I was kneeling in the dust of a site near Ostia last Tuesday, my knees aching against the uneven ground, when I saw it: a single, jagged fracture in a stretch of ancient opus caementicium. Most people walk past these…
I spent three weeks last summer in a dusty archive in Florence, tracing the ink lines of Renaissance masterworks, only to realize how much we get wrong about the concept of perfection. We tend to treat the ideal city drawings…
I was kneeling in the dust of a crumbling courtyard near Syracuse last autumn, my fingers tracing the uneven seam where a reused Roman block met a medieval limestone lintel, when I realized how much we get wrong about this…
I remember standing on a crumbling terrace in Santo Stefano di Sessanio last October, my knees aching from the climb, staring at a wall that refused to make sense. Most travel guides will tell you that the beauty of abruzzo…
I was crouched in the dirt outside a crumbling farmhouse near Velletri last autumn, my knees aching against the damp earth, when I realized most people look at the Roman countryside and casali through a lens of pure, romanticized fiction….
I was standing in a narrow side street in Pienza last autumn, squinting against the midday sun, when I realized how much we misinterpret the concept of the “ideal city.” Most textbooks treat urban planning in the renaissance as if…
I remember standing on a scaffold in a crumbling palazzo near Ravenna, the air thick with the scent of damp oak and centuries of dust. While the structural engineers were arguing over modern load-bearing calculations and steel reinforcements, I was…
I was standing in a dusty courtyard in San Cataldo last Tuesday, running my hand over a seam where the new concrete met the old stone, when it hit me how much we get wrong. Most theorists treat Aldo Rossi…
I was crouched in a narrow service corridor near the ancient waterfront, the smell of damp tuff and centuries-old dust thick in my throat, when I saw it: a modern patch of cement aggressively forced into a gap where Roman…
I was kneeling in the dust of a small thermopolium last summer, my fingers tracing the edge of a chipped marble counter, when I realized how much we get wrong about these ruins. Most tourists walk through the gates looking…