Category: Regional Styles

I remember standing on a crumbling limestone ledge near Positano three years ago, the humidity pressing against my neck like a damp cloth, watching a modern contractor argue with a local mason. The contractor was waving a glossy blueprint, shouting…

I was kneeling in the dust of a site near Capua last July, my knees aching against the grit, when I saw it: a sixteenth-century brick pier sitting directly atop a massive, weathered block of Roman tufa. Most guidebooks will…

I was standing in a narrow alleyway in the Quartieri Spagnoli last Tuesday, my camera lens inches away from a particularly stubborn patch of volcanic tuff, when I realized how much we get wrong about this place. Most tourists—and even…

I remember standing on a crumbling terrace in Etna’s shadow, my knees stained with dust, staring at a seam where the mortar had simply given up. Everyone around me was talking about the “aesthetic charm” of the masonry, as if…

I remember standing in the shadow of a towering structure in Barumini, my hands caked in fine, ochre dust, feeling more frustrated than inspired. Most guidebooks treat the sardinian nuraghi as these mystical, almost magical monoliths—mysterious relics left by a…

I was kneeling in the dust of a side street near the Quattro Canti last Tuesday, my knees aching against the uneven basalt, when I saw it: a tiny, jagged seam where a 12th-century limestone block had been shoved into…

I was kneeling in the dust of a Palermitan courtyard last summer, my magnifying glass inches away from a limestone block, when I realized how much we miss by simply looking at the “grandeur.” Most guidebooks will try to sell…

I remember standing in the dust of a collapsed courtyard in 1994, my hands stained with the grit of pulverized limestone, watching a supervisor argue about the “aesthetic grandeur” of a facade while ignoring the fact that the foundation was…

I was kneeling in the dust of a crumbling courtyard in Noto last spring, my fingers tracing a jagged fracture in a limestone corbel, when I realized how much we get wrong. Most guidebooks treat sicilian baroque after the earthquake…

I remember standing in a damp, narrow corridor in Matera three years ago, my flashlight catching the edge of a tool mark that had been smoothed over by centuries of humidity. Most people look at cave dwellings and rock architecture…