The world's most famous neoclassical buildings are kind of boring and generic when you actually look at them.
It's even hard to tell them apart: which one below is Versailles, or Buckingham Palace?
So here's why neoclassical architecture (although it's nice) is overrated:
Buckingham Palace, despite being one of the world's most famous and visited buildings, is essentially quite boring and uninspiring from the outside.
There's a certain stateliness to it, but (like most big neoclassical buildings) it's really just a box wrapped in pilasters.
The same is true of Versailles.
Again, it's evidently pretty (largely thanks to the colour of its stone) but there's something weirdly plain about it, almost standardised.
Plus the emphasis on its horizontal lines makes it feel very low-lying, undramatic, and flat.
This also goes for the White House; it is, despite its fame, a plain building.
Though, of course, it was always supposed to be more of a humble residence than a palace.
Thus the White House represents neoclassical architecture at its most restrained — and, therefore, its best.
Neoclassical architecture can be incredibly impressive; that explains, in part, its immense popularity.
Whether for terraced houses, united to create a harmonious whole with their simple but pleasing proportions, or for grand public buildings with towering colonnades.
It works.
And, of course, "neoclassical architecture" is an incredibly broad term.
It includes everything from the exuberance of Baroque to the regimented simplicity of Georgian, from capital N Neoclassicism (things Romans or Greeks might have built themselves) to elegant Palladianism:
But what all these substyles are united by is their general adherence to the rules and motifs of original classical architecture, i.e. the architecture of the Ancient Greeks and Romans.
Therein lies their beauty... and also their most fundamental flaws.
See, the rules of neoclassical architecture — though they lead to its pleasing proportions, human scale, and unity — are inflexible, especially when it comes to proportion and overall plan.
This explains why neoclassical buildings frequently look so similar:
Along with strict proportions, symmetry is also demanded by the rules of the neoclassical.
But, from faces to flowers and films to photos, absolute symmetry rarely equates to beauty or charm.
And yet all neoclassical buildings are, necessarily, precisely symmetrical.
This enforced standardisation is a bigger problem with decoration.
Just think of the famous five classical orders.
Though there is sometimes experimentation, neoclassical buildings rarely stray from the strict rules that govern the decorative details of these five.
Hence neoclassical buildings around the world have the same decoration: the same volutes, acanthus leaves, and strings of fruit.
This does create a sense of unity (plus they're pretty!) — but it also feels lifeless, and has no relevance to local heritage.
Always the same.
And so neoclassical decoration is conventionalised.
A convention is something you do because it's the way you're "supposed" to do it, not because you actually believe in, like, or understand it.
These Corinthian capitals (all from different buildings) lack real meaning or life.
And all this taken together explains why neoclassical architecture can sometimes feel cold, generic, and boring.
In some ways, it has a lot in common with the monotonous, standardised, box-shaped forms of modern architecture.
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If one thing sums up the 21st century it's got to be all these default profile pictures.
You've seen them literally thousands of times, but they're completely generic and interchangeable.
Future historians will use them to symbolise our current era, and here's why...
To understand what any society truly believed, and how they felt about humankind, you need to look at what they created rather than what they said.
Just as actions instead of words reveal who a person really is, art always tells you what a society was actually like.
And this is particularly true of how they depicted human beings — how we portray ourselves.
That the Pharaohs were of supreme power, and were worshipped as gods far above ordinary people, is made obvious by the sheer size and abundance of the statues made in their name:
It's over 500 years old and the perfect example of a strange architectural style known as "Brick Gothic".
But, more importantly, it's a lesson in how imagination can transform the way our world looks...
Vilnius has one of the world's best-preserved Medieval old towns.
It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, filled with winding streets and architectural gems from across the ages.
A testament to the wealth, grandeur, and sophistication of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.
Among its many treasures is the Church of St Anne, built from 1495 to 1500 under the Duke of Lithuania and (later) King of Poland, Alexander I Jagiellon.
It's not particularly big — a single nave without aisles — but St Anne's makes up for size with its fantastical brickwork.
The Spanish edition of my new book, El Tutor Cultural, is now available for pre-order.
It'll be released on 22 October — and you can get it at the link in my bio.
To celebrate, here are the 10 best things I've written about Spain: from why Barcelona looks the way it does to one of the world's most underrated modern architects, from the truth about Pablo Picasso to the origins of the Spanish football badge...
What makes Barcelona such a beautiful city? It wasn't an accident — this is the story of how the modern, beloved Barcelona was consciously created:
When Vincent van Gogh started painting he didn't use any bright colours — so what happened?
It isn't just about art.
This is a story about how we're all changed by the things we consume, the places we go, and the people we choose to spend time with...
The year is 1881.
A 27 year old former teacher and missionary from the Netherlands called Vincent van Gogh decides to try and become a full-time artist, after being encouraged by his brother Theo.
What does he paint? The peasants of the countryside where his parents lived.
Vincent van Gogh's early work is unrecognisably different from the vibrant painter now beloved around the world.
Why?
Many reasons, though one of the most important is that he had been influenced by his cousin, the Realist painter Anton Mauve, who painted like this: