Category: Renaissance

I was standing in the rain outside a neo-Palladian estate in the English Midlands last autumn, tracing the line of a pediment that looked far too perfect to be real. Most architectural historians will talk to you about the “grandeur”…

I remember standing on the gravel path near Vicenza last autumn, my hands stained with dust from a site survey, looking at a textbook photo of Palladio’s masterpiece. The glossy pages always make it look like a mathematical miracle, a…

I was standing in a damp corner of a villa near Vicenza last autumn, my flashlight catching the jagged edge of a limestone plinth, when I realized how much we get wrong. Everyone comes to these sites to talk about…

I was kneeling in the damp dust of a basement in Ravenna last autumn, tracing the irregular grit of a lime mortar joint, when I realized how much we misinterpret the Renaissance. Most textbooks treat the concept of vitruvius and…

I was standing in a humid courtyard in Palermo last Tuesday, squinting at a modern facade that tried far too hard to look “timeless.” It was one of those recent attempts at the classical orders revived, but instead of the…

I was standing in a damp courtyard in Syracuse last autumn, tracing the edge of a weathered limestone lintel, when I realized how much we’ve turned the concept of beauty into a mathematical lecture. Most textbooks treat proportion and harmonic…

I was standing in a damp courtyard near Mantua last autumn, running my fingers over a weathered travertine lintel, when I realized how much we get wrong about the Renaissance. Most textbooks treat alberti and architectural theory as if they…

I was kneeling in the dust of a crumbling sacristy in Syracuse last July, my fingers tracing the uneven grit of a lime-wash that had survived three centuries of humidity. Most people visit these sites to photograph the grand altarpiece…

I spent three hours last Tuesday in the Duomo, not looking at the frescoes or the golden light, but crouched on a scaffold, tracing the line where the brickwork meets the ribs. Most guidebooks will try to sell you a…

I spent three hours last Tuesday crouched on a scaffold near the Duomo, not looking at the skyline, but squinting at a single, stubborn seam of mortar. Most people visit the brunelleschi dome in florence to marvel at the sheer…