sight of sailing ships is always awe-inspiring. This is true even of pictures featuring them and they evoke an uplifting sense of wonder and adventure.

“You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.” — William Faulkner

As always, I wanted to know a bit of the story behind them? Who painted them? I headed to the trusty internet to learn about the artist behind paintings such as the Clipper Ship Challenger pictured above.

However, this time the web failed me and the mystery of sails began.

“Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul.” — Kahlil Gibran

I could find the prints for auction at one auction house in Sweden. Two of the prints seems to be connected to two different artists: Peter Christian Holm (1823 – 1888) for the steamboat and Signe Marin for the Brig.

Here the trail went cold! I would be intrigued if anyone could shed anymore light on the history of these paintings.

Meanwhile, my mind wondered towards the pull of the ocean, its reverential hold upon us all. Writers not only find it a source of inspiration and rejuvenation but also cannot help but note down the power of this vast expanse. Perhaps even when aboard boats such as the Three-mast Barque Gefion pictured above.

“If there is poetry in my book about the sea, it is not because I deliberately put it there, but because no one could write truthfully about the sea and leave out the poetry.” ― Rachel Carson

I decided to seek out ocean-related sayings and here the internet proved much more willing. I’ve chosen four from authors whose books are some of my favourites.

The last of the four ship prints is the Steamship Gustaf Adolf pictured here.

Finally, do you have any favourite quotations, poetry or songs related to the ocean? Please feel free to share here and if possible I look forward to collating these in a separate post. For all writers, if you have written a piece based around the seas please include it in the comments or link to your post! I look forward to a discussion all about the ocean!

“I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.” — Louisa May Alcott

GHOST CRABS ET AL

On September 13, 2016 By Annika PerryIn Florida, Holiday, Writing79 Comments

**‘Hey folks! Have you got the photo yet? I’m getting pretty bored with this posing lark!’**

I noticed the perfect round holes first.

What lived in these burrows visible across the beach? Soon after I began to catch glimpses of the elusive crustaceans as they scuttled across the sand and as if leaping, disappeared into their holes. Impossibly so, I felt as the crabs were far broader than its habitat. Intrigued I wondered about their appearance, colouring. Not the usual dark brown crabs from the North Sea coast, that much I could see.

Then one morning one of the mysterious ghost crabs obligingly paused by its burrow and looked up. Its expression was priceless; slightly disarming, slightly grumpy. It stayed still. Waiting patiently as camera phone was found, put on correct setting, sun glasses removed in order to see the screen. Ready at last! The black piercing eyes were unmoving, its shell pale and almost translucent. In contrast the legs shone with gentle light golden hues, furry-like at the tips. The two claws were of uneven size; a characteristic of the ghost crabs – so named for its pale complexion and chameleon ability to blend in with its environment and the shading of the body adjusts according to the time of day.

The first morning I was mesmerised by a flock of large birds swooping and gliding across the ocean. Five clearly visible although other days up to eighteen would fly across the water close to shore. Suddenly one dived into the ocean before quickly reappearing. What were these majestic birds? Soon I had my answer. Pelicans! I was in utter awe; before I had only seen Pelicans in zoos. It was a joy and privilege to view them on a daily basis in the wild. Often during meal times three pelicans would pass within two metres of our balcony, their heads and wings clearly visible. An awesome overwhelming sight and we sat in silence savouring the experience.

One particularly elegant and regal bird was a constant visitor on the shores, purposefully striding along the waters edge, its crisp white plumage gleaming in the sunlight. Always keeping its distance from each other, the little egret, a type of heron, occasionally bopped its black beak into the wet sand before moving on with its striking yellow feet. Time stood still as I watched the egret; sheer peace and harmony. The only time it seemed bothered was as the wind increased following the hurricane and then it tucked its head snuggly against the body, seeking lee within itself.

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Partly hidden under the bottom wooden stair down to the beach, the turtle’s head stretched beyond the step. Oh no! It should have returned hours earlier back to the sea but then I saw its injury, a large chunk of shell lying by its side, no doubt attacked by the seagulls during the night. My heart went out to the poor animal. After our walk it was still on the beach, but heading in the right direction. Later it had disappeared, hopefully after making its own way to the sea!

Geckos galore! That is the only way to describe the paths around the condo building by the car park as geckos of all sizes crowded the paths. I had to keenly observe the path I walked along, particularly as the baby ones were only a cute centimetre long!

The sunlight sparkled from this alien orb on the sand; hypnotic in its strange beauty. Was it alive? The answer I found out was no as this was the the ‘jelly’ remains of a jellyfish. Called the mesoglea, this is the last part to decompose when a jellyfish dies, usually after being torn apart by fish, turtles or rough weather. It doesn’t sting but not knowing that at the time I wasn’t taking a chance!

Butterfly clams were a delight of tiny proportions. Visible briefly as the waves washed over the sand, the butterfly clams use the water to move around on the beach before quickly burrowing themselves again. This recurrent movement is known as the “dance of the coquina”. Although it was difficult and rare to catch sight of the clams themselves, their shells were scattered across the beach and the child within me eagerly collected a handful of the 15-25 mm empty shells.

Finally, a mystery! These little birds were a common sight on the beach, pecking away at the sand along the water’s edge. They were among our favourite animals in Florida, so cute and particularly endearing as with each oncoming wave they would dash quickly away up the beach, their little legs stepping so fast. Despite numerous conversations with other walkers along the stretch of coast we became no wiser as to what these birds were actually called. Can anyone help? Below are my first attempt to upload my own videos from Vimeo – fingers crossed they work!

I hope you have enjoyed the visit to the animal kingdom from New Smyrna Beach; my next post will visit the bricks and mortar of the towns in the area.

BALCONY WITH A VIEW

On September 8, 2016 By Annika PerryIn Florida, Holiday, Writing83 Comments

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For sixteen days my soul is lulled into a state of soporific bliss as I wander the unspoilt beach on the East Coast of Florida. New Smyrna Beach stretches for thirteen unspoilt miles to the North and South of our condo residence these last weeks.

Now, newly returned from the States and as I wait for my mind and spirit to catch up with my body, I would like to share some of the amazing and moving photographs of the landscape, wildlife and towns. To do them justice I will write three consecutive posts – one on each topic.

From my mother’s and my first midnight arrival the sound of the ocean is bewitching. Not the gentle roll of waves I am used to from smaller beaches in the Mediterranean or even in the UK. Rather an unfathomable rolling roar as one crash upon the next reverberates along the coastline. Initially frightening, then quickly hypnotic and calming.

Daylight ushers in a view of almost surreal beauty; unimaginable to our tired eyes. Stretching ahead is the widest of horizons; ocean meeting sky in a perfect horizontal line. The beach fades in the distance to our left and right, absorbed by the gentle sea mist.

The magic of the ocean becomes all pervasive and I know its sounds, sights and scents will inhabit my soul in the months and years ahead. I am at one with this mighty force; finding transcendental tranquility with the new-found union with nature.

Each day solitary joggers pass in front of us as we sit on the balcony. The odd cyclists too make an early communion with the beach.

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Walkers too share its delight. Observing, we soon join them for long contemplative strolls. Ahead is a woman deep into her yoga, seemingly oblivious to the scatterings of folk around her. Sheer beauty and simplicity and surely how all yoga should be practiced.

Many mealtimes are shared on the balcony and from here we note the quiet piercing rise of the sun – later I feel its blistering heat.

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A heat that the first few days is more a wall of hotness and humidity but quickly we adjust to this new phenomena. We watch the placid roll of waves turn to an unruly fierceness as first the tropical storm and later Hurricane Hermine approaches.

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As the waves power their way to the shore mounds of seaweed are deposited high up on the beach. If this is just the edge of the hurricane I am glad not to witness its full ferocity.

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On every visit to the beach I’m mesmerised by the various sensations underfoot. At first my soles sink in the soft near white sand until they resemble zombie feet! Then there is the harder darker wet sand which sends a jolt of pain on each step into the ankle as this feels harder than concrete. Then finally the tantalising breathtaking walk in the surf, a satisfying sinking feeling with each step, a small footprint indent left behind immediately filled and eradicated by the next wave.