Category: Regional Styles

I was kneeling in the damp shade of a Bologna corner last Tuesday, my calipers out and my notebook getting ruined by the humidity, when I realized most people walk right past the very thing that makes these places breathe….

I was crouched in a damp, narrow calle near Cannaregio last Tuesday, my flashlight tracing the jagged interface where a foundation block meets the salt-slicked water. Most tourists walk right past these details, seeing only the shimmering reflection of the…

I remember standing on a half-submerged scaffolding near Cannaregio three years ago, the salt spray stinging my eyes and the smell of decaying organic matter thick enough to taste. Everyone around me was talking about the “miracle” of Venice, treating…

I was kneeling in the damp dirt outside a farmhouse near Merano last autumn, my fingers tracing the edge of a limestone lintel, when it hit me how much we get wrong. Most people visit this region and see a…

I was crouched in a freezing draft in a small valley near Cortina last November, my fingers numb, trying to trace the grain of a larch beam that had survived three centuries of snow loads. Most people walk through these…

I was standing in a damp basement near Porta Romana last Tuesday, my flashlight catching the edge of a reused Roman brick wedged into a much later medieval foundation. Most people walk through the city center looking at the Duomo’s…

I was kneeling in the dust of a crumbling nave near Cremona last autumn, my fingers tracing the uneven edge of a single, sun-baked unit, when I realized how much we misinterpret the Lombard brick tradition. Most people—and even some…

I was crouched in a narrow alleyway off Via di Città last Tuesday, my knees aching against the damp cobblestones, when I realized most people walk through this city completely blind. They look up at the sweeping facades of the…

I was standing in the Piazza della Cisterna last July, watching a tour group cluster around the base of a stone wall, listening to a guide drone on about the “romantic skyline” of the town. It’s the same old script,…

I was kneeling in the dust of a narrow alleyway in Spello last October, my magnifying loupe pressed against a crumbling limestone plinth, when I realized most people were walking right past the actual story. They were too busy snapping…