Category: Roman

I was crouched in a damp corner of a villa near Syracuse last autumn, my flashlight catching the edge of a faded fresco that looked, at first glance, like a simple decorative border. But as I leaned in closer—the way…

I was kneeling in a damp villa outside of Syracuse last autumn, my knees aching against the grit, when I realized how much we get wrong about the past. Most people walk through a museum and see roman mosaics and…

I was kneeling in the dust of a crumbling portico outside Palermo last autumn, my flashlight tracing the jagged edge of a broken plinth, when it hit me how much we get wrong about history. People walk past these sites…

I was standing in the humid heat of a site near Benevento last summer, my fingers tracing the uneven grit of a weathered travertine block, when it hit me how much we get wrong. Most guidebooks will give you a…

I was standing on a scaffold in a dusty courtyard near the Forum last autumn, tracing the underside of a weathered capital with my flashlight, when it hit me how much we misinterpret these stones. Most guidebooks treat the corinthian…

I was standing in a dusty courtyard near Paestum last autumn, tracing the edge of a weathered column with my thumb, when I realized how much we get wrong in the textbooks. People love to talk about the seamless transition…

I was standing in the heat of a Sicilian afternoon last July, tracing the edge of a weathered Doric capital with my fingernails, when I realized how much we get wrong. Most guidebooks treat temples and their orders like a…

I was kneeling in the salt-crusted silt of a Roman pier near Ravenna last autumn, my fingers tracing the jagged edge of a broken travertine block, when it hit me how much we misunderstand the sheer defiance of these structures….

I was crouched in the damp shadow of a medieval stone arch near Ravenna last autumn, my fingers tracing the uneven grit of a lime-mortar joint that had been weeping for decades. Most people walk over a crossing and see…

I remember standing on a muddy ridge in the Marches, staring at a series of excavated post-holes that refused to align with the textbook diagrams I’d spent years memorizing in university. The academics will tell you that military camps and…