Alessandro

I blame my father, who took me to the cinema in the autumn of ‘81 to see Raiders of the Lost Ark. I was nine years old and walked out convinced I was going to be an archaeologist. I ended up studying art and architectural history in Rome instead, yet every time I head down the damp stone steps of a Lombard crypt or a Roman mithraeum beneath a neighborhood church, that exact same thrill comes rushing back. I have zero patience for robotic audioguides or monuments reduced to a dry list of dates: when we step inside a building, I want you to spot the ancient Roman column scavenged from a pagan temple, the mason’s chisel marks on the travertine, and the quiet side door that lets you skip an hour-long line.