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…
I was kneeling in the damp dust of a crumbling perimeter in Puglia last autumn, my flashlight tracing the jagged edges of a limestone block, when it hit me how much we misinterpret these sites. Most tourists—and frankly, even some…
I was standing in a decommissioned textile mill outside of Biella last autumn, watching a developer walk through the main hall with a stack of glossy renderings. He was talking about “minimalist aesthetics” and “stripping back the soul” to make…
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…
I remember standing in a narrow alleyway in the Sassi during a particularly humid July, watching a tour group cluster around a crumbling archway. They were all staring at the “picturesque” view, snapping the same filtered photos of the cave…
I remember standing in a damp basement in Ravenna last autumn, my flashlight catching the edge of a crumbling slab, when a contractor tried to convince me that a modern, high-strength epoxy pour was the only way to “fix” the…
I was standing in a dusty courtyard in Syracuse last summer, squinting at a limestone threshold where a Roman paving stone met a much later medieval repair, when it hit me how much we misunderstand the concept of order. Most…
I was standing in a courtyard in Florence last Tuesday, watching a group of tourists marvel at the sweeping, glass-and-steel curves of a contemporary wing, completely oblivious to the fact that the entire structure was fighting a losing battle against…
I was standing in the shadow of a crumbling travertine archway near the Piazza Navona last autumn, feeling the dampness of the Roman humidity seep into my boots, when I realized how much we get wrong. Most guidebooks treat rome…
I was crouched on a damp scaffold near the Grand Canal last November, my fingers tracing the jagged edge of an Istrian stone lintel, when it finally clicked. Most people walk past these facades and see nothing but a pretty,…