Week 22 – Carnevale Romano, Super Bowl Monday, and the Comparative Durability of Masonry Materials at Ercolano
Scene from Carnevale Romano - Performers entertain a crowd at the Piazza di Spagna, at the base of the Spanish Steps
We’re in the midst of Carnevale season in Rome. Carnavale is the entire season leading up to Lent, culminating the final day before lent (best known in English as Mardi Gras, from the French “Fat Tuesday”.) The name Carnevale, which includes the Italian word for meat (Carne), reflects the last chance for eating meat (and engaging in other indulgences) before lent. The revival of Carnevale celebrations in Rome is fairly recent – these celebrations were banned in Italy by Mussolini in the 1930’s and 40’s.
The Carnevale celebrations here in Rome aren’t as artistically elaborate as those in Venice, nor as wild and adult-oriented as those in New Orleans. From what I’ve seen thus far, Rome’s Carnevale seems to involve a lot of family fun – kids in costumes, jugglers, performing arts, etc., than wild debauchery.
Carnevale Romano - swashbuckling pirates...
...a maiden...
and Snow White all climb atop the lion fountain in Piazza del Popolo
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To compare it to two celebrations I’ve attended numerous times, Rome’s Carnevale is more similar to Boston’s First Night New Year’s celebration than it is to Carnival season in New Orleans.
a pumpkin-monster takes a break at Piazza Navona. It must be tiring being that cute all the time - people expect you to always be "on".
My bear cub daughter befriends a kitten, as Zorro looks on
Confetti on the pietrini paving in Rome after a Carnevale celebration
Speaking of New Orleans, early this morning, I and many others here at the American Academy experienced our first ever “Super Bowl Monday”. About a 15 of us piled into a small lounge with a television in the McKim Mead and White building to watch the game live, which meant it started at 12:30 AM on Monday morning (and ended about 3:30 AM). Our crowd consisted of a mix of about a dozen Americans, a few Italians, 1 Brit, and 1 Dutch woman, but oddly, we were all rooting for New Orleans. We feared that we might have awakened the saner people in the bldg, asleep in their apartments, when we all erupted raucously around 3:30 A.M. when New Orleans returned an interception for a touchdown to clinch the victory.
The archaeological site at Ercolano (Herculaneum), with the volcano Mt. Vesuvius looming in the background
Last week I made my third visit since November to Ercolano Scavi (the Ercolano excavations), one of my ongoing study sites. It’s an archaeological site on the coast of the Bay of Naples near Mt. Vesuvius that, like the more famous Pompeii, was buried by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 A.D. Ercolano, called “ Herculaneum” in English, is named for the Greek god Hercules. I’ve been to both Ercolano and Pompeii, but Ercolano is much more interesting to me. I’m deeply interested in the details of construction, and Ercolano is a better place to see those details, because the construction is generally much more intact than at Pompeii. As a result of the different way the two were buried by the eruption (Ercolano by a pyroclastic flow, Pompeii by a shower of ash), Ercolano has intact (on some buildings) upper stories, roofs, wood framing, and even some wood furniture, whereas the remains at Pompeii mostly consist of first story masonry walls. If you are interested in architecture and construction, and you visit the Bay of Naples, I definitely recommend you visit Ercolano.
1st century A.D. streetscape in Ercolano
Although I’ve been fortunate enough to gain access to some restricted parts of the site for research on my project (thanks to the people at the Herculaneum Conservation Project), one of the most interesting phenomena I’ve observed regarding durability is readily visible all across the public access areas of the site. It’s the phenomena of the severe “rising damp” (wicking of moisture from below grade) on masonry walls across the site, and more interesting still, the way that allows us to compare the relative durability of the various masonry materials used in constructing those walls.
Classic rising damp problem at Ercolano. Note how the band of wetness roughly follows the slope of the ground. The wetness, zone of drying, and efflorescence extend through the brick, and above, but the brick and original mortar have proven much more durable under this torture test than the original tufa.
As a bit of background, the site was buried by as much as 60 feet of material by the eruption of Vesuvius, so the excavation is now a very deep hole 40-60 feet below the present grade of the modern city. The current depth of the ancient city, compared with the depth of grade of the surrounding modern city, has created high groundwater levels within the site, and severe “rising damp” phenomena for the masonry walls down in the archaeological site. Because this condition is more severe than it was originally within the ancient city, and because the ancient city was buried for so many centuries, we can’t really compare the condition or durability of the masonry walls here to other sites.
But what we can do is compare the various materials within the same wall (brick, mortar, and 2 types of tufa) to each other, to compare their relative durabilities. Since the various materials within the same wall have been subjected to the same conditions, mother nature has essentially been torture-testing these masonry materials, and we can walk the site and read the results for ourselves.
tufa is more deteriorated than brick
mortar and brick are both more durable than the old tufa
Brick more durable than tufa
Old tufa (diamond shape) more durable than new tufa (polygonal shape)
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Examining these walls tell us that under these conditions (rising damp, with salt-laden moisture, and consequent efflorescence and subflorescence), these materials rank in the following order from most to least durable:
• brick
• mortar
• yellow tufa (the original stone, from Mt. Vesuvius, the local volcano)
• yellow tufa (the replacement stone used in localized repairs, from Campi Flegrei, a volcano on the other side Naples)
The durability of the original mortar is particularly remarkable. Of course, it’s the pozzolana from volcanic soil and ash that made Roman mortars (and Roman concrete) so strong and durable. Many of us who practice in places like the mainland U.S. and the U.K. where we aren’t exactly surrounded by volcanoes (and hence, we aren’t surrounded by pozzolana), might be shocked to see an ancient historic mortar outlast a natural stone in a masonry wall, as we see here in the Bay of Naples – both at Ercolano and at Pompeii.
Original mortar outlasting original tufa under rising damp conditions
Seeing photos like these without any explanation, and outside of their context, it would be easy for someone to (incorrectly):
• assume the mortar is a 20th century Portland cement-lime-sand mortar,
• assume the mortar was “too hard” and “too impervious”, and
• some might even assume that the hard mortar caused the deterioration of the stone.
However, none of these assumptions would be correct.
All of this reminds me of the lessons learned that I summarized in my Week 13 post. The Week 13 post discusses durability relating to hard versus soft mortars (albeit on a building from the 18th century, not the 1st century A.D.) and some of the oversimplified preservation rules of thumb (sic: very hard mortar is always bad and always modern; and historic mortar is soft, which is always good) that I and so many others were taught in school, or in practice. My observations of the tufa, the brick, and the mortar at Ercolano again reminds me of the importance of coming to the jobsite with an open mind, let the building tell its own truths, and in preservation, “Never say never, and never say always”.
By and large, the days were chilly and overcast this past week. On the occasions when the clouds cleared and the sun broke through, we had brief periods of crystal clear visibility to the snow-capped peaks of the Appennine Mountains, looming beyond Rome to the east.
View looking northeast across Rome, between the umbrell pines, from the roof terrace of the American Academy. The twin domes mark Piazza del Popolo, with the snow capped peaks of the Appennine Mountains on the horizon.
Living in another country for a year certainly involves adjusting to a different culture. Twice in the past week and a half, I’ve been in a forno (a bread/pizza bakery) or pizzeria with my seven month old daughter, when a kind employee has offered me a small piece of pizza biancha (“white pizza” – essentially, baked pizza dough brushed with olive oil) to give to my baby daughter. I thank them, but say that it is too soon for her to eat that. Italians usually start giving the children pizza biancha at 8 months, one forno employee explained to me. The jars of baby food on the shelves of the local stores here in Rome can seem quite unusual to an American like me – the baby foods include fish (several types), horse, rabbit, ostrich, and “latte e biscotti” (milk and cookies). You just don’t find many baby foods here that are entirely vegetable – a fair number of the vegetable baby foods include either prosciutto or pecorino romano cheese to flavor the vegetables.
Whether the topic is what we feed our babies, or how we construct our buildings, it’s simply a different cultural tradition here in Italy as compared with America.
The late 17th century Legnaia (wood shop) in the Villa Doria Pamphilj park.
Palazetto Cenci (16th c.), in Rome's centro.
In examining timber frame construction near Rome, on buildings ranging from the 1st century A.D. to the 17th century, from prominent high style churches and palaces to vernacular wood sheds, I’ve been struck by both the consistency of the Roman construction techniques and traditions spanning over 1600 years, and how fundamentally different those techniques and traditions are from our Anglo-American traditions.
Timber frame connection in the Anglo-American tradition - late 17th c. timber frame connection at Strawbery Banke, New Hampshire.
There’s an undeniable elegance to the intricate joinery and all-wood construction typical of traditional colonial American timber frame construction, which derives from English medieval timber framing – no nails or spikes or metal straps of any kind were used – everything is wood, including the dowels at connections. This craft is still practiced today in the U.S. (both in restoration work and in new construction) by dedicated and talented timber frame craftsmen.
The Roman tradition in timber framing is fundamentally different than the Anglo-American tradition, and is also elegant, albeit in a very different way. In contrast to the Anglo-American tradition of sophisticated, complex joinery and remarkable craftsmanship using only wood, the Roman tradition uses relatively simple connections, frequently incorporates iron in making those connections, and does not require sophisticated craftsmanship. While the Anglo-American tradition is elegant in its craftsmanship and complexity, the Roman tradition is elegant in its simplicity, its construction efficiency (minimal time and labor to construct), and its strength and durability.
Unlike the Anglo-American tradition, the Roman method doesn’t cut into or reduce the effective cross section of flexural members except at their ends, where bending stresses are close to zero – or more simply put, the Roman method doesn’t weaken big beams or rafters by cutting holes in them.
Timber framing in the roman tradition - wood members typically rest atop each other, rather than being cut-into each other. The museum of Rome's San Giovanni Battista dei Fiorentini in Rome (late 16th-early 17th c.)
To prevent the minor members from sliding down-slope on a rafter connection, rather than cutting a notch or mortise into the rafter, the Roman tradition is to simply spike a triangular or corbel-shaped block of wood on top of the rafter to act as a “stop” to prevent the girt or other perpendicular frame member from sliding downslope.
Side view of wood block "stop" atop rafter (bottom), restraining girt (right) from sliding down slope.
Close-up view of wood block "stop" atop rafter, with two iron spike heads visible (San Giovanni Battista dei Fiorentini)
In the Roman construction tradition, at connections of major members in roof trusses, we often see the use of iron straps lashing the two together, or a simple wood connector piece. Both connections avoid the common problem of the dowels or fasteners causing splitting of the frame member along the wood grain as the members try to rotate at an angled connection.
Simple, keystone-shaped cut (center) connects the top chords (L & R) of the truss at the Legnaia
Along with a simple shallow notch cut (hidden within the thick masonry wall), an iron strap, tightened with wedges, connects the top chord (diagonal) and bottom chord of the truss at the Legnaia
The keystone shape of the connection piece at the top is a relatively simple 2-dimensional cut into the wood, but provides an elegant way to restrain the ends of the top chords from upward movement. The iron strap connector between the top chord (rafter) and lower chord on the late 17th c. Legnaia is elegant in its simplicity, and the ease of achieving a tight connection: the iron strap has a loop at each end, and steel wedges are driven through the loops in opposing directions to tighten the strap.
Rather than cut-into and weaken a rafter or beam, the Roman tradition is to just put the minor member on top of the major member – an approach we use today in the U.S. for light-frame wood construction (e.g., most houses in the U.S.) and that we’ve used pretty much since heavy timber frame construction yielded to the predominant use of light-frame (e.g., balloon frame or platform frame) construction in the first half of the 19th century.
Timber framing in the late 17th c. Legnaia. Note how the girts (left of photo) simply slide past each other atop the top chord (diagonal member) of the truss. This exact truss configuration was used in Roman antiquity.
Thus, since the early 19th century in the United States, in a certain sense we’ve come around to the same general way of thinking about structural connections in timber that has been the Roman tradition for about 2,000 years – that is, minimize complicated cutting-into the wood, particularly within the span of flexural members, and utilize nails, spikes and ferrous hangers freely and unapologetically in making connections, all in the name of strength, speed and efficiency of construction.
It’s easy to disparage construction techniques and details that are designed for simplicity and speed of construction, and instead to favor the more intricate, the more craft-dependent, time-consuming, and complicated techniques. There is, however, a great elegance in simplicity. There is also a great efficiency in a design that is simple, beautiful, can be erected relatively quickly and economically, and that proves durable over time, as Roman construction has.
Timber framing in the museum at San Giovanni Battista dei Fiorentini in Rome. As is typical in traditional Roman/Italian construction (and in all photos shown here), the roof deck consists not of wood, but of bricks (the orange material visible between the uppermost wood members). The length of a brick (usually 1 ft. here in Italy) dictates the spacing of the uppermost wood members.
Palazzo Braschi under renovation (center background, c. 1790), as viewed from Bernini's Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (Fountain of the Four Rivers, c. 1651) in the center of Piazza Navonna
Perhaps no other city in the world has as great a tradition of excellence in building design and construction as Rome. And many of the lessons, principles, and details developed over the last two millennia continue to be relevant. Of course, many new materials exist today, but many other building materials used even 2,000 years ago here in Rome (e.g., concrete, brick, mortar, stone, stucco, wood, ferrous fasteners) continue to be used today, here in Rome, in the U.S., and elsewhere. One thing that hasn’t changed at all since antiquity are some major principles of good, durable design and construction, such as the importance of managing water for building durability. Vitruvius wrote over 2,000 years ago, of the importance of managing water in constructing durable walls, and described some techniques and details that were durable, and others that were not. One of the great joys of being here in Rome for the year is the opportunity to study the details of construction that so many extremely skilled architects, engineers, and contractors from centuries and millennia before us developed.
Exterior of Palazzo Braschi window, viewed from the cortile. The keystone on the arch below is carved with an image of Eolo, god of wind.
Along those lines, one thing that really caught my eye is the detailing of the stone window surrounds at the Palazzo Braschi/Museo di Roma. Viewed from the exterior, they are much like the window openings in other Renaissance or Renaissance-revival buildings, which is to say, they are very thoughtfully detailed from a water-management and durability viewpoint . They have a very wide projecting “hood” atop the window surround, like a small roof to shelter it from the rain, and to divert water running down the façade away from the recessed wood window. The window hood is supported on beautiful carved stone scroll corbels, as is typical on many Renaissance or Renaissance-revival buildings (thus integrating the practical, structural, and aesthetic aspects of the work). The wide stone window jambs are cut into an “L” shape in plan (not visible from the exterior), to allow the brick to come behind the stone, so that in plan the brick and stone are “shiplapped” against the weather. The jambs rest on a “lugged” sill that extends out past the stone jambs, and a little past the joint between the brick and the stone, so that water running down the jambs or down the joint between the brick and the stone lands on the stone sill and is directed outwards. The stone sill projects out at two different levels, creating two drip lines.
Though these design features are very thoughtful from a water-management and durability standpoint, they are fairly typical for window surrounds on Renaissance and Renaissance-revival buildings. But what’s different here than on many buildings of this era: looking at the window from the exterior, you’ll see two small black dots beneath the two drip lines of the sill, in the dead center of the window (from left to right). These are weep holes for drainage of the window sill and sub-sill. Of course, a weep hole only works if you have a system to collect the water and get it to the weep (otherwise, the weep is like a faucet stuck to a solid wall, without any plumbing connected it – we wouldn’t expect that faucet to work when we turned it on).
These weep holes are the termination of a system cleverly designed to capture water (that might otherwise leak into the interior, or go into the core of the wall and cause leakage), and drain it harmlessly back to the exterior. The architect of the renovation tells me this design is original to the building (c. 1790).
Interior view of Palazzo Braschi window, showing the outer T-shaped drainage trough in the travertine sill, and the inner drainage trough in the marble sub-sill.
The outer line of defense is a sloped trough cut along the back edge of the stone sill, at the base of the wood window, and then out, to collect water that runs down the wood window and direct in outward. At the end of the T-shaped trough, it dives down and becomes a hole (tunnel) through the solid stone sill, terminating in the upper weep hole visible in the exterior photo.
The inner line of defense is an interior slab of marble, with a trough cut into it to collect water that comes through the window or over the sill, and direct it outward through a hole (tunnel) drilled through the stone, terminating in the lower weep hole visible in the exterior photo.
De Architectura
Knowledge of the art & science of how to design and build well and durably, is cumulative – we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, and hopefully, we can add in some small way to the ongoing growth of the body of knowledge. Vitruvius wrote approximately 2,000 years ago in De Architectura (“The Ten Books of Architecture”) that he expressed “unlimited thanks” to those who came before him and recorded examples of skill in design and construction, that he was “drawing from them as water from a spring, and converting them to our own purposes”, and that he sought to both “draw from them, and to go somewhat further”. I couldn’t agree more with Vitruvius on these points.
Some people may think that I (and others at my firm, Simpson Gumpertz & Heger) obsess over small details relating to water management on windows, facades, roofs and terraces – the slope of a sill, whether or not it is “lugged” (extends under the jambs), the profile of a drip edge or roof cornice, the locations and details of flashings, weeps, etc. And to be perfectly honest, I do obsess over these things – but for good reason. All my experience investigating building problems has shown me again and again that these seemingly small details can have a huge effect on building performance (e.g., leakage or not, durability or not) of the building or structure, even when the construction consists of massively thick masonry walls. In talking to architects and conservators here in Rome, in looking at the details of thoughtful well-designed buildings built centuries or millennia ago here in Rome, and in reading Book II and Book VII of Vitruvius, written over 2,000 years ago, it has become quite apparent to me that I’m not the only one who thinks that the details of design and construction, particularly with regard to water management, make a huge difference in durability and performance. I’m only one of the more recent in a very, very long line of people who have reached this same conclusion.
Main stair of the Palazzo Braschi, which houses one of the many branches of the Museo di Roma (Museum of Rome)
Rome's Tiber River - high water at the Ponte Sisto in January 2010
Rome's Tiber River - typical water at the Ponte Sisto in autumn 2009
It’s been a rainy winter here in Rome. A week or two ago, all that rain was clearly visible in the height of the Tiber River (Tevere in Italian) which rose about 7 or 8 feet over the lower sidewalks along the river’s edge. Thankfully, the rains have stopped, and the Tiber has now receded back almost normal levels. Last winter, you may recall from the international news, the Tiber rose so high that it overflowed the huge stone retaining walls (approximately 30-40 feet high) which channelize the river, spilling into the historic center of Rome.
Late December - early January 2010: the half-submerged red sign on the lower sidewalk is usually 7-8 feet above the water level.
The historic center of Rome (the Campus Martius in antiquity) has been subject to frequent flooding for millennia. That flooding, and the silt and alluvial depositions that came with it, has been partly responsible for the 9 meter (30 feet) rise in the grade of street level today as compared to in antiquity.
Idrometro - the master flood measuring marker for Rome
All across the center of Rome, small stone plaques appear on the facades of buildings, marking the heights of particular floods. To me, the most interesting of these is a sort of “master marker” of all major floods. It is essentially a vertical measuring stick of marble, erected in 1821 in the façade of the church of San Rocco (right near the fountain of Richard Meier’s Ara Pacis Museum). The height and date of major floods of Rome, before and since, are carved into this marble measuring stick. In a certain sense, it reminds me of the simple wood doorframe in the kitchen of the house where I grew up, covered with many small pencil marks at various heights, each noting the age and height of one of my three siblings or me at various points in time.
This flood marker is interesting in so many ways – it records a single aspect of the city’s rich and deep and multi-layered history, in a public space. It is essentially a dynamic document – intended for updating by each subsequent generation.
This marble flood marker is also a microcosm of what historic preservation can be, and might aspire to be. It helps to preserve the collective memory of the city and its people across time, and helps us to make connections with the events and generations that came before us. Rather than being moved inside to a museum for its better protection and preservation from the elements, it continues in its original location and context, still serving its original civic function. And rather than being frozen in time to the date of its original construction, it continues to evolve, becoming all the richer because of the thoughtful and considered marks that each subsequent generation has left on it. In that way, it is like the city of Rome itself.
Close-up of a small section of the Idrometro - with marks and dates visible for floods of (from bottom to top) 1495, 1660, 1870, 1637.
The periodic floods have also left their mark on the historic resources of Rome. If you look closely at the frescoes and murals in the churches in Rome’s historic center, you’ll often see a greater level of loss (or damage, or restoration) on the lower areas, as compared to the upper areas, of the fresco or mural.
Water takes its toll not only on wall paintings, but on historic buildings – from Rome to my native Boston and everywhere in between. When I visited the work at the Palazzo Braschi/Museo di Roma a few days ago, I was chatting with the Architect, M. Antonietta Russo, about water-related deterioration of historic buildings. She was showing me her repair drawings from another one of her projects, on an early 20th c. arched vehicular passageway through the ancient Roman city wall. The wall has been taking on a lot of water at the top, which is seeping down through the wall, eroding the mortar, and causing brick and masonry to drop into the roadway below. It sounds similar to many of the masonry deterioration problems I’d examined in the U.S.
My experience on historic buildings from the 1700’s to the present in New England, a climate with very cold winters and severe freeze/thaw action. The Architect Russo’s experience is on buildings and structures primarily from antiquity to the 1700’s, here in Rome, a mild climate with virtually no freeze/thaw cycles. Two different continents, two different climates, two different construction traditions, and two different time periods of experience, and, yet we seem to have reached the same conclusion: water is the most common agent of deterioration on historic buildings. My Week 14 post shows what can happen to a stone façade, even in a mild climate like that of Rome, over time as a result of water-related deterioration. In the northern U.S., that level of deterioration would have occurred much faster than it did here in Rome.
Next week I’ll look at the very thoughtful design and detailing of the stone window surrounds of the Palazzo Braschi, and how they manage water to help make the building (c. 1790) durable.
Palazzo Braschi (under renovation), as viewed from Piazza Navonna
Week 18 – La Befana, and taking stock of my research project at the start of a New Year
La Befana in the window of a chocolate shop in Rome. Straw broom in hand, stocking over her arm, she has an Advent calendar behind her, and bowls of candies at her feet.
This past Wednesday, January 6 was a holiday here in Italy, the Epifania (the Feast of the Epiphany, also informally known as La Befana), the twelfth and final day of Christmas, marking the traditional end of the holiday season. In Italy, children hang their stockings by the chimney not on Christmas Eve, but on the eve of the Befana. Of course, if the children were good over the past year, the stockings are filled with candy – otherwise, they are filled with lumps of coal. The stockings, however, aren’t filled by Babbo Natale (Santa Claus), but by La Befana, an old woman with a broom, (also known as La Strega – the witch, and La Vecchia – the old woman). Lumps of rock candy that look like charcoal are a popular leave in many stockings. As an added bonus to parents, La Befana is an excellent housekeeper, and she sweeps the floor before ascending the chimney and moving on to the next house.
Janus on the AAR emblem, looking both to the past and the future
As the image of the Roman god Janus reminds me (see my Week 17 Post below) the beginning of the new year is always a good time to look back and take stock of where we’ve been, and to plot a course for the road ahead. In that spirit, here’s a brief assessment of where my project has been, and where it’s going, 4 months into an 11 month fellowship.
Before I ever left the States, I felt certain that the most challenging aspect of getting my project rolling would be gaining permission to access scaffolding on buildings that are under restoration. And I’ve certainly found that to be the case.
I’ve taken a two-pronged approach to gaining these permissions:
- The official, bureaucratic approach: Sending in official request forms from the American Academy, on our letterhead, to some governmental agency or company, and
- The personal approach: Developing my own network of personal contacts here Rome (e.g., architects, soprintendenze, conservators, contractors, etc.) who can help arrange access to sites, or introduce me to someone who can.
Although it took a great deal of time to build a network in the first couple months, now that I have, it is yielding results in site access. The network of contacts I’ve developed here in Rome have helped to get me into most of the restricted access restoration sites listed below. I also spent a lot of time in the first couple months in Italian class, and studying on my own – that has started to yield results as well. On a couple of my sites, there are no English speakers, but I’ve managed to understand much of the descriptions of the work given to me by the architect or foreman as we walk the site together. The context of what we are examining has helped me to follow their descriptions in Italian, and they’ve also been quite kind in speaking slowly and simply, so I can understand.
Below is a summary of my study sites to date:
Restricted Access Sites currently under Restoration:
- Palazzo Chiovendo (16th c. Renaissance palazzo) – peporino façade deterioration – see my Week 14 Post for a discussion of some of my findings from this site
- Legnaia at Villa Doria Pamphilj Park (late 17th c. vernacular woodshed) – timber truss framing, vernacular wall construction
- Porcilaia at Villa Doria Pamphilj Park (early 20th c. vernacular pig house) – general construction techniques
- Palazetto Cenci (16th c. palazzo) clay tile roofing, timber framing
- Casetta Rossa at Villa Doria Pamphilj Park (17th c. vernacular construction, a hunter’s lodge) – masonry wall construction, waterproofing of roof terraces, limewash, stucco
- Museo di Roma, Palazzo Braschi (late 18th c. neo-renaissance palazzo) – wall construction, structural stabilization of friable masonry walls, arch repair and stabilization – see my Week 13 post for a discussion of some of my findings from this site.
- Bernini’s colonnade at St. Peter’s, the Vatican (mid 16th c. Baroque colonnade) travertine restoration, stucco, clay tile roofing and lead flashing.
- Ercolano Scavi a.k.a., Herculaeum archaeological excavation (1st c. A.D. Roman construction, some public, but primarily private residential construction on the coast of the Bay of Naples) – typical residential construction techniques, roof framing, wall construction, lintels, building and site drainage, flooring, paving. The restricted study sites at Ercolano I’ve examined include 8 separate houses and the suburban public baths.
Other Restricted Access Sites:
- Columbarium at Villa Pamphilj (1st. c. B.C. Roman underground burial chambers) – opus reticulatum wall construction using tufo - see this on-line article on the American Academy in Rome website for some photos of me examining this site
- Column of Marcus Aurelius (2nd c. A.D. Imperial Roman monumental column) – stone drum construction for a large freestanding column
Open Access sites:
- Markets of Trajan (2nd c. A.D. Imperial Roman market) – construction of brick/concrete walls, arches, vaults, and stone lintels
- Baths of Caracalla (early 3rd c. A.D., Imperial Roman baths) – construction of brick/concrete walls, arches and vaults)
- The Streetscapes of Rome (various periods, typically 12th – 20th c.) – design, construction, weathering and durability of buildings, pavement, etc. as viewed from public ways - see my Week 11 post for some of my findings on the weathering of facades
I’ve also classified these sites as either short, medium, or long-term study sites, depending upon my access for repeat visits and study. Before coming to Rome, I’d set a goal of arranging access to 8 short, 5 medium, and 3 long-term study sites while here. Thus far, I have 5 short, 3 medium, and 2 long-term sites, so I’m well on my way toward that goal.
I am organizing my “lessons learned” by building component (e.g., masonry walls, roofing, timber framing, stucco, limewash, exterior paving, etc.) along with a few broad overview topics (e.g., construction efficiency, façade weathering, etc.). Thus, summarizing findings and conclusions involves assimilating findings from multiple study sites for each particular topic (e.g., masonry walls, construction efficiency).
In the time ahead in the new year, I’ll continue to build my network of professional contacts, and continue to practice Italian, but now that I’ve built a solid base, I won’t invest as quite as much time into those efforts as I did the first few months. Instead, I’ll shift much of that time into additional site visits, and synthesizing and summarizing my findings through writings and drawings. If I stick to my plan, I should achieve the goals I set for myself and my project, and I think La Befana will be much more likely to leave candy, rather than coal, in my stocking at this time next year.
Winter skies at dusk over Piazza Navonna, the hub of Befana festivites in Rome.
Fireworks over Rome on Capodanno (New Year's)
In Rome, the start of the New Year (Capodanno, literally, “head of the year”) is a spectacular scene. Rome has an official public fireworks display at midnight, but it is supplemented by hundreds of unofficial fireworks displays as people all over the city and all across the seven hills of Rome, giddy from Prosecco, light-off fireworks from their balconies and rooftop terraces. It’s a scene that would make any firefighter or safety director cringe, but it’s incredible to watch. From a perch on any of the hills of Rome, or on any of the bridges across the Tiber, one can watch fireworks simultaneously erupting all across the city.
Bust of Janus in the Vatican.
The celebration of the New Year is particularly relevant to Rome, and to the American Academy in Rome, as the celebration of New Year’s festivities derives from the Roman god Janus, for whom January is named. Janus has two faces, one looking back to where we have already been, figuratively to the past, and the other looking forward to where we will go, figuratively to the future. He is the Roman god of gates, doorways and portals, and his image occasionally appears on gateways, looking in both directions.
AAR emblem
His image symbolizes the progression from the past to the future. For this reason, his image (looking intently both to the past and to the future) is the symbol of the American Academy in Rome.
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Noelle Barille, Visiting Cook, takes a turn writing her hopes and regrets for 2009 on slips of paper and depositing them in the cardboard Pantheon.
Our New Year’s celebration here at the American Academy began about 9:00 Pm with a party in the salone with Prosecco (an Italian sparkling wine, somewhat similar to Champagne) and a potluck of snacks. Jon Calame and his artist wife Anna Hepler introduced us to a tradition that was new to many of us – writing all your hopes and regrets for the year 2009 on small slips of paper, depositing them into a cardboard “House of Hopes and Regrets”, and ceremoniously lighting it on fire just before midnight, to start the new year with a clean slate. Jon and Anna quickly fabricated this year’s house from a cardboard box, and made it resemble the Roman Pantheon. They provided plenty of scraps of paper and markers so that we could all write down our hopes and regrets and deposit them through the oculus in the top of the dome.
The "House of Hopes and Regrets" ablaze in the cortile, just before midnight.
About 11:45 PM, we all adjourned to the cortile (courtyard), and ceremoniously lit the cardboard House of Hopes and Regrets ablaze. We stood back and watched as our regrets for the year past, and hopes for the year ahead ascended skyward in smoke and gray clouds, as if they were poetically ascending from atop this ancient hill in Rome toward Janus in some other world, in some other time.
The crowd stands back from the bonfire, watching the smoke of their regrets from 2009, and their hopes for 2010, ascend skyward.
Nuns lighting sparklers on their rooftop terrace, across the street from the American Academy.
As the flames died down to embers on the House of Hopes and Regrets, and its lingering wisps of smoke ascended skyward, we ascended the long flights of marble stairs, to the rooftop terrace. The unofficial fireworks had already begun all over the city – those near in the foreground appeared like large starbursts, while those farther across the city and on the distant hills appeared like dandelions that briefly appear, glow, and then disappear back into the night. Even the nuns at the building across the street joined in on the festivities, lighting sparklers on their rooftop terrace.
Fireworks over Rome, viewed from the rooftop terrace of the American Academy.
We counted aloud the remaining seconds to midnight (it’s refreshing to do this without any television or radio accompaniment for a change) and popped our corks of Prosecco, toasting the New Year and wishing each other Buon Anno (Happy New Year).
The skies over Rome fill with smoke, as fireworks large and small erupt all across the city.
Buon Anno a tutti. (Happy New Year to all). May you have no regrets at year’s end that weigh more than a wisp of smoke, and may all your hopes for 2010 be fulfilled.
Fireworks over Rome on Capodanno. Buon Anno a tutti e tanti auguri per 2010 (Happy New Year to all, and all best wishes for 2010).
- Sorrento, view from Corso Italia looking into Piazza Tasso
Birthday cake
As I wrote last week’s blog, my wife’s entire family, except her youngest sister, had just arrived in Rome to spend the holidays with us, and join us on a brief side trip to Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast for the week before Christmas. My wife’s youngest sister’s flight to Rome from San Francisco was diverted due to the major snowstorm, and she was marooned in a hotel in Pittsburgh, with the east coast runways clogged with snow. Her Dec. 20th flight was rescheduled for Dec. 24, and she was looking at the prospect of spending 4 days alone in a hotel in Pittsburgh, while the rest of us enjoyed the Amalfi Coast. Rudolph didn’t guide her, but a minor airline miracle occurred – she managed to get on another flight that was supposedly full, and meet us in Sorrento in time to enjoy the pre-Christmas trip with us. We happened upon her in the streets of Sorrento, just after she got off the train from Napoli (Naples), wandering with her backpack, looking for the hotel where we were staying. We got her a special chocolate birthday cake (shown above) from my favorite pasticceria in Rome.
Piazza Tasso, Sorrento
Sorrento is a remarkably beautiful city. I’d recommend it as a great place to stay if you are visiting Pompeii, Ercolano (Herculaneum), and/or Napoli (Naples) – it’s only a short train ride from all three. It has a beautiful old center and piazza, which we had the pleasure of seeing decorated for Christmas and New Year.
Christmas tree in the Sorrento train station decorated with orange slices.
In the winter, oranges and citrus hang abundantly from the street trees on many sidewalks. The train station even has a Christmas tree decorated with slices of real oranges.
Fresh orange slice decorations.
This year I received the greatest holiday gift I’ve ever received. Just a week or so before Christmas, my daughter (6 months old) began calling me Da-da.
My daughter on Christmas morning, teething on her new giraffe.
Buone Feste (Happy Holidays) everyone!
(Pictures of Sorrento and Rome in the week before Christmas follow below).
Sorrento
Oranges hang from the street trees on the sidewalks of Sorrento.
Sorrento
Sorrento
Sorrento
Babbo Natale (Santa Claus) in a storefront window in Rome
A storefront window in Rome, full of holiday treats - dried fruit, nuts, chocolate, and pannetone..
Sorrento storefront full of dried fruits and liqueurs
Hotel Antiche Mura in Sorrento
Marina San Francesco in Sorrento, with the ferry to Capri at the dock.
A quiet alley in Sorrento, adorned with lights.
- The Vatican’s Piazza San Pietro at night, after the tourists have gone.
- Buone Feste (Happy Holidays) in lights in Sorrento
From here atop the Gianicolo, the highest hill within the walls of the City of Rome, the view out over the Centro now has a distinctly different backdrop. The Appennini Mountains looming behind Rome now have snow-capped peaks. Winter has arrived in central Italy.
Menora in the Academy's dining room
On Friday night we had a special Chanukah dinner here at the Academy. Stephen Greenblatt, Ramie Targoff and their son Harry lit the menora just before dinner in the center of the dining room, and followed with the singing of a traditional Chanukah song. Dinner included latkes with homemade applesauce and sour cream, brisket and tongue, cabbage and carrots. Dessert consisted of small donut holes, hand-made in our own kitchen, served with homemade plum jelly.
The evening before, on Thursday, was the traditional Christmas play written and performed by the Fellows (entirely in Italian) for the Academy staff and their families. The play is a very long-standing Academy tradition, and enables the Fellows to show in some small way our deep thanks to the staff for all that they do for us all year. We all spent a lot of time on the play – various Fellows worked on writing the script, translating it, memorizing the lines and acting, building sets, shopping for the gifts for the children, and wrapping them. I worked on the sets. The play, “Une Notte di Alarmi per Babbo Natale” (An Alarming Night for Santa) consisted of three acts, so we made a set for each of the acts.
Painting sets in the cryptoporticus (basement) of the Academy
For the sets/backdrops, we carried one of the large metal frame soccer goals into the main building (it was a tight squeeze through some of the doorways), and covered it in huge sheets of heavy brown paper. The artist Anna Hepler, the architect Kiel Moe, the historian Jonathan Conant and claimed some work space in the basement and all worked on drawing and painting the backdrops on the brown paper, which was a lot of fun. Anna was the maestro orchestrating it all.
In the end, it all came together really well, and the staff and their children seemed to enjoy the play. The actors rehearsed it many times the night before, and a couple times more the day of the play. Kathryn Blair Moore was the glue that held the entire play together – director, producer, chief organizer and puppet-maker.
Act 1 of the play, set at the North Pole.
Act 1 - A "CDC" (Center for Disease Control) Agent arrives at the North Pole with quarantine orders for Rudolph. Photo by Annie Schlechter.
The first act was set at the North Pole, and involved a crisis the day before Christmas when a center for Disease Control (CDC) agent (Susanna McFadden) arrives at Santa’s House a the North pole, and quarantines Rudolph (Kiel Moe), because they suspect he has influenza (because of his red nose). Santa (Jonathan Conant) and Mrs. Claus (Darian Totten) are unsuccessful in trying to convince the CDC agent that Rudolph’s nose is just like that. We had a brief puppet show at the end of Act 1 to tell the story of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, as that story is not well known in Italy.
Act 2 of the play. Babbo Natale (Santa) has difficulties with airport security. Photo by Annie Schlechter.
Act 2 was set at the airport. Malelvo (“Bad Elf”), played by the spritely Chiara Bernazzani, engages in a little mischief, sneaking some small metal toys into Santa’s coat and shirt just before he goes through the metal detector. Two airport security agents (Richard Wittman and Aurelia D’Antonio) hassle, search, and delay Santa because of all the metal toys he is trying to get through security.
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Act 3. Santa, Mrs. Claus, Malelvo, and other assorted characters opt for "Plan B" and board a plane. Photo by Annie Schlechter.
Act 3 took place on the airplane, awaiting take-off. After a hilarious Aerea Polo Nord (North Pole Airlines) safety video made by the film maker Abigail Child, and featuring flight attendant Lauren Kinnee, we learn that the weather is too foggy for the plane to take-off, and Santa is stuck on the runway. Fortunately, the Center for Disease Control agent shows up (how often can one say that?) to return Rudolph and offer their apologies, as tests have shown that Rudolph does not have influenza, rather, his nose is naturally red. Rudolph then leads Santa’s sleigh through the fog to Rome to deliver the toys to all the children. The play ends with the entire cast on stage, led by Aurelia D’Antonio, singing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” in Italian.
After the play, children play in the airplane set.
After the play, Babbo Natale (Santa), gave gifts to all the children of the Academy’s staff. A party followed, with a lot of traditional Italian Christmas treats, including pannetone, the cupola-shaped traditional Christmas sweet bread from Milan. Each of the children here at the Academy found a gingerbread ornament baked by our own kitchen staff, hung on a green ribbon, with their name on it in white icing.
My 6 month old daughter hangs her gingerbread ornament on the tree. Sort of.
On a personal note, most of my wife’s immediately family arrived last night for the holidays here in Italy. We’ll take a brief 4 day trip south to the Amalfi Coast (Sorrento, Capri, Pompeii, Herculaneum), and then return to Rome the day before Christmas Eve, to spend a family Christmas together here in Rome. Unfortunately, wife’s youngest sister’s flight to Rome from San Francisco yesterday was diverted due to the major snowstorm, and she is now marooned in a hotel in Pittsburgh, as the east coast runways are clogged with snow. She was due to arrive in Rome today, on December 20th, but now we’re hoping she’ll make it here to Rome in time to join us on Christmas Day, which also happens to be her birthday. Perhaps Rudolph will guide her way here…
The holiday season is now fully upon us here in Rome. Last Tuesday, Dec. 8, was the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, a national holiday here in Italy – banks are closed, schools are closed, etc. Italian families traditionally put-up their Christmas tree and crèche displays on this day. It’s also unofficially the start of the Christmas season in Italy. Many people took-off work on Monday (the day before), to create a four day weekend and prepare for the holidays. Thus, last Monday, the shops and streets in Rome’s Centro bustled with Christmas shoppers in a way that I hadn’t previously seen before.
Christmas tree in the salone of the McKim Mead and White Building
Holiday preparations are also well underway at the American Academy. The Academy’s Christmas tree went up this past Friday morning (in an enormous terra cotta pot) in the salone of the McKim Mead and White Building. Friday after dinner was the tree-trimming. This coming Thursday, Dec. 17, in an annual Academy tradition, we (this year’s Fellows) will put-on a Christmas play for the Academy’s staff and their children, so preparations are in full swing for the play.
After a cold spell in late October, we’ve been fortunate to have warm mild temperatures through much of November and now early December. Lately, the daily high temperature is typically around 50 degrees F, and it usually gets down to around 45deg. F for the overnight low. Certainly nothing like New England at this time of year – the winters here in Rome are mild, and freezing temperatures are very uncommon. This is one reason (among others) that Ancient Roman constructions here in Central Italy are so much more intact than those in northern Europe (for example, Germany), where winters and freeze/thaw cycles are more severe. It’s also a reason that some of my archaeology and classical studies colleagues here have told me that if I REALLY want to see incredibly intact monumental ancient Roman masonry construction, I should go to North Africa. That makes perfect sense to me – the deserts of North Africa are almost an ideal place to preserve a stone masonry structure – no freeze/thaw cycling, very little rain, very little humidity. Climate really plays a huge factor in the long-term durability of masonry construction. I was reminded of this fact when I examined the Palazzo Chiovendo several weeks ago.
Palazzo Chiovendo, front facade covered in scaffold and debris netting for restoration work
Palazzo Chiovendo is a Renaissance palazzo built in the 1500’s, just a couple blocks west of Piazza Navonna, and less than a hundred meters from Bramante’s famous chiostro. In many cities the Palazzo Chiovendo would be an important example of Renaissance architecture – here in Rome it is essentially a “fabric” building that gives the city’s streetscapes character, but that doesn’t appear in any architectural guidebook or map. The façade of Palazzo Chiovendo was constructed almost entirely with peperino, a volcanic conglomerate stone that my Italian colleagues tell me was seldom used on building facades. In looking at the Palazzo Chiovendo today, we can see why.
As I climbed over the scaffolding with the contractor, the conservator, and a professor of conservation, examining the deterioration of the stone, I kept hearing exclamations of “Che un disastro” (“It’s a disaster”) I agreed.
Peperino ledge, and one of the more intact pilaster bases, Palazzo Chiovendo
One of the less intact peperino pilaster bases (it was between the metal strap and the green shutter)
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In both the peperino façade of the Palazzo Chiovendo, and in sandstone facades I have examined in New England, it comes as no surprise that the worst deterioration occurs at the areas with the most severe exposure to water. These tend to be elements that project from the face of the façade, and/or have a near horizontal surface, such as sills, ledges, bandcourses, and corbels. Since Rome has little or no freeze/thaw cycling, it seems that it took about 500 years for a façade built of a low-durability stone (peperino) in Rome to look like a 150 year-old façade built of a low-durability stone (Portland brownstone) in New England’s more severe climate.
The street approach to Palazzo Chiovendo. The scaffold and debris netting also protect pedestrians and traffic from falling hazards.
All issues of durability are necessarily relative, but the roughly 500 year service life of the peperino façade raises questions of what is acceptable, or unacceptable, for the durability of a stone facade. For example, is the roughly 500 year life of the peperino façade unacceptable, because 500 years is only a short time in the construction history of Rome, and is only a mere blink of an eye in geological time, and after all we should measure stone durability by the measure of stone? Or is it acceptable, because the owners and users of the building are human, and 500 years is a very long time by human measure? Or is it unacceptable because when they chose the peperino in the 1500’s, they had better choices available at that time – choices of other locally-available, attractive, not overly expensive stones, that are easy to tool and carve, and that are far more durable (like travertine), that they passed-over in choosing the inferior and less-durable peperino? When discussing durability, it’s all relative, and it’s very much about making good choices.
Week 13 – Holiday Lights, Music, and Surprises (in the durability of internal and external bearing walls)
Holiday lights across Via della Scala in the Trastevere section of Rome
The holiday season is now upon us, and lights are strung across many streets in Rome. A few of the holiday lights started to appear in the last week of November, but the majority appeared this past week – the first week of December. After years of American retailers erecting their holiday decorations earlier and earlier, I find it refreshing that most of the holiday lights and decorations here appear around December 1st, not sometime in October. The panettone and other traditional Christmas breads and treats are prominently displayed in many shops. I went for a Sunday stroll last evening in Trastevere (an old medieval neighborhood at the bottom of the hill from the American Academy) and took these photos. For a Sunday evening, many more people were on the streets than usual, not frantically shopping, but just out with family for a passeggiata (evening stroll), enjoying the lights and the ambiance and joy of the season.
Holiday lights at the intersection Via di Ponte Sisto and Via Benedeta in Trastevere
The band Superfetazione played at an Academy happy hour held in one of our apartments...
Last weekend, a regular happy hour event at the Academy had an additional measure of good cheer, as we celebrated the birthday of T. Corey Brennan, the Mellon Professor-in-Charge of Classical Studies here at the American Academy in Rome. Corey is an incredibly talented and accomplished guy, with broadly diverse talents. In addition to being an esteemed scholar of Ancient Greece and Rome, with degrees from Penn, Oxford and Harvard, he’s an accomplished rock musician who was a guitarist and songwriter in some notable late 80’s and early 90’s Boston-based rock bands, including The Lemonheads and Bullet LaVolta.
...as the Academy crowd swayed and danced to the music.
The Italian band Superfetazione played at this happy hour, with help from a few members of the band Audiozoo. I later learned that Corey founded Superfetazione back in the 1980’s when he was a Fellow here at the Academy, so the band has been going for decades. One of the highlights of the evening was Corey’s 5 year-old son Nicholas belting out background rhythm vocals on some of the songs.
The artist Roma Pas (L) and me (R) at the AAR's masque dance party. The eyes of Roma's masque are cucumber slices. My mask was a Cornflakes box only a few hours earlier.
This past Saturday night the American Academy hosted a masque dance party for all the other foreign academies in Rome (there are quite a few). The organizers translated the invitations into 14 different languages. Corey was the DJ spinning the dance tunes, and we had festive lights of a different sort projected on the walls of the artist’s studio that served as the dance floor. The party was a lot of fun, as was seeing all the different masques. We inadvertently discovered that we Americans like to dance a whole lot more than some of our brethren scholars from the European academies. Oh well.
Museo di Roma, in Palazzo Braschi
While the weekends include these social events, the weekdays are for work on our projects. I’ve made quite a few site visits the past few weeks, to 6 different sites. In addition to making observations at other study sites, I’ve been observing the structural stabilization and renovation work at the Museo di Roma in Palazzo Braschi over the last couple weeks. The Palazzo is one of the younger buildings that I’ve been studying in Rome – it “only” dates to 1790. It was designed by Cosimo Morelli in the neo-Renaissance style, and it’s a convincing execution – walking by it, you’d think the building is from the 15th or early 16th century. The Architetto supervising the work, Antonietta Russo, has been extremely helpful and gracious in giving me tours of the work.
In the cortile of the Palazzo Braschi
Although I’ve investigated problems with the bearing walls of buildings of this same time period in the United States, one thing really surprised me in this case that I’d never seen before.
The exterior walls (those with an exposure to the exterior, and hence to the weather, rain, acid rain, etc.) are in good condition and require no structural repair, while the interior walls (no exterior exposure, hence no exposure to the elements) are deteriorating, and require structural stabilization. Often the exact opposite is the case – since the exterior walls are subjected to a more severe environment, they are more deteriorated and require a greater level of structural repair than the interior walls.
Both the interior and exterior walls range from about 2-1/2 ft. to 4-1/2 ft. thick. The fundamental difference is the way in which they were constructed.
Exterior wall of Palazzo Braschi
Given their significant exposure to the weather and the elements, the exterior walls are constructed very robustly and durably. The outer foot or so is either travertine (stone) blocks, or a hard brick, while the remaining thickness of the wall is constructed of brick laid in regular courses. The entire thickness of the wall is built with a very hard, very strong mortar with a high percent of pozzolana (volcanic ash) in the lime (which improve the strength and durability of the mortar). I can’t pick away at the mortar with my fingers or a small hand tool – it’s very hard.
Interior walls, with friable (crumbling) mortar
On the other hand, the interior walls are constructed using a “scapoli de tufo” technique, as follows. The inner and outer 10 inches or so of the wall are constructed with brick, laid in regular courses. The entire inner core of the wall (a foot or more thick) is a random jumble of bricks and chunks of tufo stone, mixed with mortar and dumped into the wall. The entire interior wall is built with a very weak lime mortar, with little or no pozzolana. Consequently, the lime mortar is very weak and friable (“crumbly”) – I can literally pick it apart with my fingers. Therein lies the problem. The brick and the tufo stone in the walls are still in good condition, but the weak mortar is crumbling. The mortar is simply too weak, even for an interior environment. This same general method of wall construction consisting of regular, coursed, inner and outer wythes of brick, with a masonry rubble and mortar core, probably would have worked fine if they had used a stronger, more durable mortar. (I say this because I’ve observed quite a lot of basically similar construction from ancient Rome, but with much stronger mortar, holding up well in far more severe exterior environments, with roughly 2,00o years in service, instead of the roughly 220 years in service of the Palazzo Braschi).
Structural consolidation of interior walls in process. Injection ports for micro-grout in-place.
As a result of this deterioration of the interior walls, much of the structural stabilization work involves injecting a micro-grout into cracked areas of the walls, to structurally consolidate the most deteriorated areas of these walls. Some of this work is on bare brick walls, or non-descript plain plaster, but unfortunately, some of it must go through murals and other ornamentally painted plaster. But this work is truly necessary to structurally stabilize the underlying structure of these murals, before even worse damage occurs. It makes one wish the original builders in the 1790’s had just used a stronger mortar originally, as they did on the exterior walls.
Structural stabilization of the masonry wall beneath this mural was completed by drilling injection ports along cracks ,and injecting micro-grout. Next the murals conservators will restore the mural, include the damage from the injection ports.
In the field of historic preservation, we seem to love to tell people that the problem was caused by a mortar that was too hard and too strong, and that if only someone had used a softer, weaker mortar they would have avoided the present problem. At times that may be true – but certainly not always. My esteemed colleague David Hart of Salem, MA taught me something that Abbott Lowell Cummings taught him – in preservation, we should “Never say never, and never say always“. My own experience in preservation has reminded me frequently of the wisdom of those words.
My initial surprise at the deterioration of the interior versus the exterior walls reminds me, and hopefully a few others, of a few things. While experience is invaluable, we should always try to approach our investigations with an open mind as to what the conditions, the problems, and their underlying causes, may be, and not allow our previous experience or an established canon to cloud (or even worse, serve as a substitute for) a detailed, open-minded investigation of the particular case at hand. If our findings on a particular case differ from our previous experience, or the conventional wisdom, so be it. Each building tells its own truths, independent of our expectations and any established canon, if we are only willing to look closely enough, and allow ourselves to be surprised by the truths we find. During this holiday season, it shouldn’t be too hard for us to be willing to be surprised, and remember that a surprise isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
"Auguri" (best wishes) spelled out in the lights across Via San Dorotea in Trastevere
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